Famous in a Small Town(67)
(don’t stop)
Instead, it was a series of texts from a different number: Have been growing it for a while Finally went in for a cut and just had to make them pause halfway Then three pictures popped up—the back view of longish hair, thick and wet, combed straight. Then the side view, cut short on top. Then Ravi’s face, his hair close-cropped in the front but hanging down on his shoulders. He was grinning, wide and silly, throwing up a peace sign.
Business in the front, party in the back, the next message read.
A burst of sound punched from me, equal parts laughter and sob.
Amazing, I replied.
fifty-nine
I went to August’s house the next day. We sat in the kitchen with the remainder of a cobbler that Heather’s mom had made, eating it right out of the tin.
“Decent crust-to-fruit ratio,” I said. “People never put enough crust on top, and that’s the best part.”
“What’s a good percentage of crust?”
“At least fifty.”
“Fifty percent crust? It’s just cake, then. Upside-down cake with jam on it.”
“Crust is not cake.”
“Upside-down toast.”
“Crust is not bread!”
“I’m sorry, is this your crust seminar?”
“Yes. I’m writing a dissertation on it. I’m about to get my crust PhD.”
“Doctor Kemper,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds good.”
I smiled.
“Maybe I’ll get one.” I speared a blueberry with my fork. “A PhD. My sister wanted to go to grad school. She was studying biology. Wanted to do research and stuff.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm.” I squished the blueberry, watched the juice run out, and then I just said it, the thing I felt all the time, all the way down to my bones, to the marrow of them: “I wish she were here.”
She is, people would say. She’s smiling down at you. She’ll be with you every step of the way.
Yes, I always wanted to reply. Yes, maybe. But that is nowhere near the same. It is in exactly no way the same as actually being.
August didn’t say any of those things, though. He just nodded and scooted a bit of crust my way.
I took one last bite, set my fork down.
“Full?” he said.
“Cobbler full. We should eat something real.”
I stood, went over to the pantry.
“I think there’s leftover chili?” he said.
“How about I make us some mac and cheese?” I pulled a box out of the cabinet and presented it with a flourish. “The stove kind.”
“The good stuff,” August said.
“Yup.” I started shaking the box like a maraca, dancing toward him. “Because I care,” I said with a grin. “So, so, so, so much.”
He grabbed me by the waist when I was close enough, grinning back, and we kissed until Shepherd’s barking heralded the opening of the front door.
“We’re home!”
“Mama said we’d come in the front door to give you fair warning!” Cadence called jubilantly.
We split apart, August smiling up at me as Cadence rounded the corner into the kitchen.
sixty
Sophie:
I SAW ONE!!!!!!
Ciara:
NO WAY
Sophie:
At the gas station! FULL MULLET!
Ciara:
JLKSDFKLJSDFLKJ:SDFKLSDFKL
Sophie:
It was amazing. I feel like a new person Ciara:
You should. That’s a life changing haircut Sophie: Mom didn’t super appreciate it though Like she did but I don’t think she really ~~~got~~~ it Like this is a BIG DEAL
I wanted to take a pic to send you but she said no Ciara:
Probably okay. Don’t want to offend Mr. Mullet Or Ms. Mullet?
Whatever their identity, a righteous mullet Sophie:
Yes def
I wish you were here though Ciara:
Me too. Christmas break!!!!!
Sophie:
FA LA LA LA LA
Ciara:
Sophie:
OKAY ENOUGH TREES I REGRET IT
Ciara:
Fine bahahaha Sophie: JK I REGRET NOTHING
* * *
“Soph?”
“Hm?” I looked up from my phone, closing out of the message thread with Ciara. I had reached the end, but soon I would scroll back to the beginning and read them all again. And again.
“You ready?” Terrance smiled at me.
“For all of that?”
“For the last night of the summer,” he said, and then he struck a pose. “And yes, also, all of this.”
I smiled back. “I am a hundred and ten percent ready.”
* * *
Dash and Terrance’s dad grilled a bunch of stuff for us, and we ate out on the back deck. It was still bright out, but summer-night bright, where there’s that evening slant to the light, the shadows going long.
Brit and August reached for the last brat at the same time. Brit waved a hand. “Go for it.”
August speared it with his fork and transferred it to his plate.
“August Middle Name Shaw, I’m appalled,” Brit said. “You’re supposed to offer it to me too and then I get to refuse it again and feel like the better person. And anyway, I need the protein more than you.”