You Asked for Perfect(19)

Sook nudges me. “Whatchya thinking about?”

I nudge back. “How much I love my best friend.” I laugh. “God, I was such a dork back then. I tried so hard to be high. Like they are in the movies. I kept staring at my hands. And I decided I was ravenous, so I ate the leftover crusts in my lunch bag and acted like they were the best tasting things ever.” I pause. “Damn, we should’ve brought snacks today.”

“Ariel Stone doesn’t have sour candy on him?”

“I’ve failed us. We’ll never learn.”

The song switches to “China Cat Sunflower.”

“I like this one,” Sook says.

“It’s my favorite. Sounds like sunshine.”

“I want to do that. Evoke a feeling so pure.” Sook closes her eyes and hums, her fingers playing against her arm, like how I practice violin against mine.

As the song finishes, I ask, “So, are you going to tell me this special news of yours?”

Her smile is contagious. “I thought you’d never ask.” She sits ups and straightens her shirt. “My parents offered me a deal.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of deal?”

“A deal that would let me pursue my music instead of going to their crap little school.”

I clear my throat. “Okay, let’s not call Dartmouth a crap little school.”

Sook’s parents are forcing her to go to Dartmouth, their alma mater, where she’ll definitely be accepted thanks to their donations and Sook’s intelligence. I try to muster sympathy for my best friend who has to go to an Ivy League school. I get that Sook doesn’t want to go live in a small town, but an education at Dartmouth could set her up for life.

“Yeah, okay, I know,” she says. “It’s an amazing school. Great education. Etcetera. But it’s like in the middle of nowhere. Not the place to rise to musical stardom. But if I go to school in Atlanta or even Athens, there’s a huge music scene, and Malka and I can keep playing together.”

“So what is this magical deal?” I ask.

“My parents say if Dizzy Daisies signs with an agent before graduation, I can pick whatever college I want!”

“Oh. Awesome.”

Sook narrows her eyes. “Why aren’t you more excited? Be more excited for me.”

“I am!” I laugh and hold up my hands. “Promise. But how do you plan to get an agent?”

“With hard work and brilliance. Duh.”

“All right, then.” Sook is a determined person. If anyone can do it, then it’s probably her. “Hey, speaking of brilliant female musicians, how are things going with your dream girl, lead Carousels’ singer Clarissa?”

“Excellent!” she says. “We’re mutuals on Tumblr now, and she listened to one of our songs and left the comment, ‘Great sound.’”

“Impressive progress,” I say, then fiddle with my phone, switching over to the Beatles. “Yesterday” begins to play. Gentle guitar fills the air. Sook and I pause for a moment, the lyrics washing over us.

“I wrote a new song,” Sook says. “It could really use some violin.”

“Sook—” I warn.

“Don’t say no yet. Look, Malka is coming over for practice today. Join us and listen to the song. I’m only asking you to think about it.” She nudges me and smiles, literally batting her eyelashes. “Please?”

I sigh, grinning despite myself. “Fine. But I’m not promising anything.”

Sook squeals. “Deal!” Her eyes soften, and she leans into me. “I’m glad we came out here today,” she says. “We only have so many afternoons left together, you know?”

Her words hit harder than expected. A year from now, we’ll likely live in different states and only see each other on school breaks. I’ve been so busy racing to the finish line, I haven’t thought much about what happens when I cross it.

“We have plenty of afternoons left,” I say. The music fades back in, with McCartney’s melancholy voice and steady guitar. I wrap my arm around Sook and pull her into me. She’s soft and warm and smells like yesterdays.

*

A baking sheet clatters to the floor. “I’m okay!” Sook yells. “We’re good! The cookies are good!”

She giggles, and I snort, and then we both break into hysterical laughter.

“Oh my god,” Malka says. “Are y’all high?”

“Yup,” Sook responds.

Malka rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the invite.”

“You were in class!” Sook says.

“Fair point, I suppose.”

We’re in Sook’s Food Network–style kitchen. Gigantic island, marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, three ovens. We live in a well-off area, but Sook’s family has some next-level money.

The kitchen smells like the inside of a warm cookie. Sook is making my favorite: chocolate chip with chunks of melted caramel. I should be at home studying or at least practicing my violin solo, but it feels good to say screw it for an afternoon. Still, I can’t relax entirely.

“We’re home!” two voices call out. Her parents walk into the kitchen. “Mmm, smells good,” her mom says, kissing Sook on the cheek. The female Dr. Kim has short hair and dresses like a teenager, preferring jeans and T-shirts over business attire. She’s rarely home, always disappearing to work on her next invention. Most of their fortune comes from some kind of extra-strength fabric she sold to the military for an obscene sum.