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

I like the idea that I’m a standout. What can I say? I’m vain. “Am I just special?”

Her lips twitch. “I guess you are.”

“I feel special,” I say seriously. It’s meant to sound like teasing, but I do. I’m grateful for how much she’s helped me love it here, for how generous she’s been with her time, with her life. Hell, I’m even grateful that she listened to me tonight about not wanting to be spotted and found another way to make it work. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“You really wanna know?”

“Obviously.”

She pulls us into the driveway and shuts off the car. “You cut through bullshit really, really fast. I cannot even tell you how refreshing that is.”

I definitely owe that to a combination of my mom, who has zero time for bullshit, and Shannon, who taught me not to bother since she’ll see right through me anyway. But I don’t feel like giving anyone else credit. I’m enjoying feeling special—unnervingly so. I’m not gonna say that either, so instead I deflect like the wind. “Well, as long as I’m doing that: I thought you’d want to stay longer tonight. Hang out with Carter.” I let the rest go unsaid.

She glances at me, her usually golden eyes impenetrably dark. “Can I tell you something, only because I think you’ll get it and not think I’m extremely weird?”

I have no idea what’s coming, but there’s only one right answer to that question. “Of course.”

There’s a tear in the thigh of her jeans, and she picks at it, concentrating her gaze downward with the same intensity she gives to capturing perfect shots of butterflies. “I don’t really love the whole partying thing. I mean, sometimes I do. But being surrounded by people is just … a lot. And it’s not that I don’t like hooking up with Carter, but it’s like … I don’t need it in the same way when there aren’t a ton of people there.”

My first thought is that she means she wants other people to see it. After all, how many times have I dreamed of the feeling of a million eyes on me as I stand with Chase under the spotlight at Homecoming or prom? But that isn’t the vibe I get from Jasmine. And then I do get it.

“You don’t need the escape, you mean?”

The smile on her lips is faint, but I see it because I’m looking for it. “Yeah.”

It isn’t something we have in common. I like to be kept busy, to be surrounded, entertained. As much as I love my mom, I suspect it’s from growing up in a quiet house of two. But sometimes always having to be “on,” having to abide by Shannon’s “rules,” having to balance school and work and, yeah, even my high-maintenance crush can get exhausting and frustrating and I just want that feeling of taking your bra off at the end of the day more than I want anything else in the world.

Even if it feels like I’m not allowed to admit it.

“So why do you keep going out?”

She shrugs. “I don’t wanna be alone either. There’s no real compromise here—you either hang out with everyone, or no one.”

“Well,” I say, a brilliant idea sparking in my brain, “maybe that was true before, but it isn’t now. Now you have a housemate! How about tomorrow night we stay back and hang out? We can have an incredibly cheesy and stereotypical girls’ night. Heavy on the ice cream. Hair curlers optional.”

Jasmine laughs with a rare fullness that I’m way too proud of eliciting. “Deal.”

We shake hands before going inside.

I think about that handshake a lot, because it reassures me that it was clearly just a friendly suggestion.

I had no idea what it would spark.

Chapter Eight

NOW

There was a time when I always put up with Shannon’s shit because it was easier than fighting with her, but it turns out that was completely pointless—I’ve been mad all week, and she doesn’t even notice. When I grunt in response to her questions or bail on lunch to work on a lab report, she acts like that’s nothing out of the ordinary and goes on chattering about the shopping trip she’s taking with her mom in SoHo for her birthday and this guy she hooked up with in France who keeps sending her pictures of himself making sad faces over missing her.

I try to make eyes with Kiki and Gia, but as usual, Gia’s hanging on every word and piping up with ways Tommy either is or should be more romantic, and Kiki couldn’t care less, because some huge YouTuber named Kiki on the Case as his newest bonkers obsession. She’s managing a wild increase in followers and subscribers, so her only contributions to conversations this week have been things like “What do you think about a series on celebrity death conspiracy theories, starting with Marilyn Monroe? I need to appeal to a bigger audience now.”

I would be thrilled when things are shaken up with a new face at our lunch table on Friday, except that face belongs to Jasmine.

“Yay!” Shannon claps her hands together as Jasmine takes a seat, setting down a tray of chicken fingers and tater tots with extra hot sauce. “Excited you finally made it.”

Finally made it? Ugh. If I weren’t already annoyed at Shannon, knowing she’s been inviting Jasmine to lunch every damn day would certainly do it. Shannon only tries this hard with people when she thinks they have something of value to add to our group. I wonder whether it was Jasmine’s gorgeous house or killer party that did it. Both are sort of weird options, since Shannon has every bit as nice a house, and plenty of kids around here throw good parties, but what else could it be? It’s not like she knows that Jasmine has gorgeous photography skills and amazing taste in books, or that she’s the most fun person to road-trip with because she’ll howl the most ridiculous lyrics