Page 42 of The Summer List

“It might as well be,” Shal says as she wipes her eyes. “God, it all sounds so ridiculous when you actually stop and think about it.”

Priya shakes her head and plants her hands on her hips again, spreading her feet apart into a wide power stance. “Speak for yourself. I am a queen woman boss. You should see me in a damn crown, bitches.”

We all freeze at the sound of someone clearing their throat. I look past Priya to see a woman with long black hair and at least six piercings in her face standing with a clipboard in her hands. From the way her shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter, I’d guess she’s been there for at least the past thirty seconds.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, “but, um, Miss Queen Woman Boss, would you like to get pierced first?”

CHAPTER 11

Naomi

My ear is throbbing so bad I can feel every beat of my heart reverberating through the skin around my piercing, but I can’t stop smiling. Even when my cheeks start to ache from the strain, I keep beaming as Shal finishes paying at the counter.

She ended up getting the same piercing as Priya, in a rare instance of them doing anything remotely the same to their appearances after being forced to dress identically for the first eight years of their lives.

The irony makes me want to tip my head back and laugh, but then again, pretty much everything seems worth laughing at right now. I feel like I’m high again. I don’t think my body has ever produced as much adrenaline as it did in the moment Leila the piercer said, “I’m going to go on three.” The relief now that it’s done has me feeling like my feet are floating a couple inches above the floor.

“You good?” Andrea asks from beside me.

I realize I’ve been swaying and will myself to be still, but I’m grinning like a stoner when I turn to look at her.

“So good! I can’t believe I did it.”

She bumps my shoulder with hers. “It suits you.”

I’m so loopy I don’t even find that hard to believe. In fact, I totally agree with her.

When Leila told me to go check myself out in the piercing room’s full-length mirror, I couldn’t help squealing as soon as I caught sight of the little metal hoop around the outer edge of my ear.

I got a piercing—a really freaking cool piercing that looks amazing on me—and I didn’t faint or throw up or cry at any point in the process. I let some woman I don’t even know shove a giant needle in my ear, and now I’m smiling about it.

I start swaying again.

Andrea chuckles at me as Shal tucks her wallet into her purse and leads us out of the shop. The afternoon sun feels so good on my face it’s a miracle I don’t burst into song. I take a deep breath of air in through my nose, and even though the parking lot smells like dust with a hint of car exhaust, I still close my eyes like I’m savoring the balmy scent of a tropical breeze.

I’m going to have to tell my therapist I’ve discovered a new cure for anxiety. Forget beta blockers; the post-piercing rush is all you need to feel like you could blast any unexpected social interactions life throws at you into smithereens.

I open my eyes and find myself staring at the collection of businesses across the street from the strip mall, which just so happens to feature a used bookstore I didn’t notice before.

“You guys!” I say, stopping dead in my tracks to point towards the store’s faded orange sign. “Look! Books! We have to go.”

Shal and Priya groan in unison.

“Every time this girl gets within a five kilometer radius of a bookstore, we have to go spend like two hours inside,” Shal says to Andrea.

“I’ll be fast!” I insist. “Come on. They usually have really pretty old editions at places like this. Maybe there’s some—”

Priya turns from where she’s already reached the van and puts her hands on her hips. “Please do not say William Butler Yeats. The hold that old dude has on you.”

I gasp to show my offence at one of my favourite poets ever being referred to as ‘that old dude’ and then march over to loop my arm through hers. She gives in after a few seconds of me tugging on her, and once Shal realizes resistance is futile, she and Andrea join us in a procession across the street.

A bell above the door tinkles once we reach the bookstore and step inside. The familiar scent of musty pages fills my nose, and the smile I haven’t been able to wipe off my face gets even bigger. A silver-haired woman behind the counter greets us before she goes back to putting price stickers on a pile of new arrivals.

We fan out to browse on our own. I trail my fingertip along the edges of the shelves I pass, tilting my head so I can read the titles on the books’ spines. I find the poetry section at the very back of the store. They do have a couple volumes of Yeats, but nothing that stands out enough to add to my already extensive collection.

I move onto the next section and squat down to get a better look at the lowest shelf when I notice a book with the title spelt out in rainbow letters. I look closer and realize there’s a whole—albeit tiny—section filled with queer-themed books, ranging from the history of Pride to something called Sizzling Sapphics with little flame designs edging the words.

“What did you find all the way down there?”

---