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

Carter. I don’t know how many times they might’ve hooked up since that first night, but I couldn’t forget Keisha’s “like bunnies” if I tried. They—

“Hey, any chance you wanna skip this thing tonight and stay here?”

I whirl around to see Jasmine standing in the doorway to my room, her hair in her usual party waves but her face makeup-free, her body clad in nothing but a tank top and pajama shorts, her legs glittering lightly with sparkly lotion that I happen to know smells like peaches.

“Movie night?” I offer, hoping she can’t tell how excited I am that we’re on the same page.

“I’ll go make popcorn.”

Our parents are out at a dinner tonight, which they are so often that I would think it was a cover if I hadn’t heard my mother firmly confirm reservations while curling her hair and touching up her lipstick all at the same time. She can be an octopus of multitasking when she needs to. It’s what makes her so good at her job, and also a little frightening. We haven’t spent as much time together this summer as I’d imagined when she floated the change of plans by me, but we promised tomorrow we’d have a Saturday brunch, just the two of us, and I’m strangely looking forward to it.

I slide on some tinted lip balm and put my hair, still wet from the shower, in two simple braids. It’s a relief to slip into a T-shirt and shorts instead of a party outfit, but I have to shake the momentary urge to put on something nice to impress Jasmine.

“Your hair looks cute like that,” she says when I walk into the living room, where she’s splayed out on the couch, her tank top riding up an inch.

Warmth tinges my cheeks at her compliment. “Thanks. I didn’t know what else to do with it. Didn’t feel like blow-drying it.” I fiddle with the wet ends. “Don’t you dare give me an ‘I told you so,’ but I’ve been thinking about what you said in the gardens. About making a change. Maybe.”

She bites her lip to keep from laughing, and I stick out my tongue. “It was only a suggestion!” she calls over her shoulder as the microwave beeps and she hops up to get the puffed-up bag of popcorn. “But I would be totally pro a curly bob. Not super short or anything, but like, curls down to here.” She indicates her throat just past her chin. “Your hair’s naturally wavy anyway, right? It’d be so much less work.”

“That sounds … kind of cute, actually,” I say, but what I’m thinking is whether Shannon would think I could pull it off, and if Chase prefers long hair. His dating history would suggest he does. “I was also thinking of maybe going lighter. Like, actual blond—not my something-in-between-blond-and-brown color.”

She tips her head, examining me in a way that makes me feel warm all over, and nods. “You would look so good blond, I bet.” She puts the popcorn on the counter, walks over, and delicately lifts a braid. “Yeah, I totally see it.”

I forget how to breathe until the braid once again grazes my shoulder. “You think?”

“I definitely think. There’s a cool wig shop I’ve been wanting to check out, for fun and maybe a few pictures. We could try it, see what you think. If you like it, I know a great place only a few miles away with a stylist named Valentina who’s a genius. She used to style my mom’s hair when we came here before my parents’ divorce, and trust me, my mother would not let anyone who couldn’t medal in the hair Olympics touch her precious locks.”

It sounds scary and fun, and I’m not sure which emotion is winning. I haven’t changed my look in … ever, really. The one I have now has always worked well enough—it’s friend-approved, mom-adored, and even if I haven’t gotten the Boy, it certainly looks good enough to get other boys for some fun here and there.

What would they all think if I came back with such a drastic change?

No, wait, screw that—what would I think?

“Let’s try it,” I say before I can let anyone else’s voice make me second-guess myself. “It’s just temporary, right? No commitment until I see if I like it.”

“Exactly. No cutting or dyeing until you get to see it on you. But I bet you’re gonna look amazing. I have an eye for these things.”

Considering how good Jasmine looks on a daily basis, I don’t doubt it. Not that I say that. “What do you want to watch?” I ask instead.

“Something fun and glamorous.” She grabs some peanut M&Ms from their constant spot in the kitchen cabinet and shakes them into the popcorn, then brings the bowl to the couch and pats the seat next to her. “I can always watch Ocean’s 8 or Crazy Rich Asians or whatever for the zillionth time, or we can try something else if you’re in the mood.”

Those words aren’t meant to be suggestive, but my skin prickles anyway. Her tank top is hanging low and her hair looks soft to the touch and we haven’t established any sorts of rules, but it feels like I would be breaking one if I told her I was, in fact, very in the mood.

“Whatever you want,” I croak as I join her, careful not to let my skin brush hers. She shrugs and puts on Crazy Rich Asians, which she’s already watched at least twice this summer. It is a fun movie, but it’s not a particularly sexy one, and I hope that watching it like a hawk will get these ridiculous thoughts out of my brain. But then she stretches the gold chenille throw blanket over my lap and I get the scent of her peach lotion and even Henry Golding can’t bring me back from the brink of madness.

Jasmine, of course, doesn’t notice a thing. She’s glued to the screen, commenting on how much