Page 32 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

I glance at Daisy. I like her. She and I could be friends.

I think about Booker. I like him too. He and I are... already friends?

I think about the cooking class. The promise of theatre. The room I’m staying in.Myroom I’m staying in. In my summer cottage.

And I’m filled with an emotion I haven’t felt in ages.

Excitement.

Chapter 9

After frozen pizza (courtesy of Daisy) and the best night of sleep I’ve had in maybe my entire adult life, I wake up Friday morning to the sound of my housemate singing “Firework” loudly and off-key in the shower. It makes me smile.

I glance at my phone and see new texts in my chat with my friends.

Maya:You got a love match yesterday, Ro!

Marnie:How do you know that?

Maya:I’m logged in to her account.

Taylor:Maya! That’s a violation of her privacy.

Maya:There are no secrets among friends.

And he’s kind of cute, Rosie. He could be your soulmate.

I read over the conversation and smile, loving that they’re in my business again.

Rosie:I don’t believe in soulmates.

And stop reading my messages, creeper!

I freeze at the sound of a knock on the door and then a mix of voices in the living room. After a few seconds, Daisy calls out, “Rosie! Booker’s here for you!”

I sit up like a shot and catch an unfortunate glimpse of myself in the mirror above the small vanity on the opposite wall. My red hair is snarled, and my pale face could really benefit from some bronzer.

My door opens, and I instinctively gasp and pull the covers up to my neck, relieved to see Daisy, not Booker, looking at me.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re up,” she says. “Booker’s here for you.”

“Yep!” I say. “Just give me a few minutes.”

She grins. “You got it!”

I dash down the hall to the bathroom, carrying an armload of clothes, and hurry to make myself presentable.

When I emerge from the bathroom seven minutes later, I find Booker and Daisy in the kitchen.

I walk into the room, and they both stop talking.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say.

And then... a five-second pause.

“He-ey,” Daisy says, her eyes widening, as if to acknowledge the awkward tension in the room. “Here.” She thrusts a to-go cup of coffee at me. “I assume you drink coffee.” She nods to the fridge. “Creamer’s in there.”

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