Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
I stop, digging my heels in. “What? Cops show up?”
“Yes, but mostly after ten.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Pick another statue.”
“So there’s no do illegal things on your top ten list?” Fable asks wryly.
“Not at all,” I say, and maybe I’m a Goody Two-shoes but it’ll keep us all out of jail, and I fear Maeve could find jail easily on her own.
“Fine. We’ll pose on it, not in it,” Maeve says with an aggrieved huff.
We catch a bus to Yerba Buena Gardens, a multi-block square that includes a playground, lawn, bowling alley, skating rink, and theaters. As the bus rolls down Union Street, Maeve cocks her head my way. “Hey. I just thought of something—is this on your list somewhere?”
“Taking a bus with my girlies?”
“No, doing a photo scavenger hunt. Or taking pics like this?”
I blink, awareness hitting me sharp and fast. Actually…it is. Number five—Take photos of your fun times.
Why hadn’t I thought this girls’ night out activity qualified for the list? A photo scavenger is precisely number five. But it never occurred to me. How did I miss something so obvious? It’s a little embarrassing, frankly.
Because you want to do the list with Wesley.
And I’ve been doing this item with him without realizing it either. I flash back to the pictures Wes and I have taken so far—the photo outside the Bay Area Banter Brigade’s theater, then the pictures on Sunday as we baked and ate. “A record of the list,” I’d said in the kitchen, somehow completely oblivious to the fact that we’d already been doing number five.
We’ve done it so well we could even check it off. We’ve been snapping pics as we go.
But that’s not why I’m embarrassed I missed this girls’ night out as a possible number five. My stomach churns because the list feels like it belongs solely to Wes and me. The list is something I do with him. It’s dating him without the label of dating. Saying that out loud, though, is like cracking open my chest.
Maeve nudges me, asking, “So, is it?”
Shoot. I haven’t even answered her.
“Would something like this qualify?” Fable asks too.
That’s a reasonable question—“have fun with friends” feels like a list item. But I also want to have fun with my roomie, so I do something I don’t love. I shake my head. “Bond with friends isn’t,” I say, pasting on a grin as I spin a tall tale.
Fable narrows her brow, maybe thinking I’ve missed the point when she adds, “I think she meant this whole thing—pics and all.”
“Not really,” I say, doubling down on the lie, flicking a strand of my hair off my shoulder, like that proves I’m not making things up.
Fable arches a brow. “You lie.”
I flinch. “I don’t.”
“You do. I bet this is on there,” she says.
My heart slams hard against my rib cage. I feel…caught. “It’s not,” I say as she grabs at my shoulder bag, like she can find the list in it. The list’s at home though.
As the bus curves past Market Street, Maeve leans forward in the blue plastic chair to stare slack-jawed at me, wagging a finger my way. “This is on the list. Somehow. And you don’t want this to count.”
She says it playfully, but like she’s delighting in busting me.
Shame climbs my throat, combined with foolishness. I misled my friends. I roll my lips, then blow out a breath. “Fine, fine. You’re right. Taking photos of fun times is on it. This counts, okay? I missed it, and I felt stupid.”
But Maeve doesn’t back down. “That’s not what’s going on.” She stares at me longer, studying me, like she can find the answer in my expression. She must find it, since she says, “Oh my god! I know what’s going on. You’re doing this with Wesley, aren’t you?”
I drop my face into my hands, groaning. But when the bus rumbles to a stop at Yerba Buena Gardens with a mechanical growl, I let go and look her in the eyes. “Yes,” I admit, and there’s a momentary reprieve as we trot down the steps. Once we head into the gardens, I revisit the topic with a genuine apology. I don’t want to be the friend who fibs. “I’m sorry, guys.”
Maeve grabs my arm, tugging me to a nearby bench. “Josie. You don’t have to apologize.”
Fable gives me a soft smile, exonerating me too. “Yeah, it’s not apology level. We get it. But why didn’t you tell us what’s going on?”
That’s the bigger issue. I’ve been keeping something from them. Something important. That I’m spending more and more time with my roomie. That I’m developing feelings for him—feelings I shouldn’t act on. Correction: shouldn’t act on again. “Yes, but it’s stupid. He’s my roomie, and I’m leaving, and he works with my brother, and it’s all just annoying,” I say with a frustrated huff.