Cool for the Summer, Dahlia Adler [classic literature list .txt] 📗

“There’s my girl!” in Chase’s affectionate voice and it’s like someone’s dumped a bucket of Gatorade over my head and drawn latte art with my internal organs.

Does that even make sense? I don’t know. Nothing does.

I force myself down the stairs in my silver platform heels and take the hands he extends, accepting the kiss he drops delicately on my cheek so as not to mess up my makeup. With every move he makes you can tell he’s done this before—been the handsome guy picking up his beautiful date who’s told him not to muss anything before pictures. But that knowledge doesn’t affect me and I don’t know if it’s because I’m aware of who he’s dated in the past, or because I feel strangely numb as everything moves around me.

We pose for pictures—in a group of eight, in our quartet, in couples. I make a point not to watch Kiki and Jasmine take their photos, but when I sneak glances, it’s clear that Kiki was telling the truth. Jasmine doesn’t put her arms around Kiki the way Chase does to me, and they don’t take classic shots of one of them gazing into the other’s eyes, though maybe that’s because they’re the same height.

I don’t know if Jasmine tells Kiki she looks beautiful the way Chase tells me I do, though Kiki definitely does look beautiful in her gothic gown with its corset bodice, and I’m jealous even though it’s stupid. But there are a thousand pictures of me and Jasmine together from this past summer—selfies on the beach and pictures taken by Keisha at parties and portraits forced by Declan and Mom before events where our presences were requested. It feels like we should take one for them, at least. Except, of course, no one knows how closely our parents work together.

“Everything OK?” Chase murmurs, his hand warm through my thin dress, and I assure him that it is without even having to think about it.

It’s Homecoming. I’m Chase Harding’s date. How could it not be?

Everyone piles into the limo, and Chase immediately pulls me close. Part of me is happy to let him, and part of me wants to claw my way out and end this night before it even begins. I hate that I feel this way on a night that should be one of the best of my life, especially since I have a weirdly good chance of being named Homecoming Queen, but I hate so many things about how I feel lately. This is just one more on the pile.

“Time to open that champagne!” Lucas whoops, and suddenly there’s foam everywhere and everyone’s laughing and a bottle is being passed around. I don’t want any, but that doesn’t stop me from drinking when it comes my way, and it’s so nice to have something occupying me that I take an extra sip. And then another. And another.

“Save some for the rest of us, Mrs. Harding!” Shannon yells, and everyone cracks up, even Chase. I try to smile, but the name makes me want to crawl out of my skin. Even Jasmine’s laughing. How is Jasmine laughing?

I pass the bottle along and now I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I take one of Chase’s and twine my fingers with his. I know in my heart that he’s warm and safe, but it’s not translating, no matter how much I squeeze. Even when he kisses the top of my head.

“You excited to watch your boyfriend win Homecoming King?” Jasmine asks, and everyone else cheers while Chase hangs his head modestly.

“Are you kidding?” Apparently, Gia’s had some champagne too. “This is literally Lara’s dream come true. Like, literally.”

I shoot daggers at her with my eyes, but she’s completely oblivious, as is everyone else.

“Who knew so many years fangirling on the sidelines would pay off?” Shannon says innocently, and then giggles like she’s had too much to drink, even though the bottle hasn’t reached her yet. Gia and Jasmine join her, even though I know—I know—I never talked to Jasmine about that, which means Shannon has. How much time have they spent laughing at me behind my back? What kinds of friends do that?

Chase squeezes my hand and tells them to shut up and pass the champagne. He’s trying to be kind, but I don’t want it. I don’t want any of this. I just want to climb through the sunroof and run home to my mom, leaving my stupid heels in the dirt.

Every glimpse I catch of Jasmine hurts my heart and feels like the worst betrayal, worse than Shannon, even, because she knew me in a way Shan never has, and because for everything I love about Shannon, I never expect more from her than this. She’s there when I’m in need, when shit hits the fan. That’s not nothing, but it isn’t what I got from Jasmine. She doesn’t open my eyes to different ways of looking at things. She doesn’t make me feel like the best version of myself. She doesn’t make me feel like I can do anything, like I don’t just matter, but am in fact significant.

How did the girl who was once my biggest cheerleader become … this?

Chapter Eighteen

THEN

The seafood boil on the beach was such a success that Brea decided to have a smaller one for her birthday a couple of weeks later. I’m about to reply to our group text with a “Can’t wait!” when Jasmine beats me to answering. So sorry, Brea—going to my mom’s that wknd.

Immediately the chain floods with boooo and we’ll miss you! But my fingers stay still. I’d never spent an evening out with everyone minus Jasmine. I’m not afraid I can’t handle it—I’d definitely become friends with everyone in my own right—but … everything sounds like less fun without her there.

I open our private text thread, which is mostly full of be there in 5 and do you have my blue nail polish? and start to tap out a message,