The Summer of Jordi Perez (And the Best Burger in Los Angeles)(11)

I laugh aloud. “That cannot be true.”

“You’re a girl and you date girls. You have all the girl knowledge someone could possess.”

“I’m a girl, sure,” I say. “And in some magical dreamland, maybe I’d date girls. But in this one, the one we’re actually living in? I just get crushes on celebrities and then one real girl who turned out to be straight. You should really, really not be taking any advice from me.”

“Which celebrities?” he asks. “Last week I had this really weird sex dream about—”

“No,” I say. “I do not need to know how that sentence ends.”

“But you’ll eat burgers with me?” he asks.

“I seriously don’t understand why you’re asking me.”

“Friends-in-law!” he says. “Seriously, doesn’t it bum you out sometimes? Last summer I totally would have gotten Trevor in on this. Now he’s tied up with Maliah sixty percent of the time and then the other forty he’s talking about eating right so he’s ready for next season.”

“I’m sure you have other friends,” I say.

“Yeah, and so do you, and you’re still here with me in your fruity shorts.”

He grins, and I realize he’s right. I could have made plans with Brooke or Zoe. And instead I’m here.

“C’mon,” he says. “Did I mention my dad’s company pays for everything?”

“You didn’t, and … fine.”

“You’ll do it?” He holds up his hand for a high-five. “Hell yeah.”

“I have an internship Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays,” I say. “So I can’t just eat burgers nonstop. Also, I’m not planning on having a heart attack at seventeen, so I really cannot eat burgers nonstop.”

“We’ll get it worked out.” He holds up his juice and tips the last of the bottle into his mouth. “We can start today. You in?”

I may have already hit my Jax limit today, but the only burger I can get at home is full of pins and eyeliner. It’s not hard to make the decision.

That’s the thing about Jax; somehow, he, a guy I barely know, already feels like a forgone conclusion.

We walk to the Morrison, even though Jax has his BMW. It seems ridiculous to me to drive less than a mile, especially in June when it’s still fairly cool out. L.A. might have the reputation for being summery year-round, but usually the heat is still ramping up when June rolls in. Clouds and light fog hug the city, especially early in the day, and this is so predictable that it has a name: June Gloom. It might not be cheery, but it’s good to take advantage before the brutal heat of August and onward envelops us.

“You should learn to drive,” Jax tells me as we walk inside. The Morrison is technically a sports bar, but since they serve food, you don’t have to be twenty-one to get in. “L.A. sucks without a car.”

“I do fine without a car,” I say. “Learning how to drive seems like more trouble than it’s worth. And not everyone’s parents will just buy them a BMW when they turn sixteen.”

“Oh, come on,” he says as we’re led to a booth and given menus. “Making fun of people with BMWs is more clichéd than actually driving one.”

Sadly, I think this is a good point. Also, my mom’s old Honda is sitting in the driveway. Rachel drove it in high school, and now it’s mine, if I want it. Since driving sounds terrifying, though, I don’t want it at all.

“Do you know this girl, Gaby Manzetti?” Jax asks while I’m reading through all my burger options. The Morrison’s menu is extensive. “I think you guys go to the same school.”

“She’s a junior,” I say.

“I’m the age of a junior,” he says. “I skipped a grade. So it’s okay.”

“It’d be okay anyway, it’s only a year,” I say. “And, wait. You? Skipped a grade?”

“Bam,” he says. “I’m smart.”

“Oh, god,” I say.

“Give me your phone,” he says. “I need to put the app on it.”

Against my better judgment, I hand it over. “So are you going out with Gaby?”

“Shit, I wish,” he says. “That’s why I’m glad you’re a girl expert.”

“I don’t know her personally,” I say as he taps on my phone. “I have no pull.”

“I’m not saying you do,” he says. “You’ll know stuff, though. Girl stuff. I’m sure of that.”

“Hmmm.” I take my phone back from him and investigate the newly installed app. “I’m not sure if that’s girl stuff to know,” I say. “Every girl is different.”

I say it with authority because I’m a girl and I have a bunch of friends who are girls. And yet there’s still part of me that feels like a phony expert. Maybe Jax can’t make headway with Gaby, but he’s obviously a guy who normally gets what he wants. I’m too much of a lost cause to even formulate what I want. It’s possible there is some fairly accepted standard for girls in the want division. Maybe there’s girl stuff to know after all.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Every girl’s different.”

“Don’t say that like it’s horrible.”