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

that.” Her voice drips with venom. “You don’t get to tell me I’m the one who doesn’t give a shit when you’re the one practically married to someone else.”

“God, I’m not—”

She throws up her arms, bangles jangling. “Yeah, you are, and that’s fine. You have a life and so do I and neither of us has to explain or apologize.”

“I’m not asking for an explanation or apology! I want you back! Where did you go?”

“I am right. Fucking. Here,” she spits. “How do you not get that? I am here. In my senior year. Away from my friends, my life, my mom. Why do you think that is, Larissa?”

“How am I supposed to know when you won’t tell me anything? When you didn’t even tell me about your parents changing up custody? You knew you were coming to my school and you didn’t even tell me!”

She looks like she wants to tear every meticulously styled strand of her thick black hair out of her head. “My parents didn’t change up custody; I did. And I told you why. I fucking sang in front of everyone. In front of Shannon. In front of your boyfriend. I made a complete ass of myself, like I’ve been doing every single minute just by being here, and I still have to watch you with him tonight, and then you have the nerve to ask me—”

“You sang?” None of the rest of her words are clicking, and I have to close my eyes to shut them out. To flash back to the night her cruelty almost broke me. “You came all the way here to remind me to keep our summer a secret? You really didn’t have to worry about that, Jasmine. Message received. I haven’t told a soul, and you’ve made it plenty clear that it didn’t mean a damn thing to you.”

She blinks slowly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“None of this is a joke to me,” I snap. “Apparently you don’t feel the same way. Well, congratulations on making me feel like shit that night, same as you’ve been doing since you got here.”

She buries her face in her hands, and I hear a muffled “fuck” through her fingers.

For the first time since before we got in the limo, I feel my anger slip a little, my guard dropping. Gently, I pry her hands away. “What am I missing here, Jas?”

“Everything,” she says with a short laugh. “God, Larissa. Everything.”

“Well, can you please fill me in? Because you’re confusing me. As usual. Pardon me for not knowing how to interpret things.” I scratch at the top of my dress, which suddenly feels itchy and way too tight.

“Okay, well, apparently I’m about to clear shit right up.” She exhales sharply and folds her arms over her chest, which I think is a defensive move until I realize she’s hugging herself. “The lyrics, Tinkerbell. Or rather, the lyric. You didn’t hear it.”

The lyric.

I was so focused on the song choice, on blocking out what I thought she was trying to say, that I missed the lyrics entirely. In a flash I know exactly which one she means.

Because I’m the one who introduced her to the magic of Demi Lovato when she finally let me take over the music in the Jeep.

I’m the one who taught her that very lyric.

I can picture it like it was ten minutes ago, the wind whipping our salt-sticky hair through the open windows on our drive back from the ferry as “Cool for the Summer” wound down through the speakers.

THEN

“She changed the lyrics of the song for her 2018 tour during Pride month to ‘Go tell your mother.’” I drop a random fun fact I learned from Demi Lovato stans on Instagram.

“Huh,” says Jasmine, tapping a finger on the wheel. “That’s … definitely different.”

“It is,” I agree. “Just one word—‘go’ instead of ‘don’t’—and it made her fans so damn happy, I literally saw pictures of rainbow shrines.”

“Well, makes sense. I mean, it’s Pride month. ‘Tell your mom about it’ is certainly prouder than, like, ‘hide your secret shame girl.’”

I snort. “‘Secret shame girl’ sounds like the title of really terrible porn.”

“You sound like the title of really terrible porn,” Jasmine retorts.

Like that, the conversation is over.

And the next night, in front of a bonfire, everything changes.

NOW

One look at Jasmine’s face, wide open with heartbreak, and I know exactly which version she sang.

“I didn’t sing that to you because I wanted you to forget the summer,” she says softly, confirming. “I sang it to you because I wanted you to remember how good it was. And I know it was a stupid night to do it, but it felt like my last chance before I lost you for good. When I finally got the nerve to look at you, it was clear I’d already lost you before I even got here.” Her gaze meets mine, and it looks like it takes all the effort in the world on her part. The least I can do is hold it.

“I moved in with my dad because I could not get you out of my fucking head. I thought about going back to school and pretending our summer was just a summer, and I couldn’t do it. I thought that maybe if I came here, we’d have a chance to be something real, but I didn’t know how to tell you I was coming. And before I could even see you, you had a boyfriend, and I was stuck here. Watching you live this perfect life that was already full without me. I’ve been trying to carve something out and save what’s left of my dignity and my senior year, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you and I just need to go crawling back to my mom. My heart can’t take you breaking it anymore.”

Her gaze drops, but she doesn’t walk away. “I’m sorry I’ve been an asshole all night. For longer than tonight, I guess. I really didn’t handle