Page 92 of The Comeback Summer

“Elizabeth Anne Freedman. Where. Were. You?”

I stare my sister down, taking advantage of the inch of height I have on her. To my utter surprise, she crumbles.

“Okay! Fine!” She throws up her hands. “I went to a Ninja Gym with Adam.”

“You... huh?” Nothing could have prepared me for this answer. “Adam? The guy I was supposed to go out with?”

She gives a guilty shrug. “When you stood him up, I went and talked to him because I felt so bad about it, and we hit it off.”

“Iknewit!” I say, fist pumping the air. “I knew you were into him! You went on a date with him? Libby! Oh my god, that’s amazing. Why didn’t you tell me?” I point at her. “Wait—whydidn’tyou tell me? You’re such a hypocrite, getting mad at me for not telling you about Josh while you’re out dating my matches!”

Despite my words, I’m smiling. I couldn’t be more excited for her.

Libby, however, doesn’t share my excitement. Sighing, she goes into the living room and flops on the couch. Her cat appears, as if summoned via a portal from the underworld, and curls up on her stomach. Libby throws an arm across her face, like she’s trying to hide.

“It wasn’t a date. He’s a prospective client, and we’ve been talking about some PR ideas for his diner.”

“But you met at a Ninja Gym? I’m confused.”

“We were talking about PR stuff the other day, and I mentioned the Down & Dirty. Adam said the Ninja Gym would be a good place to practice for some of the obstacles.”

She says this like it’s a normal thing for her to do, which it is not. My mind has officially been blown.

“Move,” I say, shoving her legs off the couch so I can sit. “I want details. Was it fun? Do you like him? Did he kiss you? Are you going out again?”

She groans and rolls away. “There’s nothing to say. We met. We had a drink. I came home.”

“You had a drink? That’s a date.”

“No, it—”

“Text him and say you had a good time!” I tell her. “Where’s your phone?”

I lunge for her phone, which is sitting on the coffee table, but she grabs it at the same time.

“Let go!” she says, trying to wrestle it out of my hands. We’re in a tug-of-war with an eight-hundred-dollar iPhone. “I’m not texting him! I don’t want to look desperate.”

“It’s not desperate to say you had a good time after a date.”

“It wasn’t a date!” she shouts, her voice cracking on the last word.

I let go of her phone. Libby slumps back. Her cat scampers to the top of the couch and hisses at me.

“It wasn’t a date,” she whispers. Her eyes are red, like she’s on the verge of tears.

“Okay, sorry.” I swallow. “I’m just excited for you. Kind of like how I wish you’d be excited for me about Josh. You’re the one who loves romance. You should be all over this!”

She sits up, eyes blazing. “And you’re the one who’s always telling me that romance novels aren’t real. Josh left you once, and he’ll do it again. Like GiGi always said, when people show you who they are, believe them—”

“Maya Angelou,” I mumble.

“What?”

“Maya Angelou said that.”

“Well, GiGi wrote it in her notebook.” Libby shakes her head, exasperated. “And no, I’m not excited about Adam because nothing’s going to happen between us. Nothing ever happens, and it’s never going to, because those kinds of things don’t happen to people like me!”

She slumps back on the couch, covering her face with a throw pillow.

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