The Summer of Jordi Perez (And the Best Burger in Los Angeles)(21)

“You don’t know my mom.” He polishes off his last bite of burger. “So what’s your next move with Jordi?”

“Why are you always asking me that?” The Thousand Island dressing on the burger has seeped through enough of the bun that I give up on holding it and surrender to the fork and knife.

“Because you need a next move.”

“I doubt that I do,” I say. “It all feels … I don’t know how it feels. Like it’s hopeful but also crazy and impossible. It’s like you told me I could fly.”

“Man,” he says. “Your self-esteem …” He mimes a plane with his hand and then makes the hand-plane crash.

“I’m just realistic,” I say. “Why do people treat realism as pessimism?”

“You’re fucking cute,” he says. “You know that. You wouldn’t wear all your weird fruity clothes if you didn’t think that.”

“It’s two separate things,” I say. Isn’t it? “Also, it’s just a weird coincidence you saw my lemon shorts and this pineapple shirt.”

“It’s not a weird coincidence you own all of it,” he says. “So what happens if you like some hot girl? The worst possibility?”

A vision of Lyndsey flashes in my head. Lyndsey hand-in-hand with Blake. Lyndsey’s Facebook status in a relationship. And I do my best to relay all of this to Jax, even as he’s also tapping at the Biggest Blank app at the moment. I prefer to get fully through the meal before giving my feedback, but that’s hardly the biggest difference between Jax and me.

“Wait.” Jax stops messing with his phone and stares at me. “Your biggest fear is they might hook up with someone else instead? That’s basically nothing.”

“It feels awful,” I say.

“Lots of shit feels awful,” he says. “Life feels awful.”

“Uh huh.” I take the last sip of my soda. “It must be awful for you. In your big house and your car and as many girls as you want.”

“One, my house isn’t that big,” he says. “Ya know my parents are divorced, right? The big house is up in San Francisco, along with my dad. Two, not the girl I actually want. Three, okay, fine, my car’s awesome.”

“Your life’s basically perfect,” I say. “I’m sure your parents aren’t humiliated at the mere thought of your existence.”

Jax’s jaw tenses. “You’d be surprised. You done? You input your rating yet?”

“Give me a second. Aren’t we supposed to take this seriously?” I scan the menu board to check the price. We’re supposed to rate the value, but it’s been tough adequately judging that with Jax paying for everything. A free burger always seems like an excellent value.

“Do you think we’ll be sick of burgers by the time the summer’s over?” I ask once Jax has paid and we’re on our way outside.

“Nah. How do you get sick of burgers? They’re perfection.” He unlocks the BMW. “So how’d you know you were gay?”

“How’d you know you weren’t? It was probably the same way.”

He laughs as we get into his car. “Touché.”



My phone dings with a text that night, and I hope it’s Maliah even though I know she’s out with Trevor, but I assume it’s Jax because that’s way more likely these days. However, the name on my phone isn’t one I’ve seen recently, and I smile before I even read the contents of the message.

I heard about Mom’s book. Therefore I assume she’s more annoying than usual. Sorry!

I type back as quickly as I can. My last three messages went unreplied—and the texts before that were too brief to even count—but Rachel must be still holding her phone at this very moment, so I reply immediately. I don’t understand how a book is a bigger deal than TV??

The little dots appear to show that Rachel’s typing, and I feel something loosen in my chest.

Local TV and low-rated Food Channel stuff … this is a bigger deal, she responds. This is a whole book of Norah. Just imagine that.

The dots show up again. And then: Sorry I’ve been out of touch. Things are so busy. How’s your summer?

Weird, I type, but fun. I guess. How’s your internship?

It takes her a while to type. I fill the time by looking at all of Jordi’s photos on Instagram again. I search for signs, though of exactly what … I don’t know. I know there won’t be a photo where I can suddenly see that not only does Jordi like girls, she likes me.

I keep looking anyway.

Rachel finally responds: It’s great! How’s yours?

What the heck was all that typing about then?

Obviously, since Rachel is halfway through college, it’s been nearly two years since she left for Boston University. I cried when we dropped her off at LAX (and most of the drive home, which is no small journey when you’re going back to the Eastside) but then my sophomore year started, and somehow I got used to her not walking with me or waving to me in the halls or, of course, being around at home. Before then we were a team. Mom could spend all her energy coming up with healthy alternatives to things we used to like eating, and Dad could turn over all the free time to Mom’s assistant work instead of using it to take us on night hikes in Griffith Park and walks around Silver Lake Reservoir like he used to. We still had each other.