Page 31

*impossible*

I WENT TO K ENNEDY’S AFTER SCHOOL and drank too much soda while she played Battle of Borgledoush . It was comforting, the old routine of basically doing nothing while she gamed, and I was glad she’d let me come over.

Because for starters, I needed to clear my head of that dream. My brain was obsessed and kept replaying it, over and over and over again. And it was so vivid, had seemed so real, that I could barely keep track of what’d actually happened yesterday and what I’d dreamed had happened.

But the bigger reason was that I needed to clear the air. I’d texted an apology about the whole Jackson thing from the other night, and they’d said it was fine, but I still felt weird about my relationship with her and Allie.

“So, how’s everything going?” I asked awkwardly. “I feel like I’ve been a little weird lately, and I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Kennedy said, shrugging. “You really wanted something and didn’t get it—I’d be the same way.”

“Really?” I said, and my heart pinched a little in my chest. It was nice that she understood when I’d assumed she couldn’t. “You would?”

“Sure,” she said, nodding. “Although you didn’t have to sneak around with Jackson when you could’ve just told us what you were doing. That was weird.”

“Yeah, I mean…,” I started, clueless about how to explain it. Even though it was over and I wanted to tell her about everything, including the dream and the kiss and whatever was going on in my head about Jackson, it still felt too… fragile to share.

Especially when we weren’t quite back to the old us yet.

“You don’t have to explain it,” she said, pounding on the controller. “You apologized, so we’re good, but it didn’t have to happen. You could’ve told us you wanted to do something with someone else.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but we had plans, and it was one of our traditional movie nights.”

She looked away from the game and shook her head at me. “Sometimes things change. We can either get mad about it or roll with it.”

I coughed out a laugh and said, “I usually get mad about it.”

“I know,” she said, grinning. “And it’s fair—like, everything has been changing. But as long as we tell each other the truth, things don’t have to get ugly.”

I wondered if she realized that we were kind of admitting our friendship might never go back to what it used to be. New friends, new activities—our lives were already different than they’d been the day of the field trip.

I hated that, but it also felt like it’d be okay, because we were talking about it.

Her phone chirped, and then she let out a whoop when she read the message.

“Dude, my mom texted that the Carson’s food truck is on our street,” Kennedy said as she shut down her game. Her mom worked until six every day, so anytime there was a food truck on our block, she texted Kennedy for an easy dinner.

“Texting my mother as we speak,” I said, sending a message to see if it was okay for me to get food with Kennedy. Carson’s is here. Can I get food with Ken? I’ll bring you some.

She responded immediately. Yes, and I already ate, so just get me a chocolate malt.

“Let’s go,” I said, and Kennedy and I ditched her house and basically sprinted to the truck because we hated when we had to wait. We texted Allie when we got there, and she ran outside to join us.

“I need fries,” she said, looking up at the menu board.

But right when we were about to order, Jackson and Jared ran up and got in line behind us.

The sight of him made my stomach go wild with butterflies. I was shocked he was there, even though he lived on our street, so it made sense that he’d partake.

I gave him a smile, feeling breathless, and when his eyes met mine, it felt like something was there , hanging between us.

“What’s it gonna be?” asked the guy behind the window.

“This feels familiar,” Jackson said, his eyes a tiny bit squinty as he smiled at me.

“It does ,” I agreed, grinning back. “Only this guy looks nicer.”

“Ma’am?” the guy said.

“Oh,” I squeaked, turning back. “Yes. Um, can I please have the Carson burger and fries? And a chocolate malt?”

I looked down into my purse, but didn’t see the ten-dollar bill that’d been there yesterday. So I started digging.

“You want ketchup?” the guy behind the window asked.

“Sure,” I said offhandedly, rifling through my bag for the cash I couldn’t find.

Where the heck is my money?

“So you want everything on it,” the guy assumed.

“No pickles, she’s allergic,” I heard Jackson say from behind me.

I turned around, and Jackson gave me a grin that made my stomach feel light. His eyes were all squinty as he teased, “Even though no one’s allergic to pickles.”

I grinned back at him, then immediately looked down at my purse, because I was terrified every feeling I was having for him was being broadcast across my face. Since I had no idea how he felt, no way was I putting that out there.

“That’ll be eight dollars and fifteen cents. Come on, there’s a line, kid,” the guy said.

Where had my money gone? I searched through my wallet and the outside pouch of my purse again while the dude sighed, and then I sighed, as well, because I didn’t know where it could be, and there was a growing line behind me.

I reached my hand into my jacket pocket and pulled out a tissue and a straw wrapper. Dang it. I dug in the other pocket, but instead of finding cash, I only pulled out more trash.

A Haverman’s receipt, a paper clip, and a little blue thing.

A flower, maybe?

