Leah on the Offbeat(5)
“And I just have this sinking feeling it’s all going to fall apart, now that we finally have the orchestra and the sets. Like, sorry, but the sets should have been done a week ago.”
Nora gives Simon the stink-eye. “Maybe they would be, if anyone actually worked on them other than Cal and me.”
“Burn,” says Garrett.
“But at the end of the day,” says Taylor, “the sets don’t even matter. It’s all about the acting.”
Nora sighs, smiling tightly.
We linger over our plates for a bit, and then the waitress brings us all separate checks. Pretty awesome of her. I hate combined checks, because someone always wants to split the bill evenly—and I don’t want to be a jerk, but there’s a reason I didn’t order that twenty-dollar sandwich. We take turns walking up to the cashier to pay, and then we stack our tips in a pile on the table. And of course, Garrett, who ordered scattered, smothered, and covered waffles with sausage and hash browns, leaves literally a dollar. I don’t get that. Leave a fucking real tip. I throw an extra couple of dollars down myself to make up for it.
“Pretty big tip for a Coke,” Abby says, and I bite back a smile. The others are making their way to the door, but she hangs back, buttoning her peacoat.
“My mom used to be a waitress.”
“Well, it’s just really nice of you.”
I shrug and smile, but my lips feel stretchy. I’m always weird around Abby. I guess I just have issues with her. For one thing, I can’t stand people who are that pretty. She’s got these Disney eyes and dark brown skin and wavy dark hair and actual cheekbones. And she has the opposite of a resting bitch face. Basically, Abby is human candy corn. She’s fine in small doses—but too much, and you’ll puke from the sweetness.
She gives me this half smile, and we both step outside. Taylor and her ball sack are gone, and Garrett’s already left for a piano lesson. Everyone else is just standing around. Simon and Bram are holding hands, sort of, but only the tips of their fingers are laced together. Which is about as hot as it gets for the two of them in public.
Nick, on the other hand, wraps his arms around Abby, like he has to make up for the hour spent on opposite sides of a booth. Typical. So, I guess we’re doing the whole lovesick-couples-in-front-of-Waffle-House thing. Maybe Nora and I should make out now, just to stay relevant.
But Abby disentangles from Nick and walks toward me.
“That’s really beautiful,” she says, pointing at my phone case. It’s actually one of my manga sketches—Anna surprised me with it for my birthday this year. “You drew that, right?”
“Yeah.” I swallow. “Thanks, Abby.”
Her eyes widen, just barely, like I threw her off somehow just by saying her name. I guess we don’t talk a lot. Not outside of group stuff. Not anymore.
She blinks and then nods. “So, hey. The University of Georgia.”
“Is a school.”
“Yes.” She laughs—and suddenly, she’s all doe eyes and hesitation. “I kind of wanted to ask you—”
A horn honks, and we both look up. I recognize Abby’s car—or Abby’s mom’s car, I guess, but today, the driver is a boy with the most gorgeous cheekbones I’ve ever seen—wide eyes, brown skin, maybe early twenties.
“Oh my God, my brother’s home! He wasn’t supposed to get in until tonight.” Abby grins, touching my arm briefly. “Okay, hold that thought. We’ll touch base tomorrow.”
A moment later, she’s kissing Nick good-bye. I look away quickly, squinting up at the sun.
3
I TEXT MOM, WHO SAYS she’ll pick me up at Waffle House on her way home. Soon, everyone’s gone but Bram, who scoots in beside me on the curb.
I smile at him. “You don’t have to wait with me.”
“Oh, I’m not. My dad’s in town, so he’s picking me up.”
Bram’s parents are divorced, which I find weirdly comforting. I don’t mean that in a bitchy way. I don’t want Bram to have a shitty home life or anything. It’s just that most of my friends have these storybook-perfect families. Sitcom families—married parents in giant houses, with framed family portraits lining the staircases. I guess it’s nice not being the only one missing that.
“Just for a visit?”
Bram nods. “He and my stepmom came up for the week with Caleb. We’re getting ice cream after this.”
“I can’t believe Caleb’s big enough for ice cream. Wasn’t he just born?”
“I know, right? He’ll be one in June.”
“Unreal.”
Bram smiles. “Want to see him? He’s my lock screen.”
He hands me his phone, and I tap the screen on. “Okay, this is too adorable.”
It’s a selfie of Bram and Caleb, smiling with their faces smooshed together, and it’s the cutest photo ever taken. Bram’s dad is white, and I guess his stepmom must be, too, because Caleb’s the palest little white baby I’ve ever seen. Somehow, it surprises me every time I see a picture of him. He’s totally bald, too, with giant brown eyes. But it’s funny, because Bram and Caleb look weirdly alike. Even though Bram’s skin is brown and he has hair and doesn’t drool. It’s kind of wild.