Chapter 1
My life is not a romance novel.
That’s what I’m trying to explain to my best friend, Tessa, as she’s going all heart-eyed and swoony over my summer vacation plans. But the girl is having none of it.
“Lenore, you don’t understand,” she says, throwing herself on her bed like it’s a goddamn fainting couch. “I literally begged my parents for this scenario for years. Years! Or it was at least in the top five.”
I arch my eyebrow at her in the mirror as I add another layer of mascara. I want my eyelashes to be thick and spidery, like Diana Ross’s in the seventies. “Top five? That sounds very official. Was it, like, written down?”
“Yes, in fact, but I can recite it from memory.” She nods her head all serious and straightens her spine, oblivious that I’m messing with her. “Number one”—she starts pressing
a pink-manicured finger into her palm—“summer camp that’s conveniently popular with boy band members just trying to live a normal life. Number two, small town that’s inexplicably having a monthlong Christmas festival. Number three—”
I throw my hands up. “Okay, I got it, sis. You really don’t have to continue—”
“Number three,” she cuts me off, narrowing her big brown eyes at me. “European vacation. And on a cruise ship too! The Mediterranean! The summer after graduation! It’s like you’ve hit the romance jackpot! Except instead of money pouring out of the slot machine, it’s hearts and cute boys and sunshine and gelato and romantic historic buildings, and, I don’t know, maybe even condoms.”
A mischievous smile spreads across her face, and I think back to the Tessa I first met last year—mousy and anxious and likely to fall into a conniption if anyone even spoke the word “condom” in her presence. I know this is positive growth or whatever, but man, she can be irritating.
I turn around, rolling my eyes at her. “You’ve conveniently left out my parents and my sister and my brother, who, oh yeah, I’m sharing a tiny little room with. Ain’t no condoms happening anywhere near me this summer.”
“Not with that attitude,” she snorts. She holds her hands out wide, and her eyes go all unfocused, like my grandma Lenore (yes, we have the same name) when she’s talking about what she got on a T.J. Maxx run. “I can see it now. You’re in a floppy striped hat and that red high-waisted bathing suit you bought at Target last week—”
“How do you remember that? You weren’t even with—”
“Lying outstretched on the pool deck, your skin glowing in the sun. And a handsome stranger with a, like, ten-pack walks by, and is mesmerized by your beauty, and notices you’re having trouble reaching the very middle of your back with your sunscreen . . . well, maybe not sunscreen because we don’t wear that—”
“Hold up,” I say, and she’s jerked out of her heart-eyed daze. “What you mean, we don’t wear that?”
“I mean, we don’t need to wear sunscreen. You know”—she waves vaguely—“melanin.”
I blink at her, but no I’m just fucking with you smile appears. This girl is for real. “Of course we need to wear sunscreen! Tessa, are you really out here just walking around in the sun unprotected?”
She shrugs and heads for her bookshelf. “Anyway, that’s not important right now.”
“Uh, skin cancer is important.”
“This is a love emergency, Lenore! Love is important. Honestly, you need to take this seriously,” she scoffs, and now I don’t know if she’s messing with me. Love emergency? Ma’am, I’m going on a family vacation.
“We really don’t need to be doing this right now,” I say, but she’s ignoring me, hands on her hips as she stands in front of her huge bookshelf with the spines arranged in a perfect rainbow. “Research,” she mutters to herself, tapping her chin. “She needs to do research.”
I shake my head and return my attention to the mirror, putting on a coat of bright c
I shake my head and return my attention to the mirror, putting on a coat of bright coral lipstick that pops against my skin. Mom braided my locs into an intricate updo earlier today, and I tuck a few wayward strands in.
This is how Tessa is. Well, it’s a little extra, even for her. Probably just nerves for tonight. And lord knows I’ve got them too. Jay still hasn’t texted. Maybe I should check one more time. Tessa’s too busy to notice and try to stop me, after all . . .
A loud crash stops me from grabbing my phone that I definitely should not check one more time. Tessa was, judging by the chaos of fallen books around her, standing on something to reach a book on the top shelf. That wouldn’t be too difficult normally, except it is right now, considering she’s wearing a fluffy, pale pink tulle ball gown. Because, oh yeah, back up: we are about to leave for prom. Which means we actually really, really don’t need to be doing this right now.
