“Mexican?”
“I was going to say exciting.”
“That’s just the nice way of saying they’re loud.”
I tap my fingers against my knee. “Forgive me if this is a terribly offensive question, but Amy Richardson isn’t exactly a traditional Mexican name.”
She nods, her eyes roving the room. “My name is Amaría. Amaría Richardson. My dad is as white as they come.” She snorts, and I’m a little mesmerized by her. Amaría. Beautiful. She keeps talking without looking at me. “Carlos isn’t my real dad. But he’s been around since I was a kid. My dad lives in L.A., and I see him once a year.”
“Just once?”
“Yep.” She somehow seems to be opening up and building a wall between us at the exact same time.
“Does that bother you?”
She wraps her arms around her knees and presses her chin to them. “I guess not. Carlos has always been there when I needed a dad. I guess if I move to California, I’ll be seeing Dad more. Maybe.”
“I wouldn’t even know what it’s like to have a real dad.”
Amy rolls her chin on her knee. “What about the dad you have?”
I shrug and look down at my worn-out sneakers. “He moved here from Scotland when my mom got pregnant. And then he kind of fell apart and started drinking. I’m all he has. And my mom, too, I guess.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
I shrug. “You’re under a lot of pressure, too. Valedictorian? First one in the family to go to college?” I only know this last part because Amy’s grandmother kept saying it over and over during dinner.
Amy looks around, probably to make sure no one is listening. No one appears to be. “No one thinks I can do it.” She says it with a wry smile on her mouth.
“What do you mean?”
She doesn’t say anything for a long time, but then finally, she leans in even closer to me, our faces so close, I could barely lean forward, and we would be kissing. “They’re always talking about how hard it all is, how expensive college is, how hard I have to work, as if I don’t know. They don’t really think I can make it happen. Maybe I don’t really think I can, either.”
“Bullshit,” I say as quietly as I can, so nobody but Amy can hear me. “You can do anything you want. I’ve seen it.”
She doesn’t answer, just looks at me for a long time, her expression unwavering.
“What are you guys whispering about over there?” Amy’s mother asks loudly.
I look over at Amy, and she smiles at me in a conspiratorial way. When she smiles like that, she lights up the whole room, the whole world. What would I do if I wasn’t right here next to her? How could anything else matter?
When I’m finally able to tear my eyes from her, I see that Amy’s mother is standing up from the couch, her hands clasped in front of her. “We actually have been waiting until tonight to tell everyone the good news. Carlos just got a new manager job at Rudy’s Auto Repair.”
The room kicks up in conversation and praise, and I smile over at Amy because I know this is something that’s been sitting on her shoulders since I met her. She looks like she’s about to join in the celebration when her mother looks over at her, the entire living room spanning between us and her, and says, “I know it’s been hard to fit a job into your schedule. If you need to quit now, you can.”
The feeling I get is what I imagine it’s like to be struck by lightning. Amy can’t quit. She’s only just started. She’s only been at the shop for a few months, and she loves it there, and Brooke loves having her there, and what would Spirits even look like without her?
I turn to Amy, ready to make a case for the shop, but she’s not looking at me, and no matter how long I sit here, waiting for her to say something, she just stares down at the carpet.
AMY
THE NEXT DAY, I’m leaving eighth period, my last class of the day, when my phone rings. It’s Brooke. I pause in the middle of the courtyard, afraid that she’s calling to fire me for some reason. Ever since Mama told me I could quit, which I know she only did because I’ve been so mad at her, I’ve been on edge about Spirits. Because I know quitting is the right thing to do so that I can focus on Stanford and graduation.
But if I’m being honest with myself, I just don’t want to. I love Spirits, and I’m not sure I can handle the stress of everything else without it.
“Amy!” Brooke practically shouts in my ear, her voice full of enthusiasm. Well, that’s a good sign. “Sorry. I know you’re not working tonight, but I thought you’d want to know that Oli’s mom is throwing him a surprise party for his birthday next week, on Wednesday. Not this Wednesday, next Wednesday. I know, Wednesday is a weird night for a party. I have to have Lauren cover at Spirits for me, but luckily, the only two people his mom invited are Marshal and me because, well, Oli doesn’t actually have that many friends, but she doesn’t really know you yet, so I thought I’d extend the invitation. It’s Wednesday at his place, and I can give you a ride if you don’t know how to get there. We have to be there at six forty-five, and Oli is showing up at seven.”
I stand in the center of the quad and stare down at my shoes. “You just said a lot of words really fast.”
“I’ll text you the info.” She hangs up.
“Wednesday at six forty-five,” I say, racking my brain, trying to figure out if I have any other responsibilities that day. It’s a gymnastics and karate day for the twins, so I’ll definitely have to take Brooke up on her offer to give me a ride, since my parents will have to split in order to get all the kids to their activities on time. “Wednesday at six forty-five,” I say again.
From behind me, someone says, “What’s Wednesday at six forty-five?”
I whip around to see Jackson behind me, leaning against the flagpole.
“Birthday party,” I say, and then suck my lips in between my teeth because why did I just tell him that? It isn’t any of Jackson’s business what I’m going to be doing on Wednesday at six forty-five, and he certainly shouldn’t be eavesdropping on my conversations.
Jackson smirks at me. “Anyone I know?”
I think about Oliver walking into Jackson’s party and demanding my car keys back. “No.”
I see confusion flash across his face, like he can’t believe that I’m not going to tell him who it is. Or perhaps he doesn’t believe that I might have friends he doesn’t know about. And I’m not positive that’s an unwarranted belief.
“I should go,” I tell him, pointing over my shoulder. “I have to get to the library to get some homework done. Big test on Friday in AP bio.”
“Right,” Jackson says, nodding, even though I’m pretty sure he forgot all about the test. “Can I walk with you?”
I hesitate, feeling everything inside me go a little stiff. “Don’t you, like, have to, like, meet your girlfriend or something?”
Jackson sighs and then starts walking in the direction of the library, even though I never actually said he could walk with me. “Look, Ames, I’m sorry you found out that way. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”