The Nowhere Girls(74)

Rosina suddenly realizes they’ve been holding hands this whole time, and looks down to see the entwined lattice of their fingers. She thinks this is where she’d normally say something sarcastic, something to diffuse the intensity of the moment, to make Melissa think she doesn’t care, to make her think she’s not quickly turning to jelly, starting where her fingertips rest soft in the palm of Melissa’s hand, up her arm, her chest, her heart, aching a beautiful ache that could turn ugly at any moment. The yearning is so close to pain. It could turn into a monster, a great clawed thing, and jump out of Rosina’s chest, so desperate to hold every piece of this beautiful girl only inches away.

But Rosina stays silent. She lets the moment last. But she does not look up, cannot look Melissa in the eyes, cannot let her see the blinking neon in her own eyes that will tell her everything Rosina’s too scared to let her know.

But then a soft touch on Rosina’s chin, a gentle lifting. And then two eyes bright with the same yearning, two lips soft and open, and suddenly the world is too beautiful for Rosina to feel scared.





GRACE.


Grace wonders if this is kind of what it feels like to be on a date—nervous and excited, hopeful but slightly wary of the night not living up to her expectations. As she and her mom drive to dinner, thoughts of Jesse Camp creep into her head, how easy and pleasant it was to talk to him that first time at church, then the strangely overblown feeling when she saw him sitting with Ennis Calhoun at lunch, as if he had personally betrayed her, how both feelings tug inside her every time she sees him. Grace wonders how it would feel to go on a date with him, if it was Jesse in the passenger’s seat instead of her mom.

“So your friend’s family owns this restaurant we’re going to?” Mom says.

“Rosina’s mom is the head chef,” Grace says. “And Rosina’s working tonight, so you get to meet her.”

“Oh, good!” Mom says, and she seems genuinely excited. “I can’t wait to meet one of your new friends. And I’ve heard great things about this place.”

She makes it sound so normal, Grace thinks. One of your new friends. As if it isn’t a miracle.

Rosina spots them as soon as they set foot in the restaurant. “Gracie!” she calls as she runs over to give her a hug.

“Gracie?” Grace says. A hug? Something’s wrong with Rosina.

“Is this your mom?”

“Hi, Rosina,” Mom says. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“So nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Salter,” Rosina says, shaking her hand. “Or should I call you Pastor Salter?”

“You can call me Robin,” she laughs.

“Where do you guys want to sit?” Rosina asks. “The booths are comfy.”

“A booth would be perfect,” Mom says.

As Rosina leads them to their table, she whispers to Grace, “Guess who just came over to my house after school?”

“Melissa?”

“Yes!”

“You’re like seriously swooning.”

“I know!”

“It’s kind of disturbing how happy you are.”

“My mom’s been yelling at me all night and I totally don’t care!”

Rosina seats them and takes their drink orders, then dances away.

“She’s sweet,” Mom says.

Grace can’t help but laugh at that description. “She’s usually a lot grumpier. But I think she’s in love.”

“How nice,” Mom says. “What about you, Gracie? Anyone catch your eye?”

“Ugh,” Grace says. “No.” But maybe she’s lying just a little.

“It’s okay to date, you know,” Mom says. “I know the culture back in Adeline was a little backward about stuff like that. But I want you to know it’s okay with your dad and me. As long as he treats you right.”

“Noted,” Grace says, racking her brain to find something to say to change the subject.

“Or . . . she?” Mom says.

“He, Mom,” Grace says. “But thanks.”

“Honey,” Mom says. “Is there anything you want to know? About dating? About . . . being intimate? We can talk about these things, you know.”

“No,” Grace says. “Thanks. I’m okay.” What she really wants to say is how do you expect me to talk about that stuff when we haven’t really talked about anything lately?

Rosina returns with a tray of chips and waters in one hand, her other hand tugging the sleeve of a woman behind her who must be her mother. Rosina’s mom is half a foot shorter than Rosina and much plumper around the middle, her black hair up in a tight hairnet-covered bun, her face a mix of hesitance and surprise as Rosina drags her across the restaurant floor.

“This is my mom,” Rosina announces. “Maria Suarez.”

Rosina’s mother wipes her hands on her apron and smiles shyly. “I’m happy to meet you,” she says with a girlish voice. This is the evil tyrant Rosina is always complaining about?

“Hi, Mrs. Suarez,” Grace says. “I’m Grace. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Grace.” She smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” She seems to genuinely mean it.

“I’m Grace’s mom, Robin,” Mom says, extending her hand for a shake.