Chapter Thirty-Seven

First thing the next morning, I text Marisol and Sophie and ask them to meet up with me in the courtyard before school. When they arrive, I’m toting their favorite warm dri nks—van illa latte for Sophie, black coffee for Marisol, PSL for me— and a m ischievous smile.

Marisol immediately narrows her eyes at me. “What are you sucking up for?”

I put my hand to my heart, feigning shock. “Can’t a girl just buy her best friends some no - stri ngs-att ached coffees?”

“I’m fine with that.” Sophie grabs hers and blows before taking a sip.

“But . . . I mean. Since you are my best friends and all, it would be great if you wouldn’t mind helping me with something.”

Marisol points a finger at me. “I knew it!”

I reach for her hand and pull it closer. “Ooh, I love your nails!” They’re plain at the base but the ends are rounded and accented with gold glitter polish.

“As much as I hate to give my sister credit for anything, Natalia did them when she was visiting this weekend,” Marisol says. “And, you know, we actually kind of got along? She even defended me to Mami.”

My jaw drops. “Whoa! That’s . . . a first?”

“Yep. It was so weird! But maybe going away to college is making her into a decent human,” Marisol says, laughing. Then she turns to me. “But don’t change the subject! You do want something from us.”

“Totally guilty,” I admit. “But hear me out! I really want to do something nice for Lily and Abuela ahead of homecoming as a way of celebrating them and all we’ve been through— and just to let them know I love them.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Sophie gushes.

“Thank you! I have my tías helping me with organizing a relaxing girls’ day for Abuela, but for Lily, I really want to get her these replica earrings that Lucas from Intonation wore in one of their music videos. I stayed up late last night searching everywhere for just the right ones—you k now how particular she can be— and I fi nally found some.”

“That’s great! But where do we come in?” Marisol asks. I frown. “The earrings are at this vintage store an hour away.” I grab my phone and pull up the store’s Instagram feed. “See? They list all their items online but you have to get them in person. I DM’d her begging her to hold them for me and she said she would, but only until the store closes at six tonight. So as hoping you guys might be down for a road trip after the Fall Fest meeting today?”

“Easiest favor ever,” Sophie says. “I’m in!”

Marisol grins. “When it comes to shopping, you know you never have to ask me twice. Let’s do it!”

I see Isaiah for the first time since the almost-whatever-happened, at Tuesday’s Fall Fest meeting.

Between that loaded moment and the decision to ask him to be my date to homecoming, I realize I have absolutely no idea how to act around him anymore.

Do I go back to calling him Zay? Do I flirt openly and with reckless abandon? Do I play hard to get? Do I throw caution to the wind, grab him, and kiss him (but ask for consent first, of course)?

Instead, plagued by the overthinking goddesses, I greet him with a head nod, a casual “Hey,” and then I . . . hold my hand up for a high five?

Confusion washes over his face, but he nonetheless returns the high five.

“Hey back,” he says. “Since when do we hig h- five?”

I shrug. “I’m trying something new.”

He blinks at me and says nothing for a second. “All right. So, did you get a chance this weekend to reach out to Wild Amusements to double- check we’re all set for the carnival? I didn’t hear from you.”

There’s a slight edge to his voice when he says that last thing. I mean, yes. There were moments when I could’ve texted. But he could’ve, too! I had no idea what to say. I couldn’t exactly text, Hi, I think you like me, and I like you too, but just wait for me, because I have a plan, okay? I swear.

At least I made time to call Wild Amusements, though.

“I did! And, yes, sorry, this weekend was super packed. I worked at Nature’s Grocer and Abuela’s shop and we had to get dresses for homecoming, so. It’s just been really chaotic,” I say.

He nods, suddenly looking a little embarrassed. “No ries— you don’t need to explain. I just realized that what I said came out a little harsh. I just s voice trails off, like there’s something he wants to say. Instead, he shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“Oh. Okay.”

And our conversation ends.

