Chapter 6. Juniper
Juniper
SONG OF THE DAY:
“Carol of the Bells a.k.a. Opera of the Bells” by Destiny’s Child
Unpopular opinion, but I love a Monday.
Mondays mean a fresh start
another chance
to get organized, to set a new PR
or just a new goal.
In fact, I don’t even mind
that I have to be here at six a.m.
for indoor track conditioning—
I like how still and quiet the building is
how it echoes only with the sound
of our feet slapping the ground
as we complete a 10K
the sun rising slow and sweet
through the high gym windows.
By the end of first period, I’m still buzzing
with adrenaline from practice.
I pop my EarPods in
and try not to dance to my next class
the endorphins
still coursing through my blood.
The playlist as of late
has been exclusively
Christmas songs, but
not your typical radio edits.
My holiday playlist is curated
full of classics, a few underappreciated bangers
not to mention some epic ’90s jams.
This morning I’m blasting Destiny’s Child’s 8 Days of Christmas
which if you ask me
is a tragically underrated Christmas album.
As I bop my head down the halls
the cozy memory of picking out our tree
over the weekend is fresh in my mind
as Beyoncé, Kelly, and Michelle riff
harmonizing the hell out of the track.
The tree we picked out
and chopped down with an ax
(like a true family of lady queers)
is the biggest tree we’ve ever had
now that we live in a big, old house
and not a city apartment.
We tied the tree
to the top of Mom’s RAV4
and made our way
through back roads covered in snow
and glorious sparkling sunlight.
Once home, we set up the tree
in our front living room window
right next to the fireplace.
I made hot chocolate, and then we watched Elf
while we decorated the branches.
It was the most perfect Saturday we’ve had
all together in a long time.
Now, weaving through the halls of Lansing High
the green, red, and gold decorations
lining the walls greet me with cheer
and I can’t help but smile
as “Carol of the Bells” builds in momentum
and volume in my ear.
Just as it’s getting to the really good part
the music fades out
and I hear my phone ding with a message.
Lyric: Meet me in the media lab at lunch?
I have a proposition for you.
I immediately text back:
OK. Sure. See you then.
I was hoping I’d have
some contact with Lyric today
but this is more enthusiastic
than expected.
Everything OK? I text
as I slip into my desk and take out my
history homework.
Lyric: Fuck yes!
We’re going VIRAL.
Major engagement on our photos.
My throat feels dry and I swallow hard.
I can tell Lyric is hype
and it’s cute
but also VIRAL?
That sounds like a lot of eyes
on us.
I’m not much of a social media person.
Scrolling makes me anxious
I rarely go on any of my accounts
and being on display
makes me squirm.
I’m private about my life—
I prefer to be in the present
focus on what is vs. what’s been highly curated
but I don’t want to mess this up.
If going viral
means more time with Lyric
I can make it work.
And because I don’t know
what else to do
I send Lyric an upside-down smiling emoji
followed by a thumbs-up.
The media lab is the library
and also serves as a computer lab/classroom
for electives like yearbook,
journalism, and graphic design.
During lunch, Mr. French holds open hours
where students can come sit, eat lunch
do homework, check email, read books, etc.
I’ve spent a lot of time here
since I don’t really have
a solid friend group yet.
The cafeteria scene is—
well, just as stereotypical
as most high school cafeterias are.
Finding a table that’s not reserved
for some clique can be
exhausting.
Occasionally, I sit with Angie and Kayla
from cross-country, but
they both have boyfriends
who they often spend the hour with
engaging in aggressively heterosexual acts of PDA
that make even my hopeless romantic self
extra uncomfortable.
I’ve never once
seen Lyric in the media lab at lunch.
She normally sits in the cafeteria with her BFF Kiana
and some other equally beautiful people
including Jamison Jase
who looks like an IG model
and runs cross-country with me.
But here we are:
at a table near the back corner
full of big windows and light
Lyric sitting across from me
a tray with a slice of pizza, milk, and an apple
set in front of her
her long braids pinned halfway back
in a high pony
a dark smear of purple
making her lips gleam
like rare jewels in the sun.
Damn, she looks good,
my brain says.
And is it just me—or are people, like
staring at us? At me?
Hi, I manage.
Adjusting in my seat and
pulling out my bento box
full of Mama Alice’s
leftover pesto pasta with chicken.
As I open it, a Post-it
falls to the ground.
Before I can snatch it up
Lyric grabs it and reads:
I carry you in my heart. Love, Mama A.
That’s private, I say, snatching it from her
my internal temperature
heating to the point of molten lava.
Even at my big age of seventeen
Mama Alice insists on packing my lunch
and often includes
little notes of love and encouragement
quotes from famous poets and authors.
E. E. Cummings. Nice, Lyric says. Sorry
I shouldn’t have looked. Don’t be embarrassed.
That’s sweet that your mom does that.
I mean, I want to throw up
just a little bit but still.
It’s sweet.
I meet her eyes now, and they are teasing
but kind. Please don’t breathe a word of this
to anyone.
I’ll be ruined.
Lips sealed, she replies.
