Page 6 of When I Picture You

Renee couldn’t square the grown woman before her with the girl who’d gone around clutching a velvet-covered journal of lyrics, who did vocal exercises in the middle school bathroom because she claimed it had perfect acoustics, who had once cried at a sleepover because no one wanted to watchPhantom of the Opera.

When they were young, Lola and Renee had bonded over being weird, creative kids, but once high school started, they lost the thread of what they’d had in common. Lola doubled down on her dreams of pop stardom, which put her out of step with everyone at Fellows High. It was cool to be aBillboardchart–topping star once you’d actually done it, but when you were a teenager telling anyone who’d listen thatone dayyou’d top theBillboardcharts? You were weird. Anyway, Renee had been too busy navigating her own whirlpool of existential depression to think about the girl next door, who was as edgy as a Girl Scout.

Was that why she’d never realized how gorgeous Lola was?

Lola covertly slipped some cash into the tip jar that the caterers had set out despite the open bar. Then she said, “Are you going to say hi, Renee, or just lurk in the shadows?”

Renee straightened up. “I’m notlurking, I’m respectfully standing. You and the sparkling water were having a moment. It would have been rude to interrupt.”

Lola came over to Renee and set her shoulder against the same patch of wall where Renee had just been leaning.

“I need a moment to find myself again when I get offstage,” Lola said.

“Still losing yourself in the music,” Renee said. She’d meant it playfully, but Lola’s expression stilled. Renee sensed that Lola was on the brink of reverting to the forced, crinkle-eyed smile she’d worn earlier. Renee didn’t want to see that smile. She suddenly said, “Your voice sounds better than it used to.”

Gratifyingly, Lola didn’t smile at that. Instead, her lips quirked to the side and her brows arched. “Wow, a compliment from Renee Feldman.”

Renee’s cheeks warmed—or maybe that was the cocktail. “Yeah, well. Write that one down in your journal, Lo.”

“Oh, I don’t need to. I’ll remember it forever,” Lola said. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Renee shrugged. “We get so few chances to dance the Electric Slide in this short life, and I intend to take each one.”

“You’re in luck. Josh’s family are major Electric Slide people. They do the ties on their heads and everything.”

“If only I’d worn a suit,” Renee said.

Lola’s lashes dipped as her eyes ran down Renee’s body. “But I like what you have on.”

There was something about how Lola said it, her voice dropping a little low, that made Renee’s skin prickle. Platonic complimentswomen gave each other usually came in higher-pitched, friendly tones. If it had been anyone else—anyonequeer—Renee would have said this was flirting. But this wasLola. It must have been a failed attempt at sarcasm. Where most people had a sense of humor, Lola had a deeply unhealthy work ethic.

None of that explained why heat was blooming through Renee’s chest.

Maybe it was an excess of Joshinators, but suddenly Renee felt they could have been in the shadowy corner of a bar, or a house party—someplace actually fun.

Someplace she’d actually flirt.

Not that she’d ever flirt withLola, who had glossed over that comment like it had never happened.

“I’d heard you moved to New York. Film school, right? I’m surprised you came back for this.”

Renee tossed back the rest of her drink, nonchalant. “I was here already. I’m taking some time off to get my inspiration back before I start my thesis. You know, refill the creative well.”

Lola’s lips parted in mock outrage, her eyes sparkling up at Renee. “Did you just say ‘refill the creative well’? Fifteen-year-old Renee would be rolling her eyes so hard right now.”

“It’s an expression!” Renee protested, but she was laughing. She laid her hand on Lola’s shoulder. She hadn’t meant to do it, not exactly. Just like she hadn’t meant to notice how soft Lola’s skin was, or to use that touch as a reason to step in closer, before letting her palm skim Lola’s arm as it fell.

“But really, that sounds nice. I wish I could take a break for a few weeks.” Lola sighed.

Renee didn’t correct Lola that her break had lasted a year. “What would fifteen-year-old Lola say to that? Don’t tell me you finally learned how to relax.”

“Of course I know how to relax. I’m at a party right now.”

“And you’ve had what, one glass of champagne all night?”

Lola’s eyes widened, the golden-brown irises edged by a darker ring. “Have you been watching me, Renee?”

“Everyone’s been watching you,” Renee answered softly.