Less than one hour after that high five with Isaiah, Sophie, Marisol, and I are cruising down the highway toward the vintage shop so I can score those earrings for Lily. I DM the shop owner to let her know I’m on my way, and I even take a picture of us in the car and send it to her as proof.

It’s a little much, but I want to ensure she knows I’m serious. I need those earrings!

“Are you guys getting excited for Fall Fest?” I ask from the backseat once I hit send.

“Beyond excited,” Sophie says. “I finally put my foot down with my parents and I got them to extend my curfew to one o’clock that night.”

“Oh my gosh, Soph! That’s huge!”

“And! I may have floated the idea of the internship in Paris . . .”

“Holy shit,” Marisol says. “What did they say?”

“After my mom stopped cry ing—” Sophie begins. I wince at that. Oh, jeez.

“— she said we could discuss. Which means it’s at least a possibility!” She practically beams at me. “I’m so excited I took your advice and talked to them.”

“Our little Sophie is growing up,” Marisol teases. “But I’m so proud of you. I know that must’ve been really hard!”

“It was, but I told them I needed them to trust me and have faith that I’ll do the right thing,” she explains. “I feel like I really got through to them and we might really make some progress. I’m just sorry I didn’t try sooner.”

“God, that’s amazing. Good for you,” I say. “Maybe by the time prom rolls around in the spring, we can actually get a hotel together.”

Sophie wrinkles her nose. “Let’s see if they say yes to Paris first. I’ll know in just a few weeks if I’ve been accepted!”

“And please don’t rush prom! It’s not even homecoming yet.” Marisol starts rubbing her temples. “I’m getting a headache just thinking about all the college applications we’ll have to fill out.”

I reach into the front seat and give Marisol a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your mom is still being impossible, huh?”

“Don’t even get me started! Mami and I fight practically every day about it because she thinks my plan of going to State means I’ll never get into law school. It’s all about the prestige with her.” Marisol sighs. “But whatever.”

“I’m sorry, Sol,” Sophie says. “That really sucks.”

“Seriously. Sorry not everyone wants to get into mountains of debt.” I shake my head. “It’s so messed up. And I’m sorry I even brought up prom, really. I’ve just been getting so sentimental knowing this is our senior year. Everything feels so big, you know? Like what if this is the last road trip we take together before we go to different schools?”

Sophie casts a sharp glance back at me. “Don’t even say that, Whit!”

“You’re the one who started this whole what-if scenario way back at the pumpkin patch!” I argue. “Now I can’t stop thinking about whether every little thing we do might be the last.”

“We have plenty of time for road trips,” Marisol cuts in.

“You know what I mean! I’ll just miss you guys,” I say. “I’ll miss this.”

Marisol turns around in her seat and puckers her lower lip. “Staaaahp! You’re making me sad.”

“Me too. I don’t want to think about not being with you guys all the time.” There’s a hitch in Sophie’s voice. “Great, now I’m crying.”

“If you cry, I’ll cry,” I say, feeling tears start to well.

“You guys! It’s literally October!” Marisol shouts. “We’re not doing this yet. I refuse.” She pulls out her phone and connects it to Sophie’s radio. “Bad Bunny has a new song out. So we’re going to listen to that instead. Okay? And by the time we’re done, all of this sad shit is going to evaporate from the car. You hear me?”

Sophie glances into the rearview mirror and makes eye contact with me and we both burst out laughing at the seriousness in Marisol’s voice.

“Yes, Mom,” Sophie teases.

“Repeat after Me: No crying allowed when listening to Bad Bunny,” Marisol says. “Say it!”

“No crying allowed when listening to Bad Bunny,” Sophie and I say in terrible, disjointed unison.

Marisol rolls her eyes. “Pitiful. Again! And mean it this time!”

“Okay, ready?” I ask.

Sophie nods, and we both shout, “No crying allowed when listening to Bad Bunny! ”

“Good,” Marisol says. “Now, was that so hard?”