Sweeter Than Summer

9 | blueberry pie

Wyatt Gulati (12:29): You left your ice cream in the back of my car. I ate it. Sorry.

Wyatt Gulati (12:30): Not really. It was good

"Why are you smiling?"

I looked up, holding one hand to my forehead so I could see Martha even with the sun in my eyes. I hadn't even realized she was looking at me; she had already spent most of our beach trip admiring Jackson's abs as he came in and out of the waves. Meanwhile, I was pretending I didn't notice how nice he looked without a shirt.

"I wasn't."

"You were, I saw it," Martha said, "Oh my god, were you texting a guy? Do you have a thing for a guy and you haven't told me? Jan, like, oh my god –"

"It's not a guy," I interrupted, defensive. "I mean, it's a guy, but he's just my coworker."

"Carter? Logan? Is it Frank? Do you like Frank?"

"What? Frank? No, I never –"

"Who?" Martha gave Jackson another lustful look, and I acted like I was suddenly very interested in the sand near my feet. "Jan, you can tell me."

"It's nothing," I said firmly. "If it was something, I would tell you. You're my best friend. You know everything, trust me."

Martha smiled, leaning back onto her elbows. She tilted her head back, squeezing her eyes shut and sighing one deep breath of contentment. "If anything happens, I need to know, ASAP. I need details. You know me, I, like, thrive off of knowing everyone's business. I need it like regular people need air."

"I'll tell you," I assured her.

"Oh! That reminds me. I can't believe I almost forgot to tell you this. So, I was, like, talking to Andrea, the girl I work with, and she was all like, 'Martha, can I tell you something?' So I'm thinking ..."

Somewhere in the middle of Martha's long, involved story, my eyes drifted back to my phone, and my thoughts circled back around to Wyatt. Just looking at my phone, almost buried in the folds of my towel, could remind me of the day before, when he had patiently explained which pedal was the gas and which one was the break at least seven times.

"... and then she goes, 'do you really think so?' And of course I'm like, duh, yeah, that's why I said it ..."

I nodded vaguely at what Martha was saying as I typed out my response to Wyatt.

Me (12:41): I totally left it there on purpose

Me (12:41): not really

"... and so, as I'm ringing up this lady who is buying, like, literal tons of watermelons, Andrea is texting him ..."

Only a minute later, my phone buzzed.

Wyatt Gulati (12:42): Sorry. There's a little bit left.

Me (12:42): keep it. my treat.

Wyatt Gulati (12:43): Thanks.

"Isn't that crazy?"

"Mhm."

"Jan, you aren't even listening to me, which is actually totally rude."

"Uh huh."

Before I even realized how close she was, Martha was plucking my phone from my hands mid-word. I tried to snatch it back, which just made her raise one eyebrows, her lips already curving into a grin. "Wyatt?" she read, "who's Wyatt?"

"He's –"

"Hey." I was suddenly sitting in a shadow when Jackson walked up, his silhouette suddenly the only thing I could see. I was already blushing from Martha's pestering, but now I must have been bright red.