Chapter Nine #2
Either he has no idea I’m onto him or he has a superb poker face, but I’m relieved because I haven’t decided how to play this yet.
I ignore him right back, even though I know that Rocket barks every single time the elevator opens on our floor unless he’s asleep, something Adam would also know if he paid any attention.
The second we enter the apartment, I hang my winter coat in the hall closet and try to make a mad dash to my room until Carley gets here.
Only Rocket intercepts my plan and hurls himself at me, seemingly to get his mouth on the stack of mail I’m holding.
I let my school bag fall off my shoulder onto the living room rug.
“Not for you,” I say lovingly, patting his head with my free hand.
Playing nice doesn’t work as Rocket tries to climb my legs.
I pose like I’m about to toss the mail for him to fetch.
When Rocket’s eyes follow the direction of my hand, I race to the kitchen and drop the stack on the table.
Although anything on the warm oak hardwood floor is up for grabs, even Rocket knows the table is off-limits.
“How was your day?”
I take a deep breath through my nose and turn around.
Leaning against the wall where the living room meets the kitchen, Adam grins. “What’s the most interesting thing that happened at the library?”
I have told him some of the more entertaining stories from work, like the time the fire alarm went off because a staff member burned their macaroni and cheese in the microwave.
Everyone willingly evacuated except one patron who wanted to stay back to retrieve his print job…
coincidentally a recipe for homemade mac and cheese.
I initially basked in Adam’s seemingly sincere interest about the library, but now I just feel duped.
Nothing interesting happened today aside from Gabe’s warning to “watch my back” in case my new roommate plants drugs in my room.
Maybe I should tell him that . I’m still contemplating when Rocket dashes back into the living room and I see him chew on the school bag I dropped on the lavender-and-gray shag rug.
“Rocket. No!” The Herschel Little America Backpack, the same shade of blue as Adam’s eyes (not that I noticed) with pastel-pink straps, was a gift from my mom for Hanukkah.
At over a hundred dollars, I couldn’t afford to buy it for myself.
My love for Rocket is unconditional, but he’s testing the boundaries of my devotion right now.
Rocket pretends he can’t hear me and continues to gnaw on the strap of my beloved bag like it’s a bone from a rib eye steak.
“Rocket!”
At the sound of Adam’s voice, Rocket releases the strap from his mouth and darts over to him.
“Thanks,” I mumble grudgingly. How does he do that?
The doorbell rings.
“Who is it?” Adam and I ask at the same time.
“Me.”
“Helpful.” Adam chokes out a laugh and heads for the door.
“It’s for me,” I say, racing in front of him to let Carley in.
My friend’s long, straight dark hair is tucked under a sparkly blueberry winter hat that matches her eyes, and she’s wearing a leopard-print puffer jacket and baggy Levi’s. She smiles brightly between me and Adam crowding her at the threshold. “I feel so welcome!”
I take a step back to let her in the apartment. “Carley, meet Adam. Adam, this is Carley.”
I lead us into the living room where Carley appraises Adam slowly, like he’s a painting at the MoMA. “So you’re Marcia’s grandson.”
He grins. “I am. And you’re the makeup artist slash influencer. Congrats on the off-Broadway gig.”
Her eyes slide to me. “You’ve been talking about me?”
“You’ve come up once or twice.” I glance toward my bedroom, anxious to get these introductions over with.
“She’s proud of you,” Adam says, looking at me not at all like someone who would plant drugs in my room.
Carley throws a hand to her heart and beams. “I’m proud of my punk-ass book jockey too! And I’m proud of you too.”
Adam cocks his head. “What did I do?”
“I’m sure you’ve done many things deserving of pride, but I’m talking about that.” She points to the revolving bookcase now fully stacked with my collection of YA novels.
He ducks his head. “Sabrina and my grams laid all the groundwork. I just finished it.”
“And he’s humble!” Carley looks around the room. “Where’s Marcia?”
