“
What happened to you?” Monica accused over a tray of leafy greens.
“What?” Joy said. “Nothing.”
“Well, that nothing has you eating your salad with a spoon.”
Embarrassed, Joy switched utensils, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting her fingers linger there. She grinned again.
“I’m just thinking,” she said, poking the lettuce, “about stuff.”
“Thinking stuff.” Monica nodded and chewed. “Sounds dangerous.”
“Not yet,” Joy chirped.
Monica slapped both hands on her tray, “Okay, that’s it— spill.”
“What?”
“What ‘what?’ Don’t give me ‘what’ and expect me not to ask ‘what?’” Monica pointed her fork at Joy’s nose. “You’ve been a total nut job ever since that night at the Carousel, and what with breaking windows and random notes and skipping off after school, you think I don’t know there’s a ‘what?’” Monica sounded angry, which was her protective-sisterhood thing. Joy tried not to laugh.
“Is it drugs?” Monica hissed over her salad. “Because if it’s drugs, so help me, I will beat your sorry pale pink butt from here to next Thursday. I will call your dad, I will call the cops and I will even call Gordon and cancel our date!”
“Whoa.” Joy waved a napkin in surrender. “It’s not drugs. No drugs. I swear. Remember? No Stupid,” Joy said, but had to add, “But there is a someone.”
“A someone?”
“A someone.”
“A guy?”
Joy rolled her eyes. “Yes, a guy. There’s a guy. I like guys.”
Monica pursed her lips. “There’s a guy and you like guys and you met a guy, this Someone-A-Guy?”
Joy prodded her lunch, picking at the crust of her sandwich. “There’s a guy and I don’t know what I think about him. I’m just…thinking about him. A lot.”
“Mmm,” Monica said noncommittally. “So does this guy have a name?”
Joy considered the question. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Monica prompted with a wave of speared iceberg lettuce. “And?”
“And there’s not much to talk about.” Joy shrugged and took a wide bite of sandwich, filling her mouth. She couldn’t decide whether Indelible was his first name or Ink, but neither sounded particularly normal. As opposed to Gordon Wiener-Schnitzel. Still, it was a subject best avoided.
“Uh-huh.” Monica joined Joy in a long bout of chewing. They exchanged glances and evasions like fencing partners until Monica swallowed. “Okay,” she said. “So, this mysterious Someone-A-Guy that you can’t stop thinking about— would I, as your best friend, theoretically speaking, give him a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down?”
Two thumbs down, definitely, for mysteryguywhostabbedmeintheeye. Joy swallowed. “He’s not your type,” she said diplomatically.
“But he’s your type?” Monica said. “And, what is your type, exactly?”
“He’s…” Joy stumbled, trying to find the words. “Exciting. Intellectual. A little sad, which can be sweet.” The flash in her eye inspired her. “He’s an artist.”
“An artist?” Monica sneered around cukes. “Please do not tell me that you’re going to go all emo on me. That’s worse than drugs.
”
”