Leah on the Offbeat(33)

Why does it say virginity when I type virginity??????

I mean p-h-o-n-e

“Wait.” I stare Abby down. “Does this have something to do with you using Simon’s phone this morning?”

Abby shrugs, eyes wide. “I don’t know. Does it?”

Holy. Shit.

“You’re a fucking genius, Suso.”

My phone buzzes insistently. LEAH WHY IS THIS HAPPENING??? I swear this isn’t me, it’s my subconscious WHAT NO STOP, he adds. It’s my a-u-t-o-c-o-r-r-e-c-t We aim to please, Miss Steele HOW DO I FIX THIS

I burst out laughing. “I’m screenshotting this.”

Abby’s lips tug upward. “This is why you don’t lend your phone out on April Fools’ Day, Simon.”

Abby Suso. Who knew she was so evil?

I shake my head. “I’m legit so impressed right now.”

“Thank you.”

“Sent you a screenshot,” I say as we pull into Waffle House.

“YES.” She turns off the car and taps into her texts. “And . . . someone hacked his virginity. I’m dead.”

I rub my cheek, smiling. “I don’t even know how to respond to him.”

“Because it’s too perfect.”

“I want to frame these texts and put them in a museum.”

Abby smiles.

I smile back. It’s like my facial muscles have gone rogue. And now my heart’s banging around my rib cage like a drunk, blindfolded bird.

Yeah. I don’t know why I decided a road trip was reasonable, because I can’t even handle the Waffle House parking lot with this girl. I should have gotten a doctor’s exemption. To Whom It May Concern: In my professional opinion, Leah Catherine Burke should be barred from any and all prolonged interactions with Abigail Nicole Suso, whose middle name she has absolutely no reason to know, but knows anyway.

Of course I fucking know it.

I trail a few steps behind her in the parking lot, feeling foggy. Thank God this girl could converse with a rock, because my brain isn’t working. It just stopped out of nowhere, like a car stalled on the highway.

She’s searching for something on her phone. Abby gestures so much when she talks. Even now, even while actively Googling, she keeps waving her phone emphatically.

“Ah. Okay, here we go,” she says, tilting the screen toward me. “I’m so excited about these.” I think she’s talking about prom shoes.

I peer at the screen. “Are these jellies?” I ask finally.

She beams. “Yes!”

They’re the classiest jellies I’ve ever seen—crosshatched, clear ballet flats, infused with silver glitter. Kind of like what Cinderella would wear if she were a six-year-old sucking a rocket pop by the neighborhood pool.

“They’re really awesome,” I say.

“I hate wearing heels. I’m not doing it. I need to be able to dance.”

A waiter stops by and is instantly spellbound by Abby. Like, she smiles, and he’s done for. It’s kind of gross how fast that tends to happen. We both order waffles, but I’m 50 percent sure he’ll only bring hers. I guess I should be used to this.

The funny thing is, Abby doesn’t even seem to notice. She looks at me, mouth quirked at the corners. “So, you and Garrett . . .”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Why not?” Her eyes narrow. “He definitely likes you.”

God. What do I even say to that? Maybe he does like me. Maybe Garrett and I should be a thing. I’d probably like kissing him. And I like being wanted. I like being the crushee for once.

I mean, he’s sweet. He’s cute. And yes, he’s annoying, but he’s not a bad guy. I should like him. I want to like him.

I change the subject. “So, you and Nick.”

“Me and Nick.” She exhales. It comes out like a sigh.

I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. She just sits there. Then, a minute later, she smiles brightly and seems to snap back into herself. “Anyway, I’m excited for our trip.”

“I need to give you gas money.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. My parents want to cover that.”

“They don’t have to do that.”

“I’m telling you, they want to.”

My cheeks feel warm. “I should pay for something.”

I mean, I hate not being able to pay for my shit. I’m already getting a ride and a free place to stay. I should cover gas. I know how this works. Of course, I can’t actually afford to cover gas. Because I can’t make money without a job. And I can’t get a job around here without a car. Which is why I need a ride in the first place.

I hate money stuff. I hate it.

“You’re in charge of music,” Abby says. “Just make the most epic road trip playlist of all time.”

“Okay, but I was going to make the second most epic playlist.”

“I don’t want the second most epic. That’s not good enough, Leah.”

It’s like someone’s squeezing my heart, just a little. One tiny pinch. It’s the way she says my name. I’m Lee-uh. And maybe strangers call me Leia, like Star Wars. But when Abby says it, it falls halfway between.

It catches me off guard every single time.