Page 87 of Crazy In Love
“Hey,” Cliff exclaims. “I didn’t even do anything!”
ROUND TWENTY-THREE
FOX
I work the register at Alana’s bookstore and hear the jingle of the bell above the door. I paste on my polite ‘hello, old person, welcome to our establishment’ smile, and consider removing the free cookie platter from above the pastry fridge—not, like,allthe cookies.
Just most of them, to minimize loitering time.
But glancing across, I’m met with a face far friendlier than any of the others I was expecting.
Raya bounces through the door, sans-apron, and beams when our eyes meet. She wears a dozen neon butterfly clips in her hair, the kind the eighties and nineties babies rocked for a solid decade and a half, and shiny black boots with three-inch soles and silver buckles along the side.
She’s a statement wherever she goes. Fashionable and unapologetically her, even if those who surround her don’t share the same ideas.
“Well, hey there.” I close the register and settle in for a visit, resting my hip against the counter and folding my arms. “I was wondering if you’d ever come visit me.”
“I see you every second morning!”
“Yeah, but at the bakery.” I slow my words, teasing the girl who could probably out-brain me any day of the week. “I wasn’t even sure that you had hips before, since they’re always hidden behind an apron.”
Blushing, she brushes her hands over the front of her shirt and down to her belt. “Yeah. I’m surprised my parents even let me leave the house, to be honest. Showing an inch of my belly is totally uncool.”
“You look great. Classy and badassy.”
“Chris came in and ordered that cake.”
“Oh. I know.” I snicker. “He told me so. In fact, he gave me the receipt to prove it. I think he was scared I’d hurt him if he didn’t. Are you coming to the party?”
“For sure.” She sets her hands on the counter, dozens of metal bangles jingling together. “I think the First Family is coming at this point. You’ve put the whole town on notice:turn up or die.”
“Fear can be a great motivational tool sometimes. Never underestimate the power of a woman with a little notebook and a borrowed pen.” From smiles to a frown, my mood sours. “I still can’t find mine. It’s sending me insane.”
“Can’t find your what? Your pen?”
“I swear it was in my bag on the plane. I don’t remember seeing it since then.”
“Er… okay. Was it a special pen? A gift or something?”
“No. It was just a regular pen.” I pick up the pen I’ve been using all day. “Exactly like this one. They come in twenty-packs. Five bucks a pack.”
“So just grab another from the pack,” she snickers. “It’s just a pen.”
I slam my hand back to the counter and faux-snarl. “Listen, girly. Don’t come to my place of work and judge me for my unhealthy obsession with a truly unremarkable pen. You don’t see me standing in line at the bakery calling you out on things.”
“You mean like how you asked—as in, shouted—yesterday morning, in front of a dozen other customers, if I’d pulled the Fashion Institute application forms off the school website yet?”
“What?” I fold one arm across my belly and draw the opposite hand up to my lip. “I was just helping a girlfriend out, is all. That’s a good school, so you gotta be prepared. Get ahead of the pack. Thelastthing you wanna do is become complacent and stay in a small town you don’t like, working a job you don’t want, simply because it’s easy. Get out.” I gesture toward the door. “See the world.”
“See New York,” she snorts. “I won’t become complacent, I promise. Nothing will keep me here.”
“Good. I’m proud of you.” My stomach grumbles, the four o’clock sugar cravings hitting right on schedule, so I drop my hands and stride to the pastry fridge. Snagging the plate of cookies, I bring them back and place them on the counter between us. “What’s the goss, anyway? What’s happening over at Plainview High?”
She selects a cookie and brings dancing eyes up to mine. “You sound like a regular local already.”
“Yeah, but the locals gossip about dumb things.”
“As opposed to… high school drama?”
