Page 52 of Another Day (Every Day 2)

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “My grandmother is an amazing lady, and you’re not too bad yourself.”

“Don’t give your mom a hard time,” I tell him.

He raises his fingers in a salute. “Yes, ma’am.” Then he leans over and kisses me good night. I’m surprised, and he can tell I’m surprised.

“Night, ma’am,” he says. Then he disappears inside.

—

I email A when I get back to my house.

A,

Sorry I couldn’t make it to Annapolis—there were some things I had to do.

Maybe tomorrow?

R

Chapter Twelve

It’s Sunday. Justin won’t be up for a while. We haven’t made plans. My parents won’t leave the house.

I’m free.

I tell my mom I have errands to run, then email A and ask if he wants to be one of my errands.

Yes, he writes back. A million times yes.

—

I am just going to do this, I tell myself as I make all the arrangements, as I come up with plans.

I am not going to think about it.

I am not going to think about what it means.

I am just going to do it, and be with A, and see what it means as it happens.

—

A’s told me he (she?) is a girl named Ashley today. I’ve gotten directions to her house. I know she’ll be waiting when I pull up.

I guess I’m picturing the girl A was when I first met her (him?). Pretty, but not overwhelmingly so. Someone I could be friends with. Someone I could be.

But holy shit, not this girl.

She comes out of the house and I’m like, What kind of music video am I living in? Because this girl is smoking hot. She looks like she should travel with backup singers. And photographers. And three stylists. And a small dog. And Jay-Z.

This is the kind of girl you never see in real life. You can almost pretend girls like this don’t really exist. They’re computer-generated by fashion magazines to make you feel lame.

Only this girl is real.

And I know I shouldn’t care—this isn’t a contest. But really? I already feel fat, and she isn’t even at the car yet.

The one thing she doesn’t have is a walk. A girl like this should have a walk. But I guess that’s A inside. Stomping when he should sashay.

When she gets in the car and I see her up close, I have to laugh. Even her skin is perfect. All I’m asking for is a simple fucking pimple.