“Are you okay?!” I jump up, gathering the skirt of my teal lace mermaid dress, and rush to where she’s flat on her back, lost in her fluttery confection of an outfit. The only body part I can find is an arm outstretched in the air, holding tight to a paperback book.
“I’m fine!” she insists, batting away fabric so I can see her face. “Fine, fine! This is what I was looking for!”
She smiles slowly, and then presents the book to me, cradling it like it’s some sort of holy text. Anna and the French Kiss. It’s hot pink with a heart and a picture of the Eiffel Tower, i.e., something I wouldn’t read if you paid me. Well, okay, maybe if you paid me. But it
would have to be enough to buy a Pyer Moss dress straight off the runway or something, and I know that’s not what’s happening here.
“I need you to read this before you leave, and then”—she chuckles with a knowing smirk—“and then, well, you’ll see.”
I shake my head. “Get out of here with that. You know I don’t have time to read this. What with finals and grad night and graduation. And the kinda big thing happening in, uh”—I check my phone for the time, and also to see if Jay has texted (he hasn’t)—“two hours! Here, let me fix your hair. The back is flat now.” I gently put the book that I’m no-way-in-hell reading on her nightstand and grab a pick to fluff up her curls. But her arms are crossed and I can feel the scheming energy just wafting off her. “Plus,” I add, hoping it’ll get her to let that book go, “I’m not even going to Paris.”
She dives for her desk, almost losing a fistful of curls in the process, and picks up a piece of paper. “Oh yeah, you’re right. This says Marseille. But they’re both in France, so how different can they be?”
Is that . . . ? I move in for a closer look. It is. Our cruise’s itinerary. I don’t remember giving her that, but okay.
“It’s online,” she says, reading my mind. “Public knowledge. Anyone could find it. Not weird at all. Here, let me send you something . . . it’s gonna take me a minute to find it though.”
Her eyebrows press together as she types and scrolls on her phone, and I use this break in the nonsense to gather the rest of my outfit: gold starburst earrings, metallic pumps with embroidered block heels, a beaded purse that I picked up at an estate sale last week, and my leather jacket draped over my arm in case it gets cold later. I take it all in through Tessa’s mirror, confirming what I already know: this look is guh-ood. Two syllables good. I hope it goes well with whatever Jay picked out. We didn’t coordinate or anything because it’s not like that. Like, not at all. But it would be cool if it worked out anyway.
My phone pings, and I feel this irritating flutter in my chest. Is that him finally? But Tessa chases that stupid thought away.
“Okay, I’m going to preface this by saying this is really old and way cheesy, but if you don’t have time to read a book—” She pauses to give me a look that makes it clear what she thinks of my excuse. “—this is the next best thing. It’s the first thing I thought of, honestly.”
I open up her message to see a YouTube link. The preview shows a movie poster with a blond girl holding a suitcase and standing on her tiptoes for no damn reason.
“What is this? Did it come out before we were born?”
“Yeah, but it’s still good. See, this girl goes on a class trip to Rome—which is on your itinerary—and there’s this pop star who looks just like her, but she’s missing—”
“Was she murdered?”
“No, it’s not that type of movie. But then she meets this guy named Paolo—”
“Did he murder her?”
“No . . . you know, actually, now that I’m remembering it, she doesn’t end up with the Italian guy in the end because he’s evil or something. Here, wait, let me send you something else.”
My phone pings a few seconds later, with a link to another old-ass movie. A badly photoshopped picture of two more blond girls posing in front of the Italian flag.
“See, this is some white girl shit,” I say, before Tessa can even tell me the ridiculous plot of this one. I take a deep breath and toss my phone on the bed. “Nobody’s gonna be checking for me when I’m on some boring tour with my family. No European boy is gonna go all ooh-la-la and drive me away on his moped to get baguettes and gelato. Not everyone gets some happy ending all wrapped up in a bow. That stuff is for your movies and your books, but not for real life, Tessa. At least not for me.”
All I get is secret prom dates and unanswered texts, I add to myself, swallowing down something tight and sharp in my throat.
Tessa maneuvers around the piles of books, her dress swish-swishing. Her eyebrows press together, and she grabs both of my hands in hers. “That’s not true. Everyone deserves a happy ending. Especially you, Lenore. You are the kindest, coolest person I know, and the right guy is gonna be drawn to that like a magnet.”
