Page 31 of The Sweet Spot

We go on to other things, but the mood’s been tainted. Logan’s been my best friend since we were kids, but he can be selfish and entitled, unwilling to concede. I learned a long time ago to choose my battles, and when it comes to him and his ways with women? I have no dog in that fight.

Afterward, when we’re standing on the sidewalk outside, huddled in jackets against the sharp, winter wind, he hands me my keys. “You coming back tonight?”

I shake my head. I’ve been staying at the Walnut Creek house since I got back from Brazil. “Mãe and Dominic are having Nico, Phoebe, and the kids over for dinner so I’m gonna stay up there one more night. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Living the good life, huh?” He pats his belly. “Bring your boy back a plate.”

“Done deal.” We do our secret handshake, a silly but timeless relic from our teen years.

Logan laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges, and something in me warms.Thisis the kid I grew up with.

Sliding my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I head in the opposite direction, toward the side street I parked on. Berkeley’s sea of diversity, funky stores and familiar murals feel like home, and I slow down some, enjoying the vibe.

Remembering a rare vinyl Nico mentioned wanting for Christmas, I duck into Rasputin. He’s a hipster of the worst kind, but I love him, and if his precious record even exists, this place will have it. Logan and I used to come on the weekends back in the day, taking BART to the station on Shattuck and then riding our skateboards through the streets.

Smiling at the memory, I wander over to the appropriate bins and start flipping through them. It takes nearly twenty minutes, but I find it. Cheering inwardly, I pull the record out and examine the playlist on the back, wanting to make sure it’s what Nico talked about.

A husky, feminine giggle floats above the Led Zeppelin playing throughout the store, and I pause, looking up. I could be crazy, but it sounded like Wren. She laughs again and I look around, trying to match it to one of the people wandering about the store.

“Luca Cardoso, as I live and breathe. I heard you were back.”

Another familiar voice, but a different one. Turning around, I come face to face with Brooke Henley. This isn’t so shocking—she’s from around here, if I remember correctly. “Brooke, hey.”

She smiles coyly, reaching up to pull me into a light hug. Her expensive perfume is just as heady as it’s always been. “Hey, yourself. What’re you doing in Berkeley?” Her eyes run over the records I was just searching through.

“Just had lunch with a friend. You remember Logan, right?”

She nods. “I think so.”

“Anyway, I’m doing a little Christmas shopping now.” I hold the record up. “I was close by, so I figured I might as well.”

“Nice! I did all my ordering online this year. Less hassle.” Brooke tilts her head. “Are you sticking around or heading back to Santa Cruz? My friend’s throwing a chill little party later on. You should come.”

I’m still tired from my travels and the rigorous semester that preceded them, but her expectant smile has me considering. “I’m actually staying with my family out in Walnut Creek tonight, but I’ll think about it.”

Brooke tosses her hair back, keeping her eyes locked on mine. “Well, let me know. I’ll text you the address.” She’s sending some pretty strong signals today, making me wonder if she’s one of those girls who enjoys chasing more than being chased.

“Will do. Good to see you, Brooke.”

She tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “You too.”

I don’t watch her go, instead heading over to the cashier to pay for Nico’s record.

My feelings toward Brooke have shifted since last summer. We were supposed to hang out the night before I left but she and her friends never showed. I found out later they went to a house party a few blocks away instead. Matty had once called her a player, and while I wouldn’t go that far, I know I’m not the only guy she’s interested in. Which is cool; she’s not the only girl I’m into, either.

But a low-key party sounds fun. I shoot Logan, Matty and Kellan a group text before I can overthink things. Why not? Jetlag or not, I could use a night out.

Wren

“Just one more stop and then we can go home.” Janya Mangal aims her fob at the trunk of her car, popping it open so she can toss her bags in.

I’m a little more careful with my new-to-me vintage concert posters. Cradling them to my body, I slide into the backseat.

“I can’t believe you actually found those,” Saira says. “That was nothing short of luck.”

“I know!” I sigh happily, gazing out the window as Janya pulls onto the street. I’ve collected artsy concert posters since middle school, but Mom’s the one who really loves them. She’ll freak when she sees the Fleetwood Mac Tusk Tour poster, circa ’79. “Thanks for taking us, Janya.”

I’m spending the weekend with Saira and we’re staying in her sister’s Berkeley apartment. Unbeknownst to Mr. and Mrs. Mangal, Janya basically lives with her boyfriend, Justin in his apartment. He’s the boy Janya fell for Encinitas, the one we figured she’d cycle through and forgetabout in a few weeks.

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