Cool for the Summer by Dahlia Adler (best novels in english .TXT) 📗

I walk off before she can leave me first.

It takes two periods before I finally have a class with Shannon, and as soon as I spot her, I storm over and demand, “What the fuck, Shan?”

“What’s wrong?” she asks in the world’s most bullshit innocent voice.

I yank her out into the hallway, because we’re already drawing stares. “I told you about my date in confidence. You know there’s nothing official between me and Chase yet. Why the hell would you run off and tell some girl you barely even know all about it?”

“God, Lara, I’m sorry. It sounded pretty official to me, and I was excited for you. I figured you’d want to tell Gia and Kiki, so when Jasmine called…” She shrugs. “I had to get my excitement out somehow!”

She is so full of shit. I know she’s full of shit. For one, there’s no chance Jasmine called her. Jasmine is not a phone person, and certainly not to chat. But I’m too deep into my own bullshit to be able to call her on that. I’m not supposed to know this, or anything else, about Jasmine.

Plus, I know this move from Shannon’s playbook. Jasmine is on the popularity radar and Shannon’s trying to swoop in so the next time someone asks for details on her love life or why she has such a nice house, Shannon can be The One With All The Dirt. “Knowledge Is Power” is one of Shannon Salter’s favorite mottos, and it’s hard to argue with since she sure seems to have a lot of the latter.

Unfortunately, I also know there’s nothing I can do. Shannon always finds a way to spin things, to make it seem like she was just being a great friend in the best way she knows how; she’s a gaslighting gold medalist. And the mere mention of Jasmine’s name already feels like a minefield. There’s no point in fighting here. Shannon’s gonna do what she wants, and so will Jasmine. And fuck it, so will I.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes right as Mrs. Spier turns the corner, and I slip back into the classroom and into my seat before I can get called late.

Jasmine wants me to be with Chase. Shannon is apparently very excited I’m with Chase. And we all know I want to be with Chase. So, what exactly am I fighting about?

Maybe Chase and I aren’t official yet, but by the end of our next date, we damn well will be.

And my summer with Jasmine will be a distant memory.

Chapter Seven

THEN

It’s been three days of fruitful tanning and fruitless job hunting when someone finally blocks out my sun. I look up to see Jasmine standing over me, an impressive camera bag slung over her shoulder. “Listen,” she says without preamble, because she doesn’t believe in preamble. “My dad feels really bad about screwing you out of a job, and I could use an assistant this summer, so how do you feel about helping me out a few days a week, all expenses paid by Papa Dec?”

I shift slowly into a sitting position, trying to take this in. Jasmine and I have barely spoken since the night of the party. In fact, I’ve barely even seen her. It’s only by the grace of Keisha, Brea, and Derek that I’ve had anyone to hang out with at all.

Also, an assistant? For what? If she does anything other than read, tan, and make out with Carter, it’s news to me. If she thinks I’m going to be carrying her bag around like she’s some celebutante—

“I’m a photographer,” she says, a little smile playing on her lips that makes it clear my confusion was obvious. “Well, I’m a web designer, but I’m building a stock photo portfolio as part of that. I’ve already gotten all the beach and bikini shots I can handle for the week, so I was thinking of heading down to the Elizabethan Gardens to get some flower shots. You in or not? I gotta go in the next half hour to get the right light.”

There is suddenly a lot happening, but I’m bored as hell and I could use the money and company. Plus, the Elizabethan Gardens sound pretty, and I haven’t done a single touristy thing since I got here other than check out a billion cheesy shops selling magnets shaped like flip-flops and wind chimes with surfboard charms. I take a quick shower and throw on cutoffs and a tank top, and we hit the road to Manteo.

Jasmine is not a woman of many words, and I’m trying not to be annoying though I have a zillion questions about her business, so all I learn on the twenty-minute drive is her favorite music—or at least whatever she listens to in the car—is all by bands I’ve never heard of: Chronic Apathy, the Pepperpots, Glory Alabama, the Brightsiders, and some group whose name I don’t catch but who are definitely singing about wishing they were the scar on Padma Lakshmi’s arm.

Once we’re among the flowers, though, it’s like she’s a different person. As she sets up her shots, she explains to me how she can use some as background options for her website templates, and others might be used on book covers with other elements photoshopped in. She takes close-ups of brightly colored blooms and impossible shots of fluttering butterflies, and I’m so mesmerized watching her work, and how she seems to know the names of every blossom and creature, that I don’t hear her the first time she says, “Jump in one.”

The second time she says it, I immediately respond, “Nah, it’s OK. I don’t wanna get in your way.” But truthfully, I do, because the background is gorgeous, and let’s be real, I am not one to pass up a good profile pic.

Thankfully, she sees right through me, and before I can protest again, she yanks me over to a bench surrounded