My vision narrowed to a pinpoint, and the sounds of the world became fuzzy as I stared at that flower in my hand.

A tiny. Blue. Rose.

I looked down at my palm, at the perfectly miniscule flower resting on top of it, and I felt like my breath was frozen in my lungs.

I remembered picking that flower from the golden field.

In. My. Dream.

It smells like blueberries.

“Do you need to borrow some money?” Jackson said from behind me. “Emma?”

I slowly turned around, goose bumps covering every inch of my skin. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the small, perfect rose that didn’t exist in our world. It was like looking at a ghost, like an item from a past life, and I heard Jackson gasp.

He was staring at the flower like he couldn’t believe it.

Like he was seeing a ghost, too.

Like he recognized that flower.

But he couldn’t, right?

“Here,” Kennedy said, waving a ten-dollar bill in front of me. “Pay so the line will move.”

My eyes were locked on Jackson’s, and I was frozen.

“O-kay,” I heard Kennedy say to the guy behind the window. “This is for her.”

I still didn’t look away from Jackson as she paid, and he didn’t look away from me, either. It was like we were having a detailed conversation without saying any words.

“What is your deal?” Kennedy said, and when I glanced at her, she was giving me big eyes like I’d officially lost it. “Why are you holding up that little flower like it’s going to bite you?”

“Have you seen this before?” I said, my eyes returning to Jackson.

He swallowed hard, and his eyebrows scrunched together. “It looks a lot like a flower I saw in a dream once.”

“Yeah?” I said in a near-whisper.

“Yeah.” His eyes were the bluest they’d ever been as he watched me.

“So…” I felt lightheaded, because it almost seemed like we’d had the same dream.

But was it only a dream if the flower existed?

“So on the count of three,” he said, his eyes staring intently into mine, “to test this, let’s each describe the robes.”

It would’ve made sense to say something like What robes? , but that was pointless. I just nodded as he started counting, wondering if I was going to faint.

Because I knew.

It was impossible, but I knew without a doubt.

“One,” he said, and I thought about Hamburger Man throwing burgers at the crowd.

“What’s this about?” Kennedy asked, turning her confused stare to Jackson.

But his blue eyes were on mine.

“Two,” he said, and I remembered following him into the back of the food truck right before it took off from the red light.

“What is this—a staring contest?” Allie teased, making Kennedy snort.

My eyes stayed on Jackson as he swallowed nervously.

He watched me like he knew what I was about to say.

And I was remembering a perfect first kiss when he barked out, “Three.”

“Scarlet red robes are never a good thing.”

“Scarlet red robes are never a good thing.”

The world seemed to go silent as we stared at each other in disbelief.

“No,” Kennedy said, stepping between us.

“No?” Jackson repeated, still looking at me with a million questions in his eyes.

“No inside jokes,” she said, smacking him on the back and forcing us to pay attention to her. “If you’re Em’s friend, you’re my friend, too, which means you should tell me everything.”

“Same for me,” Allie said, coming around to stand beside Kennedy.

“Oh,” Jackson said, a wrinkle appearing on his forehead as he shifted his gaze to stare at my friends while probably having the same mental freak-out I was having.

Were they seriously inviting him to join the AT3?

“You might not have asked for three friends,” Kennedy said with a smile, “but we’re kind of a package deal. So you can fill us in on whatever has you two looking like partners in crime—scarlet red robes, what the heck —while we scarf burgers in Em’s front yard.”

I opened my mouth but had no idea what to tell them. How on earth could I possibly explain away the scarlet red robes or the blue flower to my friends when I didn’t understand it myself?

Maybe it was time to tell them the truth—about everything .

I knew they’d understand… well, probably eventually , because they were my friends.

They knew me better than anyone else, and they’d understand why I had done it all.

Oh my gosh—they would!

As Kennedy grinned at Jackson, and Allie smiled, I was happy to know that if I ever wanted to tell them, I could.

But on the off chance there really was something to the whole don’t-talk-about-the-magic thing, I’d keep it to myself for now.

So, what to say?

But before I could spin into a full-blown awkward panic about how to explain everything, and before I could fall into an anxiety attack over the fact that Jackson and I had maybe actually kissed the day before and I could be head over heels in crush with him, he reached out a hand and gave my shoulder a playful push.

“Well, Rockie?” he said quietly, shaking his head as his mouth slid into a tiny little smirk. “You okay with me joining your friend group?”

His blue eyes danced as he waited for my answer, and it felt like we were sharing a hundred secrets as we watched each other.

“I guess so,” I replied, giving his shoulder a push back. “But please don’t give me terrible nicknames.”

“Rockie’s cute, though,” he said, and when he grinned at me, it was impossible not to smile back at my best friend(s) with my whole entire face.

the end