Chapter Fifteen
Eliza
“We came into the world like brother and brother, and now let’s go hand in hand, not one before the other.”
—William Shakespeare, The Comedy of Errors
Thank God for ventis.
A couple of old carnival game tickets blew around in the back seat of the Jeep before flying out of my window, bringing me back to the insanely hot make-out session with Reed two nights ago.
Naturally, I had told Lauryn all about it the very next day while I tried to focus on setting cues in the booth before rehearsal.
But then the board had frozen up again and I lost an hour’s worth of work, since I had been too distracted to save as I went along.
My confidence in getting back on schedule—or having the entire show set before Tech Week—was at an all-time low.
It didn’t help that Reed had stayed radio silent since that night.
I figured it was to keep our families from getting suspicious, but as the hours dragged on, my nerves got the better of me and I wondered if he hadn’t texted because he regretted it.
But how could you regret something that amazing?
Unless, of course, it wasn’t amazing for him.
Oh God, what if it wasn’t?
Was I a crappy kisser?
“You gonna eat that second croissant?” Lauryn asked me from the passenger seat. She wore her hair braided and tossed over her shoulder, the lavender and blond shining in the sunlight as her sundress ruffled around her knees from the swirling wind.
“It’s all yours.” I gestured to the to-go box in between us.
She laid her head back and breathed in deeply. “God, it’s gorgeous out today. I love doing this play, but sometimes I miss just being outside, you know?”
I do. “Well, Dad needs a volunteer for the cardinal costume again later this week, if you’re interested.”
She cackled. “After wearing it on opening day, I couldn’t get the smell of Fritos out of my nose. No thanks, Pops.”
A little while later, we drove under the big “NC State Fair” banner and parked near Gate Two.
I texted my parents that we arrived and grabbed my fanny pack out of the back.
Why some people didn’t like these, I’d never understand.
They were amazing and a hell of a lot easier to carry than a clutch or purse.
“Why couldn’t the expo center be on the other side of the fair?” Lauryn whined and waved her hand in front of her face while we paid for our tickets. “I hate that it’s right next to all the livestock. No one wants to smell cows when looking at jewelry.”
“I dunno. It’s kinda growing on me.” I took a sip of my coffee.
“I wonder why that is?” She winked at me.
But we weren’t here to talk about that. Today was about my best friend. About tradition.
We hurried to the poultry tent and then to the Graham Building, where they kept the cows.
Cows!
Maybe I could convince Reed to convince his grandparents to start raising livestock? That could definitely help them with money. I took a quick pic with some cute ones and almost sent them to Reed before stopping myself.
The guy hasn’t texted you in like forty-eight hours, Eliza. Now is not the time for freakin’ cow selfies.
Lauryn pinched her nose the entire time—and to think, I was the one people called Princess—until we stood at the expo center’s main entrance, where she finally breathed in deeply.
She smiled brightly as we entered, her eyes shining the same way they did when I helped her and her mom decorate their Christmas tree every year. “So where to first?” she asked me.
I linked my arm through hers. “You tell me, boss.”
She tugged me over to a “Welcome” table where there were tons of brochures and picked up one of each. “Oh!” She pointed to the cover of one. “The Crabtree emerald. I’ve never seen one up close. Let’s go there first.”
Lauryn almost cried when she stepped in front of the dark green, black, and white stones. She touched their unpolished surfaces as if they might break under her fingers, like dried beach dollars. “They’re so beautiful,” she whispered.
I stepped away from her as my eye caught on two matching rings with an oval-cut emerald in the center. Both were set inside a white-gold band with a wave pattern winding around it. As Lauryn talked the ear off one of the associates, I paid for both the rings and hid them behind my back.
“What are you holding?” Lauryn asked as we left the table and headed toward the crystals section.
I smiled and reached into the large bag before pulling out both rings and handing her one. “Happy early birthday.”
She gasped and slid it onto her middle finger. “Oh my God. I love it. And you’ve got one too?”
I nodded and pulled mine onto the same finger as hers.
“Friendship rings.” Lauryn held hers up. “Puts our ‘Friends Forever’ bracelets to shame.”
“Hey, I loved that bracelet. That was the first piece of jewelry you made for me.” And then I had to go and lose it at Cape Hatteras in fourth grade. I still haven’t forgiven the ocean for that.
“Well, these will definitely last us forever. Just like our friendship.”
I hoped so.
But the way Dad so casually dropped that line about moving if we lost the stadium now made me wary of words like “forever.”
We stopped at a table covered with wooden displays of black tourmaline bracelets and pendant necklaces. “Do you think these look too…rugged for my style?” she asked. “I’ve been thinking about using tourmaline, but I’m not sure.”
“Oh, black tourmaline would be awesome to add to your collection!” I picked up one of the larger pieces. “Imagine this wrapped in silver, with maybe green accents. Wicked style.”
“That’s brilliant! I need to add that idea to my notes.” She took out her phone and started typing furiously. “What about point pendants? Yay or nay?”
“Hmm.” I scanned the table till I saw a size that I thought fit her vibe. “Yay, but I wouldn’t go bigger than that one.”
“Got it.” Lauryn took a quick pic of the one I pointed to.
An announcement came over the PA system about a demo of the newest model of a cabbing machine happening in the demonstration zone close to the food vendors, and Lauryn all but sprinted in that direction. I followed close on her heels.
With some creative crowd-weaving and strong elbows, we managed to squeeze our way to the front of the group packed around the large table that held a sparkling, impressive-looking machine with different colored wheels and an LED lamp on an adjustable neck.
An older man in an apron with the words “Schist Happens” printed on it waved to us and began talking about the new design.
This one had eight diamond wheels, a splash guard, a submersible water pump, and a few pre- and post-polishing options.
I wasn’t an expert like Lauryn, but I knew enough to understand that this machine was amazing.
It would cut down the time she spent doing all this manual work by hours.
“It’s available on to preorder for a great deal of just twenty-five hundred bucks,” the man said, beaming.
Lauryn coughed like she choked on something and quickly walked away from the display table.
“You good?” I asked her after we cleared the group.
“Yeah.” She flipped her braids over her shoulder. “I knew it was going to be pricey, but over two grand? Jesus. I’ll never have that kind of money.”
“Sure you will.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “You’re going to make some new pieces, sell them at the Fourth of July Festival and on Marketplace and—”
“That money will barely cover the cost of my supplies, E.”
“Oh.” My stomach dropped.
I chewed the inside of my cheek while trying to think of what I could say to make it better, but everything I thought of made Lauryn sound like a charity case. And she was far from that.
Lauryn could turn any obstacle into something that drove her forward, fueling her fire. Her designs became more unique and creative every year, and I figured it was because she was determined to never let the money side of things take away her joy.
That was kind of how I felt about holding on to things that belonged to Grandma. Her Jeep and the ties she had to the Lyric reminded me that it wasn’t about how much something costs. What mattered was how much love and care you put into it.
“Well, you’ve been doing amazing work without that stupidly expensive machine,” I finally said. “But if you really want it, I’ll help you find more vendor shows and places to sell everything.”
She beamed. “Thanks, E.”
My best friend looked taller in that moment, her face brighter, and I couldn’t help but be in awe of her optimism and hope.
“I think you’re amazing, you know that?” I looped my arm through hers.
“I do.” She pulled me closer. “But you can still tell me so as often as you like.”
I smiled. “Deal.”