Elena hardly saw the mothers with strollers and old fogeys reading their newspapers and the few hipper, looser, younger people who’d begun to show up for Jake’s gig—her eyes were focused on Jake, seated, as she knew he would be, at the small round table next to the platform where he would perform. It had been only three days since they’d seen each other, but it felt like a lifetime.
He gazed up at her with his shy smile and she was pleased to see that he looked just like himself, so tall that he seemed folded into his seat, his light brown hair mussed and a little too long, like an overgrown little boy. He’d worn the faded Speed Racer shirt she’d bought him last year for Christmas and on the table in front of him was a pink smoothie, which she knew must be for her, since he’d never let that kind of sugary, milky drink gum up his throat before he had to sing.
“Hey-o!” she said, sliding into the seat across from him. “Jake. Jaybird. Where’ve you been my whole life?”
He blinked at her with his wide, pale eyes. “Your smoothie, madam.”
Taking a sip, she thought through the various tastes as they hit her tongue and said, “Umm. Raspberry and … banana. A hint of, is that vanilla yogurt? Where’s the kale? I’m disappointed. To me it’s not a smoothie unless there’s kale.” This was a game they’d played a hundred times, imitating and mocking the pretentious foodies who’d taken over the strip of restaurants along Magnolia.
“Kale’s so last year,” Jake said, picking up on her riff. “I asked for brussels sprouts, but they were all out.”
They both laughed at this.
“You better get your mom to take care of that,” she said.
She tapped at the table with both hands, grinning at Jake, unable to contain the energy inside herself. She could see by the inquisitive angle of his gaze that he was trying to get a bead on why she was so excited.
“Everything okay, Elena?”
She held up a finger, like, wait a second. She felt like a hundred firecrackers were going off at the same time inside of her, each one a new thing she wanted to tell him, all of them erupting on top of each other, drowning each other out. To calm herself down, she guzzled her smoothie through the straw until she’d given herself a brain freeze. Then she threw herself dramatically, head and shoulders and one slapping open hand, onto the table.
“So,” she said. And she grinned at him.
“It’s good to see you, too,” he said, matching her grin for grin.
Sitting up, leaning back, both hands splayed flat on the table, she just kept grinning.
“What, Elena? Tell me!” he said, carving a little doodle of expectation in the air with his head.
“It’s nothing. It’s stupid,” she said.
Jake’s eyebrows raised slightly, then returned to neutral.
“I’ve been talking to some guy on AnAmerica. Chatting. Like internet-wise. And … I don’t know. It’s silly. It’s just flirting. Forget it.”
“You’ve been chatting with a guy online? Don’t you do that every day with your AnAmerica friends?”
“Yeah, but this is different.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t know. It just is. He seems smarter than most of those people. And he really liked the animation I made for you. He said it reminded him of the art he saw in Paris. He just … surprised me, I guess.”
Jake hunched down in his chair, as much as was possible with his long legs. He had that look on his face that he got when was listening closely, taking everything in and absorbing it in that sensitive way of his. “Paris, huh?” he said.
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve fallen in love with him because—”
“Love? Who said anything about love? I’ve fallen into witty banter with him. I’ve fallen into Wow, you know about art and you can talk to me about my animations in a really sophisticated way and you think I’m talented and you’re so much cooler than the boneheads and dweebs who usually like me with him. I’ve fallen into I’m bored and my sister’s being a pain and my best friend is busy with his new family across town with him.”
Jake flinched a little, and Elena sort of regretted making that comment about him being too busy for her. But what had he said on moving day? That he’d call her all the time or something? Well, her cell hadn’t exactly been ringing off the hook or buzzing with texts from him since then. She didn’t want to admit it, but it kind of stung.
“Do you know anything else about him? Like what his name is, even?” he asked, his voice sharp.
“His name is Harlow.”
“Harlow what?”
Elena stared at Jake, unable to answer. What was up with him today? This was exactly not how she’d thought this conversation would go.
“You’ve talked to him, how many times?”
“Like … two.” Why did she feel so defensive? “Does it matter?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Jake. He shook his head and winced, thinking it through. “I’d be careful, Elena … Guys on the internet. Anybody on the internet, really. You can never know who they really are. Who knows what he might be up to. Stealing your information. Infiltrating your computer. Toying with you just to, I don’t know, fulfill some dark little fantasy of his. He might not even be a guy. Or he might be eighty years old. Or seven. You see what I’m saying? Just … be careful.”
“Okay, Dad. I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, hoping her tone would point out to him how weirdly overprotective he was being.
He looked so wounded somehow. It was bizarre. “I’d just hate to see you get hurt,” he said.
“Have you ever seen me let myself get hurt? Look! I’m wearing Doc Martens!”
She yanked her foot up above the tabletop to show off her pink combat boots, hoping that doing so would lighten the mood. But Jake had withdrawn into one of his quiet places. Elena could never tell what he was thinking when he did that. She could see the emotions rippling on his surface, but she had no way of knowing what those emotions were. Though she knew there was no reason to, she felt bad, like she’d somehow done something wrong.
Jake’s fans were beginning to show up. Kids from school, mostly—Becky Anderson, with her timid way of walking, like she didn’t want anyone to see her and her signature waist-length braid; Arnold Chan, the computer whiz who’d gotten in so much trouble a couple of years ago when he’d been running tech for the graduation ceremony where Jules Turnbull’s homemade sex tape had been inadvertently played; and a handful of others. Jake nodded and threw curt two-fingered waves at them.
Hoping to make peace, Elena asked, “How’s life in the fast lane? Has Cameron taken you out on the yacht yet?”
“No,” he said glumly. “And even if he had … he’s sort of aggressively proud of how rich he is, you know?”
Maybe this was why Jake was in such a mood today. Maybe he was having a hard time getting used to the idea of this new guy strolling into his life and in some way trying to replace his dad. Elena frowned sympathetically, but she wasn’t sure Jake saw. She’d lost him to the hidden thoughts in his head.
She surveyed the room with its potted palm trees and tiki lamps and rasta flags. There was Seth Rothman. And Sally French. Hank Lewis. Cassie Crews. When Hannah Jones entered, Elena watched her fuss over where to sit. This happened every time Hannah showed up at one of Jake’s gigs. Trying to look nonchalant with a finger tapping at her lip, Hannah paced from one part of the room to another, vying for a prime position near the stage, where she could