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

always liked reading for fun, and you’re always the first to want to learn or try something new, which probably makes great research. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how many times you’ve let me fingerprint you.”

I snort. “I couldn’t if I wanted to. That ink stained my fingers for, like, a week.”

“And I appreciate it!” She grins. “But okay, so, not to get all Gia on you, but don’t tell me there was zero romance this summer. Something cooled your Chase panties all the way down.”

I groan. “Do you have to phrase everything so extremely gross?”

“Yes.”

“There might have been … some kissing,” I allow. “But that’s all I’ll say about that. And let the record show that my Chase panties are still firmly on. Are we done now?”

“We’re done,” she agrees, pulling up to my building. “But Lar, I’m really, really glad you told me. And if you ever wanna use those newfound web skills, I wouldn’t mind having help making some pretty ads for Kiki on the Case. Paid, of course.”

I tap my finger to my chin. “I don’t know if you could afford me, but we’ll talk.” Impulsively, I lean over and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Thanks, Keeks.” I jump out of the car before she can yell at me for showing emotion.

But there’s no yelling. “Lar?”

I turn back. “Yeah?”

“Whoever you were kissing … I think they must’ve been really good for you.”

My mind lingers on her use of “they” long after she leaves me standing in the Porsche’s dust.

Chapter Eleven

The thing about using your cell phone as your alarm clock is it’s hard to avoid seeing your notifications first thing when you wake up. The minute I open my eyes, I see a new episode of Kiki on the Case has been released.

Oh, and the title of the episode is “Secret Relationships in History.”

It’s too early to deal with my stress over whether or not she’s trying to send me a message, or worse, if there’s something pointed at me in it, so I skip my usual routine of scrolling through everyone’s posts and pictures to wake myself up and instead hop straight into the shower.

I try to think about literally anything else as the hot spray rains, but everything from Homecoming to Chase to college feels charged. I went to sleep around eleven last night, and there hadn’t been a new episode then; what was so important Kiki had to post it first thing this morning? Not to mention the time she must’ve taken to edit it. Did she even sleep?

I guess I should be grateful I got to, thanks to having no idea this was coming.

Sighing in defeat, I finish my shower quickly and throw some mousse in my natural waves rather than going through the whole curling routine that’s been keeping me extra cute since Jasmine introduced me to it. I don’t feel like looking extra cute; I want to blend so deeply into the woodwork even Kiki and her eagle eyes won’t see me. The dress I had picked out for today gets pushed aside in favor of a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, and I skip makeup entirely.

Chase will probably walk right through me.

Today, that’s all I want.

As usual, Shannon’s right on time to pick me up, and Gia’s in the back seat, but no sign of Kiki, who’s usually picked up first. “Keeks is taking the Porsche in again today,” Shannon explains as I climb into the front seat of her 4Runner, “but don’t worry.” She taps her dashboard. “It’s basically like she’s here.”

Shannon is playing the newest episode of Kiki on the Case, because of course she is.

“I haven’t listened yet,” I say cautiously. “What’d I miss?”

“She’s putting secret couples from history on blast. Did you know Eleanor Roosevelt was a lesbian? She had a secret lover and everything.”

The coffee my mom handed me this morning sloshes in my stomach. “You don’t say.”

I have to warn Jasmine today about the conversations that are gonna be floating around, and about the very distinct possibility that Kiki has somehow pieced together the truth about us. Thinking about any and all of it makes me wanna die.

For a moment, I’m worried I spoke aloud, because suddenly Shannon’s car is turning onto Jasmine’s street.

“What are we doing here?” Gia asks, and I’m relieved I don’t have to.

“Jasmine’s car is in the shop, so I told her we’d give her a ride.”

That Shannon knows her car is in the shop, and that Shannon is who Jasmine went to for help, punches me in the gut. They’re really becoming friends, and I don’t know whether the idea of not being Shannon’s number one anymore or the idea of not being Jasmine’s number one at Stratford bothers me more. How did they bond like this? When? Where was I?

Gia huffs the tiniest bit. Everyone knows that in our close-knit group of four, Shannon and I are the tightest; when my mom was still finding her footing in the job market and working later hours than Child Protective Services would’ve found acceptable, the Salter mansion’s open-door policy was a lifesaver, rendering us inseparable. But that doesn’t mean any one of us are gonna be cool with a fifth wheel.

Shannon pretends not to notice.

The sound of a door slamming makes us all look up. As if Jasmine knew I was gonna be wearing my blandest outfit, she’s wearing what must be one of her loudest—black-and-white-checkered hip huggers, a cropped hot-pink sweater that looks gorgeous with her deeply tanned skin, and big gold hoops that poke through her thick, silky curtain of hair. She’s usually a few inches taller than me, but today she’s wearing platforms that lift her a few extra.

She looks like she wants to be noticed.

I try not to think about whom she’d like to be noticed by.

It’s a few weeks into the school year and I haven’t heard any rumors of Jasmine getting with anyone or even flirting, though I’ve heard of plenty of