Page 111 of With a Little Luck

“Ow,” I say, jerking back.

Ari gapes. “Oh! I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” I say, looking at the four little indents at the base of my thumb where the fork got me. I clear my throat and drop my hands into my lap, squeezing them tight.

Carlos appears with a tray of Shirley Temples balanced on his palm. “Here we are,” he says, setting down the four pink, sparkling drinks. “And extra cherries for the two of you.” He slides our drinks to me and Ari, and we thank him.

Normally when we get Shirley Temples, Ari takes the cherries from my drink without even asking, because we both know I’m going to give them to her anyway. But this time it seems imperative that she knows Iwanther to have them, not that I’m just letting her get away with something for the sake of tradition. “Here,” I say, plucking out the little toothpick279speared through three red cherries. I go to drop them into Ari’s drink, but one of them slides off the tip of the toothpick and drops, bouncing off the rim of the glass and into Ari’s lap.

“Ack, sorry.” I reach for the cherry as Ari bends over to see where it went.

Our foreheads collide.

“Oh!” Ari backs up, rubbing her brow.

I’m cringing. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Letting the cherry go, wherever it landed on the floor, Ari sits up, laughing. “We’re clumsy today.”

“Evidently,” I mutter.

Ari’s grin starts to fade. “Is something going on?”

“No. Why? What do you mean?”

“You just seem …” She hesitates. “I don’t know. Nervous, or something.”

“Do I?” I say, intending to lie and insist I’m not nervous at all. Nothing to see here, folks. But then I think,If ever there was a perfect opening, this is it. “I mean. I guess I am. Maybe. A little.”

She turns toward me, giving her full attention, her expression open and patient and completely oblivious to the fact that she isnotmaking this easier. “What is it?”

“Um. So.” My saliva turns thick and sticky in my mouth, and I can’t look at her for more than a second at a time. Despite how many times this week I’ve thought about what I might say to her when this moment came, my thoughts are barren now, like I’ve never strung a full sentence together in my life. “Weird story. Well—I mean, not so weird. But maybe a little weird?”

Ari frowns, waiting.

All right, Jude. It’s like peeling off a Band-Aid, right? Just—get it over with. Put it out there. The more you prolong it, the more painful it will be.

I force myself to look at her.

“It’s just that … Ari, I really like—”280

The bar explodes around us.

Not, like, a literal explosion. Just—excited, over-the-top hollering from every direction.

Ari and I both jump and look around. People are standing up, yelling at the television, where men in basketball jerseys are storming onto the court, surrounding one of the players, screaming and jumping up and down.

“Guess they won,” says Ari.

“Guess so.” I pause, before adding, “It’s the first game of the playoffs.”

“Oh.” She turns back to me. “What were you saying?”

I scratch the back of my neck and consider beating a hasty retreat. But no. I’m here. I’ve come all this way. “Right. So … I was saying. We’ve been friends for a long time, right? Which is … great. You’re great. And … and I …”

I might hyperventilate.

Ari leans closer, looking concerned. “Jude, you’re kind of scaring me. What is it?”

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