Page 52 of Another Day (Every Day 2)
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “My grandmother is an amazing lady, and you’re not too bad yourself.”
“Don’t give your mom a hard time,” I tell him.
He raises his fingers in a salute. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he leans over and kisses me good night. I’m surprised, and he can tell I’m surprised.
“Night, ma’am,” he says. Then he disappears inside.
—
I email A when I get back to my house.
A,
Sorry I couldn’t make it to Annapolis—there were some things I had to do.
Maybe tomorrow?
R
Chapter Twelve
It’s Sunday. Justin won’t be up for a while. We haven’t made plans. My parents won’t leave the house.
I’m free.
I tell my mom I have errands to run, then email A and ask if he wants to be one of my errands.
Yes, he writes back. A million times yes.
—
I am just going to do this, I tell myself as I make all the arrangements, as I come up with plans.
I am not going to think about it.
I am not going to think about what it means.
I am just going to do it, and be with A, and see what it means as it happens.
—
A’s told me he (she?) is a girl named Ashley today. I’ve gotten directions to her house. I know she’ll be waiting when I pull up.
I guess I’m picturing the girl A was when I first met her (him?). Pretty, but not overwhelmingly so. Someone I could be friends with. Someone I could be.
But holy shit, not this girl.
She comes out of the house and I’m like, What kind of music video am I living in? Because this girl is smoking hot. She looks like she should travel with backup singers. And photographers. And three stylists. And a small dog. And Jay-Z.
This is the kind of girl you never see in real life. You can almost pretend girls like this don’t really exist. They’re computer-generated by fashion magazines to make you feel lame.
Only this girl is real.
And I know I shouldn’t care—this isn’t a contest. But really? I already feel fat, and she isn’t even at the car yet.
The one thing she doesn’t have is a walk. A girl like this should have a walk. But I guess that’s A inside. Stomping when he should sashay.
When she gets in the car and I see her up close, I have to laugh. Even her skin is perfect. All I’m asking for is a simple fucking pimple.
