Page 8 of One Spicy Summer

I’ve had a massive crush on Rygaard since I was thirteen and first started noticing boys. Not just any boys, only him. Too bad he’s my brother’s best friend. That makes me completely off limits.

Still, that hasn’t stopped me from trying to get his attention. Over the years, I’ve done everything to shed the tomboy look and step into the role of someone he'd notice. I started dressing like the girls I’d see hanging around him, polished, confident, desirable.

It stung every time I’d be chilling at his house and one of his snow bunny flings walked in. You know the type, porcelain skin, different-colored eyes, long, straight hair, perfect everything. Meanwhile, I was a mixed girl with curls for days and curves that took longer to come in.

My mom’s Black and my dad’s white, so naturally, my hair took on a life of its own. People used to call me Curly Sue. I hated it. So, the moment I turned fourteen, I went to Klassy Kutz and paid, out of my own allowance, for a perm. Mom was furious, but it made me feel like I had control.

Most days, I still wish I could be someone else. Not because of my skin or hair, but because I want Rygaard to look at me like he does the girls his age.

Which is why I can’t stop thinking about the movie theater. That look in his eyes? It wasn’t big brotherly. It was something else. Something that made my stomach flip.

“Why so serious?” a familiar voice teases, yanking me out of my thoughts.

I nearly spin around ready to swing, but it’s just Agatha Kristie, my best friend and resident chaos queen.

“Sis, I was about to deck your ass,” I laugh, linking my arm with hers.

“How was the weekend?” she asks.

“It was… the weekend.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that. What about your date with Wiley?”

“What about it?” I ask, already bracing for the gossip.

“You didn’t say anything about it! Prez, I’m your best friend. No secrets, remember?”

“Girl, there’s no juicy tea to spill. Nothing happened.”

Agatha frowns. “Really? Because that’s not what Wiley’s telling people.”

Before I can ask, we pass a group of students laughing and whispering.

“Look at her,” someone mutters.

“She has no shame,” Ryan says, voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

“There’s the school slut now,” sneers Jessica Bateman.

Oh hell no.

Ever since I started dressing differently, Jessica’s had it out for me. Trailer park trash, she calls me. I don’t even live in a trailer park.

Shaking off Agatha’s arm, I march up to Jessica and her little posse.

“Funny how the attention you’re talking about came from your own boyfriend, Jessica,” I say. “Yeah. Thomas tried it. Maybe focus on him instead of throwing labels at me.”

Jessica’s smirk fades. “Please.”

“Ask around, I’m not the only one.”

“You’re still trash.”

“Because I’m not like you? I don’t live in a trailer, and newsflash, my brother wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

Her face twists, but she says nothing. So, I reach out and gently shove her face to the side. “Get outta my way.”

Agatha links her arm through mine again. “That was so bitchy. I loved it.”

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