When we get back to the house, Linden’s lights are on but he’s not outside, and his place is quiet. I only got a glimpse of him in the police station earlier, but his hunched shoulders and that lost look in his eyes has been spinning through my mind ever since. I still haven’t forgotten how he took care of my split knuckles last night. It doesn’t fit with the jackass I’ve been living next to since last fall.
Quinn’swhy aren’t you getting some of that?keeps popping into my thoughts.
After Quinn and I both take showers, I’m slicing up veggies for our stir fry when Greta appears outside the screen door.
“Hey, Greta, come in!” I call.
Kody leaps from the couch to greet her.
“Hey, boy,” Greta says, scooping him up. He starts purring, his eyes closing in bliss as she scratches behind his ears. Greta rubs her cheek against the top of his head before setting him back down. She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts and an oversized, pale green t-shirt, her honey-brown hair loose about her shoulders, the tips dyed a cotton-candy pink.
I wipe my hands on a dishtowel and reach across the island to the envelope stashed next to my sugar bowl. “Thanks so much.”
“Anytime.” She tucks the envelope into the back pocket of her shorts.
Quinn saunters into the room, her hair still damp from her shower.
I introduce them, and Quinn’s eyebrows arch up. “Great to meet you. Want a beer?”
“Quinn!” I warn.
“Kidding,” Quinn sings.
“Dirty soda?” Quinn asks.
Greta gives her a curious look. “What’s that?”
“You’ve never had it?” I ask as Quinn shoots her a grin. “Hang tight, buttercup, Ima gonna blow yo little mind.”
Greta laughs. “Um, okay?”
Quinn fills three glasses with ice, then adds the coconut creamer she drop shipped from Target just for our weekend together, diet Dr. Pepper, and a lime squeeze.
“Cheers!” Quinn says, handing Greta her glass, then the three of us touch rims.
Greta takes a tentative sip, her short turquoise fingernails flashing in the soft lighting. Her eyes widen. “Ohmigawd that’s good.”
“Told you,” Quinn replies.
Greta inspects the bottle of creamer, then snaps a photo of it with her phone.
Quinn carries her drink to the couch and perches on the edge. “What grade are you in, Greta?”
“I’ll be a sophomore next year.” Greta lowers to the floor so Kody can curl up in her lap.
I get back to chopping.
“Boyfriend?” Quinn asks Greta. “Or girlfriend?”
Greta laughs. “I’m not seeing anyone right now.”
“Do you have a summer job?” Quinn asks.
“I help out at gymnastics camp a couple times a week.”
“You’re a gymnast? Cool. What’s your favorite event?”
“Floor. And beam.”
