“I wasn’t expecting you, baby.”
Something about the melody in her voice makes me sick with terror, like I’m in one of Ches’s horror movies.
I glance at the clock on the wall. Ten o’clock. I guess I’m normally out later on weekends with Ches and Matt.
Her brow furrows for a moment as she focuses in on me, and then her whole face relaxes as she shakes her head. She looks down at the cigarette in her hand, like it’s a loaded gun.
“Here,” I say, taking it from her and stubbing it out in the sink. “It’s been a long day. What do you say we get some rest?”
She nods to herself. “A long day.”
I guide her upstairs with a hand hovering behind her.
As I lie in bed that night, I try as best I can to redirect my brain and remind myself of what an incredible day I had with Dakota and how Matt is going to freak out when I tell him all about visiting the set. Maybe I can even bring him with me next time.
But tonight’s events with Grandma Lou linger like a fog. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, something I can sense, but I’m not brave enough to speak it out loud—scared that if I do, it might just be true.
9
I sit in the courtyard on Monday at lunchtime with Ches and Matt. Ches sits beside me, leaning on my shoulder as she mumbles to herself between flash cards.
Matt points at me with a Twizzler. “Okay, one more time. From the top.”
I’ve told Matt about my set visit two times already—once over the phone on Sunday, once on the way to school, and again just now. I can’t blame him, though. If the same thing had happened to him, I’d want to hear every detail over and over again until I’d absorbed it all into my own memory.
His excitement at the thought of being so few degrees of separation from the cast of The Grove outweighs his jealousy from last week.
My phone buzzes and I see an image of Homer Simpson shrinking back into green bushes. Below the image, white text reads: season 13 cliff-hanger drops and MarTo be like:
I giggle and Ches peers over my shoulder. “Oh, so Dakota’s sending memes now?”
“Let me see!” says Matt.
I oblige him, and he just shakes his head. “What is your life?”
My phone vibrates again.
DAKOTA: Are you much of a texter? I’m a chronic texter. Stop me if it’s too much.
ME: I’m a serious texter, but maybe we should have a safe word?
She sends me a picture of a car-wash sign a few blocks from her house. The sign is bright blue and reads Scrub-a-Dub.
ME: Scrub-a-Dub?
DAKOTA: Perfect. I can’t imagine invoking it, but just in case I over-meme you.
ME: I have a very high meme threshold.
DAKOTA: I guess I should test that out.
I slide the phone into my back pocket, Ches shifting beside me. My cheeks ache from smiling so hard.
“Wow,” mumbles Ches. “Someone’s crushin’ hard.”
“Okay,” I say to Matt. “So on Saturday afternoon, I went over to her house. The furniture and everything inside was all—”
“White,” Matt says. “So chic.”
A gust of wind blows through the trees, shaking the first few leaves of fall free. I continue on, telling Matt the whole story for the third time, and he’s the perfect audience, squealing and shrieking in all the right places. Even Ches puts her flash cards down to listen.
Dakota and I text back and forth regularly over the next few weeks, finding funny videos and memes to share, and when those run out, she shares frustrations about next season’s script and she even asks about school, which seems trivial in comparison.
On Thursday, as I’m sitting in journalism, my phone buzzes.
DAKOTA: Big plans for Saturday night?
Oh, I type back, just saving the world. I smirk. I wish.
DAKOTA: Interested in taking a break from life as a superhero for a night?
As my fingers hover above the screen, trying to find clever enough words, she sends another text.
DAKOTA: Season twenty-one kickoff party is at some club in Minneapolis.
DAKOTA: I can put you on the list if you want to go.
UM YES, I almost shout while everyone else works quietly beside me. I instantly think of Matt. It’s no set visit, but this might be even cooler. Besides, I’m sure Dakota would love Matt. And Ches! They’re by far the cooler, more charming two-thirds of our tripod.
I begin to type, Could I bring my friends Matt and Ches? Matt’s a big fan and super funny, and I bet Ches would read your tarot if you wanted.
Then I add, Not at the club. That might be weird. Just in general.
DAKOTA: Okay.
DAKOTA: I’ll add them to the list. I’ll text you the address on Saturday.
Johnny plops down beside me, and I pull my phone to my chest, buzzing with excitement and a tiny bit of dread. Matt is going to be so excited, but maybe I asked to invite them too soon. I don’t want Dakota to think I’m using her.
“Doing secret website things?” Johnny asks. “Texting your secret lover?”
I snort. “What? No.”
He grins sheepishly. “Good.”
I’m flattered, yet I find myself scooting away from him a bit.
“Your listicle on the play was hilarious,” he says.
“Thanks. I didn’t really have time to go by a practice because of work.”
“It didn’t show at all,” he assures me.
“Is Faith Hubbard here?” asks a dry voice.
I look up to find Gretchen Sandoval standing in the doorway, her long blond hair scooped into a floppy bun at the top of her head and her short red cheer shorts barely visible under her baggy Glenwood Turkey Trot 5K T-shirt. She sort of looks like a mess, but in that way only traditionally hot girls get away with, which is silly, because I want to show up to school like I just rolled out of bed too. When fat girls do that, they’re called slobs. Note to self: Who cares if people call me a slob? I can be a cute slob like Gretchen if I want.
“It’s Herbert,” I say as I make my way over to her.
“I’m here for my interview,” she says without looking up from her phone.
“Hi, Gretchen,” Colleen squeaks, standing up from her desk near the door. She turns to me. “She’s here for her Senior Spotlight today.”
It would have been nice to have time to prepare, I nearly respond in a snippy tone. Instead, I hold back a sigh and say, “I don’t have any interviews scheduled for today.”
“Oh,” Colleen says, “I thought I told you I set this up for today. Mrs. Raburn wanted me to help you so I could learn the ropes.”
I glance over to my desk and the epic pile of work I need to get to before the bell rings, and I have to admit I’m a little annoyed that Colleen scheduled this without even checking in first. “I’m sorry, but I just have way too much going on right now. Could we reschedule you, Gretchen?”
Gretchen huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you serious? I rescheduled winter dance committee for this.” She turns to Colleen. “Thanks a lot, dumbass.”
I roll my eyes. What a troll.
Gretchen stomps off and Colleen says, “Oh wow, Faith, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine, but maybe don’t schedule me for things without asking first?” I say as sweetly as I can.