Page 42 of Accidentally Amy

“I think so,” I said, looking at her. “Why? Is that bad?”

She nodded. “Ricotta is lumpy and disgusting, like curdled milk mixed with cottage cheese. But you enjoy, buddy.”

“Oh, I will,” I said, thinking of her Pop-Tart—and empty fridge—and wondering if she was a picky eater.

But as I looked at her—as she looked up at me, wearing a shitty little grin—it held for just a moment too long. Something passed between us, a memory or an awareness, before she cleared her throat and turned her attention to the menu.

Said, “Do they have good spaghetti?”

Spaghetti? What’s a spaghetti?

I just stared at her profile, my brain slow to move on and comprehend her words. “No one knows the answer to that question, because who would be stupid enough to order spaghetti from a food truck?”

“I would,” she said, still looking at the menu. “I love spaghetti.”

“But you can’t walk and eat it at the same time, dipshit.”

Thatmade her look, and then her grin was back. “Now I have to—challenge accepted—which will be a colossal mistake for which I’ll blame you all day. Every time someone looks at the blob of marinara on my shirt, I shall curse your name.”

“I thought that was a dress,” I said, and the look she gave me—forehead crinkle—made it clear that she was just as shocked by my asinine hyperawareness of her attire as I was.What the fuck was that?

“Yeah, um,” she said, raising a hand to push her hair behind her ear, “it’s a skirt and top.”

“Ah,” I muttered as I stepped up to the window, needing an escape from that moment of idiocy. I lowered my voice and ordered. “Could I please get the spaghetti?”

I heard her quiet laugh, and then she stepped beside me and said to the second cashier, “I would like the spaghetti, and can I also get a slice of cheese pizza and a piece of garlic bread, please?”

I opened my mouth to comment, when Izzy whipped her head toward me, pointed a finger, and said, “Don’t say a word—I’m hungry, okay?”

I didn’t know why, but I couldn’tnotsmile. I looked at the freckles on her nose and said, “What would I even say, Iz?”

Izzy

“So let me get this straight,” Blake said, his face relaxed behind dark sunglasses as he walked beside me. He was looking straight ahead, his hands in the pockets of his perfectly pressed suit pants. “The house that you accidentally ‘forked,’ which I can’t even believe is a thing, was being watched by the FBI.”

“Yep.” I took a sip of my soda as we walked back to work. “Forked the wrong house, which turned out to be the residence of some questionable members of a satanic cult. So not only did we get picked up by the feds, but we were questioned at the station and also got MIPs because we had a bottle of vodka in the trunk.”

“Wow.” He looked at me then, and even though his eyes were covered, I knew they were squinting, because his dimples were out. “Your high school experience wasverydifferent from mine.”

“When there’s nothing to do, you make things happen, Phillips.” I saw the Ellis building at the end of the block, and I was bummed it was time to go back. Even though Blake was my polar opposite and the kind of guy (hot, successful) who usually made me nervous, I felt totally comfortable around him.

I hadfunwith him because I was able to relax and be my uncool self.

“I forgot to ask,” he said, glancing over at me as we walked around a woman and her French bulldog who was sitting on thesidewalk with zero intention of moving. “Did you get your car back?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “In order to get it out of jail, I have to take the title to the impound lotandpay a few hundred bucks.”

“Oof,” he said.

“Oof, indeed,” I replied. “Because after that, I get to have it towed to a mechanic, who will probably tell me it’s going to cost a fortune to fix.”

“No idea what’s wrong with it?” he asked.

“None,” I said, looking down at the scarred sidewalk as I tried not to think about how little money I actually had in my bank account at the moment. “But I didn’t hate taking the bus today, so perhaps this is a chance to reexamine my vehicular needs.”

“Yeah, but how far is the bus stop from your apartment?”

“Only a few blocks.”

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