Page 8 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

Mom: Okay. I’m working late with a new vendor, but I should be home in an hour.

There, that makes sense. He’s a new vendor. They’re working late and she wanted a cup of coffee. It’s a completely reasonable explanation, so why can’t I shake the unease in my gut?

HARLOW

“How much longer are you going to be?” Noah questions as I click and drag photos of the cheerleading team around on the computer screen.

“I really want to get through this next page of layouts.”

The deadline to have everything submitted for the newspaper is quickly approaching, so the staff has been staying after school more than usual to get it wrapped up.

“If you’re that impatient, just download the album,” I tell him. Noah’s favorite band just released a new album and it’s all he can talk about. I agreed to go with him to the record store after school so he can buy it, but I need to finish up my work first.

He scoffs. “Digital downloads have ruined the whole experience. Vinyl has been, and always will be, the best way to listen to music.”

“Vinyl is for old people.”

“Clearly, you’ve never listened to your favorite bands on vinyl, because you wouldn’t be saying that if you had.”

“You’re wrong”—I click the save button and look over at him—“the best way to experience music is live, not listening to some scratchy record.”

He shakes his head. “You disappoint me, you know?”

I shoot him a plastic smile as I continue to work.

“Low, were you in charge of the student council banquet?” Annie, the newspaper editor, asks from across the room.

“No. I think that was Theo.”

After dropping the team lacrosse photo into place, I go back to my camera file and start weeding through the pictures. I select a few and drag them around the page, trying to decide exactly how I want the layout.

“Those guys are douches,” Noah mutters, and I agree with a nod.

It’s been a couple of weeks since we met, and it’s turned out that he’s a pretty cool guy, even though he borders on the edge of weird, but that’s what makes him interesting. He’s nothing like most of the boys at school, which is refreshing.

His phone chimes, and he reads the text. “That’s my mom. She wants to know if you’re staying for dinner tonight.”

I met his parents last week when he invited me over to hang out. His mom is nothing like mine. When we walked through the front door, she was baking cookies for a fundraiser for his little sister’s school. When I was in elementary school, I was always the one who showed up with store-bought sweets. My mother wouldn’t even bother to take them out of the plastic containers to try to make them look like they were homemade.

Maybe that’s the difference between a working mom and a stay-at-home mom.

“What’s she making?”

“Lasagna.”

After another click on the keyboard, I tell him, “I’m in.”

“Can we go now?”

“Yes,” I sigh, stretching out the word.

I save my files and email them to Annie before disconnecting my camera and packing it into its case. School got out around an hour ago, so the halls are empty as we make our way through the building. When we push through the double doors that lead to the parking lot, a few guys from the lacrosse team are lingering around. They must have just finished with practice.

I keep my head down as one of them calls out, “Looking hot, Cricket,” right before something pelts my shoulder. I look down at the pacifier that lands on the ground next to my feet while they all laugh at me.

I cringe. Sometimes I wish I were invisible.

“You’re an asshole,” Noah shouts, which only makes them laugh louder.

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