This type of Hallmark-movie speak is Tessa’s brand. She’s earnest. I’m talking Taylor Swift before she discovered snakes earnest. Like, two a.m., kissing in the rain, alllllll that shit. But she actually believes what she’s saying, so you can’t even hate her for it. And at
least she usually uses it for good: these beautiful love stories starring Black girls like us that have earned her a fairly large fan base online—oh, and admission into UCI’s creative writing program this fall.
“Whoa, what is going on here?” Our friend Theo is standing in the doorway, an expression of concern on his face as he surveys the mess. His black hair is slicked back, and he looks all debonair in a pinstripe suit, baby-blue button-up, and floral bow tie. “Did you finally snap, Tessa?”
“No, we’re planning how Lenore’s going to have an epic love affair with an Italian boy named something sexy like Enzo on her cruise this summer,” she says matter-of-factly.
Theo looks me up and down, barely holding in his smirk. “Love that for you.”
“See?” she says, widening her eyes in her signature I told you so face. “Now, can you stop being difficult and just agree to watch this stuff? We need to get ready!”
As if I’m the one who’s been holding us up. Honestly, I’d want to punch her if I didn’t love her so much.
I shake my head. “Yeah, whatever.”
I want life to be the way Tessa sees it. Really, I do. I want an epic kiss while the credits roll, happily ever after. And having that happen in Italy or Greece or France or Spain—all the stops on this cruise my parents planned—would be magical. I’m not too jaded to imagine myself sipping espresso at a café with a handsome boy. Or long walks hand in hand through
mazes of blindingly white buildings, while the sun goes down over the bright blue sea. I mean, come on. My heart isn’t completely shriveled up.
But also, what if I don’t need all that? What if I’ve already found my love story, and it just doesn’t look all mushy gushy like the stuff of Tessa’s love stories? That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
I can’t say this out loud to her, of course. I can already see their reactions now, the usual ones when I bring up Jay. Tessa’s judge-y look, masquerading as concern, and Theo raising his top lip like he’s smelled something funky. I don’t want to deal with all that right now. And anyway, Theo has moved on from my love woes to his own.
“—and I wasn’t sure if I should buy it because the rules are unclear, you know? Who buys the boutonnieres? If both of us do, they might not match. And that could be interesting . . . but then what if he’d rather have a corsage?”
It’s weird seeing him like this. Usually he talks like a cross between a robot and a butler from a PBS show, all proper and shit. But right now his tan skin is turning pink, and he’s all twitchy and nervous. It’s really cute, but he would totally roll his eyes if I said that out loud.
“Why didn’t you ask him what he wanted?” Tessa asked, switching her laser focus to him. This kinda stuff is her jam, and I’m glad Theo is taking the spotlight off me.
“Because I didn’t want to stress him out about it,” Theo says, adjusting his bow tie for the tenth time. “With . . . everything already going on with his parents? I just want it to be a good night for him. A happy memory.”
I feel a pang in my chest, seeing the hurt on Theo’s face. Theo’s been out to his parents since middle school, and they’re all about it. Like, marching in the Pride parade downtown in matching rainbow tutus all about it. But Lavon, his boyfriend, just came out to his parents this year, and it didn’t go well. They’ve pretty much pretended that it didn’t happen at all. And when he told them he was going to prom with his serious, long-term boyfriend, they told him he could do what he liked, but they didn’t want to hear about it any further.
“Oh, Theo, it will be,” I say, pulling him into a tight hug. “Because he’ll be with you.”
“Theodore,” he growls, but he lets me hug him.
“It’s almost graduation,” I coo as I pat his head. “I think it’s about time for you to give that up and accept my nickname, love.”
“Never.”
The door squeaks, and I look up to see Miles, Tessa’s brother, standing there, a lopsided smile taking up his whole face.
“Group hug!” he shouts, crashing into us, as his infectious laugh makes his whole body shake.
“Yes, group hug,” Tessa says, and I can hear her sniffling. “I love you all.”
“You better suck those tears back in!” I say, pulling her in close. “We got pictures to take.”
“Yeah, right now! Mom sent me in here to get you because everyone’s here,” Miles says, jerking back. “Tessa, you better fix your hair because it’s so flat and you don’t want to look
like a flat head in all these pictures because then Sam might dump you. He’s outside, and he told me he’s looking for a new girlfriend anyway!”
“These are valid concerns, Miles,” I add with a snort. “I was just telling her the same thing about her flat head.”
