Page 28 of Like You Know

He chose to ignore mine too. “I like it when you let your emotions show on your face, Amaya. It’s beautiful.”

The words hung between us among the musty secondhand clothing as we shared a loaded look. A look almost as intense as the one we’d shared on the beach that night—when I’d been convinced he felt the same way. When I went in for a kiss and he rejected me.

I forced myself to look away and started flicking hangers again, not really seeing any of the dresses whipping past.

Jet ducked down, shoved the clothing apart, and crouched through it so he was on my side of the rack. I couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up.

“Are you ready to go try our new personalities on?” He flashed me an easy grin, dimples popping, eyes sparkling.

I shrugged, grateful for the switch in mood. “Sure. Let’s do it.”

He moved past me toward the changing rooms.

As I passed the end of the rack, a swath of floral print caught my eye. I grabbed the dress without even looking at it properly and rushed to catch up with Jet.

We spent the next half hour trying on increasingly ridiculous combinations of the clothes we’d picked out, making sure to step out at the same time. We laughed and teased each other and made way too much noise for the two elderly ladies manning the register.

The best moment was when we both emerged dressed as old people, matching without even trying. I had a calf-length wool skirt on, paired with a crocheted cardigan, pearls, and a bag with a snap closure. Jet shuffled out from behind the curtain wearing pants three sizes too big and cinched so high with a belt they practically reached his armpits. He’d paired them with a tweed coat and fedora and came out leaning heavily on a cane.

When we saw each other, we collapsed into uncontrollable laughter before standing in the mirror side by side to admire our matching looks. He talked about his time in ’Nam. I offered to make sandwiches before we went to church. We linked arms like an old married couple and pretended to worry about our sixteen grandchildren and the state of youth these days.

We kept it light and fun, but just before we went back to change again, I caught his eye in the mirror and wondered if he was thinking the same thing—how easy and natural this felt. I hoped I’d find someone to grow old with one day. Someone who made me laugh and forget my worries as well as Jet did.

In the dressing room, I put my final item on—the dress I’d grabbed at the last second. It was a strappy sundress with big flowers all over it in shades of pink. It hit the floor even with my shoes on but fit OK otherwise. There was nothing particularly outrageous about it—just a floral-print dress. I wore dresses all the time. I wore pink too. But the particular style, the fact it was some no-name brand, the general vibe of it just wasn’t me. Did I wish it was me? I didn’t know, but I liked pretending I was the kind of girl who would wear this dress. The kind of girl who didn’t care about labels and felt as loose and free as the skirt swinging around my feet.

I took my hair out of the braid, letting it hang loose down my back, and stepped out.

Jet stepped out a moment later, and we silently took each other in. He’d chosen a preppy outfit—pleated shorts, a polo shirt, even a sweater over his shoulders with the arms looped together on his chest. The pastel blue of the shirt contrasted with his near-black eyes. It gave him a dark edge, despite the baby face. The look suited him. I could totally picture him on a sailboat with a Rolex on his wrist. But then, Jet looked good in everything.

“I love it when you let your hair out,” he said, stepping closer. He stuffed one hand into his pocket and grabbed a strand of my hair with the other, fiddling with it gently.

“Oh, thanks, I ...” I was about to tell him it needed a wash and was all frizzy from the braid and helmet, that I usually wouldn’t be caught dead with my hair looking like this. But then I remembered the game we were playing and forced all that down. The girl who wore no-name-brand floral dresses with sneakers didn’t care that deeply about her hair. “Thank you.”

I left it at that and ducked my head to hide my smile. Apparently floral dress girl was also fucking coy.

“You look great too.” I smoothed out the collar of his shirt. “The old-money, Ivy League look suits you.”

He shrugged, letting go of my hair. “I’m not going to be in your world very long, but when in Rome and all that ...”

With a grin, he spun on the spot, leaving one hand in his pocket. Of course his ass looked good in a smelly pair of secondhand shorts.

We kept the outfits on as we went to the counter and paid for them. As I laid out the handful of other items I’d decided to buy, I wondered about Jet’s choice of words, his choice of outfit. He wasn’t going to be in my world for very long. He was on scholarship and would only be at Fulton for one more year, but did hewantto be in my world? Was he referring to the bubble of privilege I’d grown up in, or was he talking about being inmybubble specifically?

“You hungry?” He pulled me out of my thoughts as we exited the store, an ugly plastic bag stuffed with clothes hanging over my arm. “There’s a pizza place at the end of the strip mall there. Or we can drive to someplace else?”

“Pizza sounds good.” I took off up the street, not quite ready to be so close to him on the bike after the confusing thoughts I’d just been thinking.

We got a giant slice and a soda each and took them to a picnic table in a grassy area behind the row of stores. We ate in comfortable silence, then joked about some of the more horrible clothes we’d tried on. The hum of traffic in the background mingled with birdsong, and the air was warm. Summer was just around the corner, and I leaned back on my hands, enjoying the easy moment.

It didn’t last long. Jet’s attempts at distraction were valiant, but I couldn’t force the complicated thoughts from my mind in every in-between moment of stillness. I could feel him watching me, but he stayed true to his word and didn’t try to make me talk.

For the first time since we’d met, I offered up the information. “My mom’s new boyfriend is moving into my house. I came home from school to a van in the driveway and moving boxes everywhere.”

Jet rested his elbows on his knees, his legs propped up on the bench seat. “You don’t like him? Do you not feel safe with him around?”

“It’s not that.” I shook my head. “He doesn’t give me the creeps at all, actually, unlike most of Mom’s previous men. Not like that anyway.”

“Abuse can look like a lot of different things.”

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