Anyway, this is what I want to show you.
Lyric holds out her phone
opens the BeautyStarz app
and the pictures of us by the tree.
I scroll through them
caught up for a moment
again with how natural we look
our chemistry through the roof.
I mean, these are really, really
great, I say finally.
Did you see the amount of views and likes?
We’re not the only ones that think so.
Over 100K clicks already
and listen—so many companies
have reached out to me in my DMs
wanting to sponsor more content.
Holy shit, that’s a lot of clicks,
I whisper.
I know! It’s my best post
EVER! Lyric yells loud enough
that Mr. French gives us
a sharp look.
My bad, Mr. French!
Lyric mouths
and then says to me,
This is why I don’t be
coming in here often.
I’m too loud.
I’m glad you’re happy with the views,
I start as Lyric bites into her pizza.
But I feel like I’m still missing something here.
When you say “sponsored post”
do you mean a paid post?
Lyric nods and swallows.
OK, so, hear me out:
I think we should date.
I choke on the piece of chicken
I’ve just put into my mouth
and take a big gulp of water
from my Hydro Flask.
What?! I get out
as soon as I’m able.
Oh god, sorry, Lyric walks back.
I don’t mean date for real for real.
I mean we should fake date
for the clicks on BeautyStarz.
My eyes are blurry with tears
from the coughing fit I’ve just had
and I wipe them hastily
as I try to process.
Look, she continues,
my followers on BeautyStarz
really love our chemistry
and
some really big beauty brands
have taken notice—
they are offering some really good money
to promote their products.
And I don’t know about you
but I could REALLY use the money.
Lyric bites her lip and goes quiet for a beat.
I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t.
So … Lyric barrels ahead.
I’m thinking we shoot a ton of content together
over the next few weeks, you know
keep up the appearance on BeautyStarz
that we’re having this epic
“cozy holiday fling.”
We can split the sponsorship money fifty-fifty
and then “break up” in the new year
when people stop giving a shit
about cuffing season and true love
or whatever.
Please stop talking.
I find my voice finally.
My head is filling up
too fast
like a clogged sink.
As much as I’ve daydreamed
about dating Lyric
I never imagined it like this.
I could use some extra funds
for my gap year—especially since I’m
thinking of joining this caravan community
over the summer so I’m not fully alone on the road.
Dues are like 3K.
I’ve got a pretty good amount of savings
from my tutoring work in Chicago
but I could have more of a buffer
because I’m still unsure if Moms will be on board
to help out.
Plus—I need to get some gear
for Chloe
to make her more livable.
Lyric stops, and takes another bite of pizza.
Sorry, she says, once she’s swallowed.
I talk fast when I’m excited.
What questions do you have?
Just about a million.
I start with the most pressing.
I don’t know how to ask this
but are you OK with me being
a girl?
Don’t you have a boyfriend?
So … you’re at least interested?
A smile spreads over Lyric’s face.
I’m not not interested,
I say.
But again—I didn’t think you were
available to date.
Fake or not.
Look, it’s none of anyone’s business, really
but I’m pan, have been since I was
in middle school.
So, yeah—you being you
is great, all good with me.
And regarding Jamison—
we’re not together right now.
And plus, like I said
we don’t have to make our friends
or our families believe we’re dating.
Just the internet.
Think of it like a business partnership.
So, how much money exactly
are we talking?
I ask, after a beat.
Well—I’ve got one huge sponsorship request for 1,500
already in my DMs today
and three other smaller ones
that pay $500 each.
And I’m thinking more will come
if we do this right.
I choke on my food for
a second time.
I’m sorry—I don’t want this to sound rude,
I manage.
But companies are out here paying up to $1,500
for a thirty-to-sixty-second video for a post
featuring makeup?
Hell yes they are! And I’m not even
on the level of some of these other
content creators.
People can make their whole annual salaries
off of this. I’m not there yet
but maybe one day.
So—are you in? Fifty-fifty split—
we post exclusive “Operation Holiday Fling” couple content
on BeautyStarz
and in real life, we can just be
business partners friends.
I try to ignore the drop in my gut
at the way Lyric says “friends”
given I’ve never really wanted to be just
her friend but I can’t lie
this plan seems too easy
not to go forward with.
I’m in! I say before I lose my nerve.
I’m trying to save for this, um, kinda like a
camping trip this summer.
A guided group thing.
So, I could use the extra cash.
Yeah, great. I mean, that sounds like
a literal nightmare to me
living in a tent for days on end, but you do you!
Lyric says, unfazed.
I guess I could tell her the whole truth
about living in my car vs. a tent and all
but we’ll get there.
For now, I just say:
I do have one condition though.
Really? she says, eyes widening.
Wait—what’s the condition?
You have to let me plan
at least half of the fake dates.
I’m an expert when it comes to
taking full advantage of this time of year.
Trust.
Deal,
Lyric says, sticking out her hand.
OK, then.
I slide my palm into hers
and we shake on it.
The warmth of Lyric’s skin against mine
sends a delicious
spark of energy up my spine
and oh god
the way she is smiling at me
I never want to let go.