“You jerks!” Tessa says, pushing out of the hug and smacking Miles’s shoulder. He runs out of the room in a burst of giggles, and she swish-swishes after him, stopping in front of the mirror to fluff up the back of her fro.
Before she makes it outside, though, she collides with Sam, her cinnamon roll of a boyfriend. His blond hair is freshly cut, and he’s wearing a black suit and a tie that perfectly matches the blush pink of her dress—a step up from his typical uniform of Hawaiian shirts.
He cradles her cheek, pulls her in close at the waist, and stares at her all wide-eyed and reverently, like she’s a treasure.
“You look . . . beautiful,” he whispers. “I mean. Wow. Just . . . wow.”
Her eyes sparkle and a smile stretches across her face as she moves in for a deep kiss.
Of course she sees the world the way she does. I might believe this one true love, happily ever after bullshit, too, if some guy looked at me like that.
Jay doesn’t. But maybe he will? Maybe tonight.
“God, get a room,” I say, sounding a little more harsh than I intend.
“No one better be getting any rooms!” Tessa’s dad booms, appearing out of nowhere. Sam’s cheeks flame and he takes two giant steps back. “Now come on, y’all,” he continues.
“Carol is about to have a fit if she doesn’t get some pictures for her Facebook soon. I’m warning you, she’s got poses planned and everything.”
When we get outside, all the families are standing there like some sort of paparazzi line. Miles, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson (I can never call them Carol and James no matter how much they insist I do that casual shit), Mr. and Mrs. Lim (they prefer those names like normal parents). And then Mom, Dad, and my little sister, Etta, who begged Mom and Dad to come but is sitting on Tessa’s porch now with her nose buried in a textbook like the freaky prodigy kid she is.
“That’s good, now get together,” Mrs. Johnson calls, crouching down low for some reason, getting a good shot of our nostrils. “Do you guys know the Charlie’s Angels? That could be fun!”
It goes by in a blur, my brain rushing to catch up with the fact that this big high school tradition is actually happening, right now. I’ve been feeling this a lot lately, with every simultaneous first and last that pops up with more frequency as graduation day looms closer. You look forward to and dream about all the moments and then, hey, it’s here, it’s happening, and then, bam, it’s over and it will never happen again. The end.
It makes me want to be present and intentional, to reach out and capture these moments so I can store them and save them for later. For when we’re all spread out at different colleges and everything I know and love is never the way it is again, just right now.
For about a year when I was little, I used to carry aro
und a gigantic pink Polaroid camera, and whenever I saw anything interesting—a family of ants, a lunch box abandoned on the school lawn, skies that looked like watercolor—I would disappear behind it and click. I went through so much film, basically wallpapering my room with the photos, that my mom put me on a weekly limit. Like some old man with a cigarette habit.
“Why do you take so many pictures?” I remember my older brother, Wally, asking me. “They’re not even good.”
“I’m just memorizing,” I said, and he rolled his eyes at me. But really, I still think that’s the best word for what I was doing. How else can you make sure the little moments aren’t forgotten?
I don’t know what happened to that pink camera, and I don’t have my own camera now. Only my phone, and it won’t do any of this justice.
So, I use my mind to memorize how Theo throws his arms around me and hugs me tighter than he ever has in the four years I’ve known him. I memorize my mom stepping in for Lavon and straightening out his bow tie, the same way she did when my brother went to his first dance with his boyfriend. I memorize Sam pulling Miles into his picture with Tessa, right in the middle, like it’s no big deal. I memorize Dad’s sparkling white smile, so big you can see the pink of his gums.
I wish I could know for sure that I’ve gotten all of it, that I would never forget. I wish I could guarantee that this was not the end of the good, that I could ensure that there’s just as
much good waiting for me at NYU next year.
And I wish . . . I wish Jay was here for it all. I finally let myself admit it. In my head, of course, because there’s no need to bring drama to the buzzy, giddy vibes in the limo when we’re finally on our way. I know he’s being irritating and not texting me back right now, but that doesn’t erase the fluttery feeling I get in my chest when he whispers “Hey, lady” late at night on the phone or the ache in my stomach when we sneak away to the fourth-floor stairwell during conservatory.
I wish Jay was here to hold my hand and let my head rest on his shoulder, like my friends are all doing with their people right now.
But of course, he can’t be.
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