There’s no sound coming from her room, and I wonder the same thing.
“She’s at a co-op board meeting and a wine tasting at a neighbor’s,” Adam says. “She told me about it earlier.”
Carley’s eyes widen. “We should crash the wine tasting!”
“There are almost five hundred apartments in this building. We’d have to go door-to-door like trick-or-treaters to find the right one.
” I take her by the elbow. “Let’s go to my room.
” I lead the way but stop walking when Adam calls my name.
I turn to face him, immediately noting the furrow in his brow. “Yeah?”
“Is everything okay?”
I chew my lip. This would be the perfect opening to come clean with what I overheard, but I want Carley’s input first. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
He shrugs. “No reason.”
I nod and follow Carley into my room, closing the door behind me.
Carley plops her butt on my pink beanbag chair and fans herself. “Time has been good to the grandson. He’s transformed from awk-weird to hot-dorable, à la Josh Peck.” She removes her jacket to reveal the neon-green shirt she’s wearing underneath and shakes her hair free from her hat.
I sit on the edge of my bed and kick off my sneakers. “I guess.”
Carley narrows her eyes. “What’s going on? You said you needed my advice?”
I fill her in.
She twists her mouth thoughtfully. “I don’t buy it. That boy out there”—she points at my door—“does not look like someone who is concerned about you stealing from his grandma.”
I bite my cheek. “I’d agree if I hadn’t heard him with my own two ears.”
“Are you going to say anything to him?”
“I don’t want him to know that I was eavesdropping.” He’s entitled to a private conversation with Marcia, even if it is about me.
“When someone speaks your name in the same context as a Nigerian prince, you listen!”
My lips twitch, but the doubts linger. “What if Adam keeps putting ideas in Marcia’s head and she ends up hating me?”
Carley smirks. “She’s not going to hate you.”
I lie back and spoon my pillow. “You don’t know that.”
She sighs. “I know you’re scared because you think of Marcia as a surrogate grandmother, but—”
I shoot up. This is the second time today I’ve heard this phrase.
“Marcia’s like fifteen years younger than my nana was when she died.
” The age difference between my grandma and Adam’s isn’t so odd; Marcia had Jeffrey in her early twenties, and he had Adam in his early twenties.
On my side, Nana Lena was forty when my dad was born and in her late eighties when she died of a sudden stroke.
She was whatever generation came before boomers.
“If you say so.” Carley somewhat awkwardly lifts herself off the chair to a standing position and paces my pale wood floor. “Marcia already put out that fire. You said yourself that she defended you.”
My heart plumps recalling the kind things she said about me. “You’re right. I just needed the outside validation.”
Carley’s expression softens. “I think you should tell him what you overheard and clear the air. Otherwise, it’s going to be a really awkward living situation with you all passive-aggressive toward him and him all confused and wounded following you with his puppy-dog eyes.”
“He doesn’t look at me with puppy-dog eyes.”
“Fine. Siberian husky eyes.”
I choke on a laugh. “They’re pretty, right?”
“So pretty!” She pulls me off the bed. “I’m sorry for the mad dash, but I should get out of here. I’m meeting my own blue-eyed boy later.”
“Frank?” Carley met Frank, a production electrician, at Bar Centrale when they were both there for post-show cocktails one night a few weeks earlier.
“Yes.” A flush crawls up her neck.
She must like him because she doesn’t blush easily. “Have fun!”
“I plan to. Walk me out and then talk to the grandson.”
“Fine. It’s better to do it while Marcia is out.” Given that I asked for her advice, I should probably take it. And she’s right. We can’t continue living with the current vibes.
“Agreed! No time like the present.” She puts her hand on the doorknob. “You’ve got this?”
I nod.
“Tits up.” She lifts her chest.
“Tits up.” I do the same.
She opens the door.
The light in the living room is off and the apartment is empty. I’m alone.