You just want me on your team, I joked, remembering the way Kyle screamed as I slaughtered him and all of his little dickhead friends.
Of course I want you on my team. You're on my team in the zombie apocalypse too.
If that team involved Danica, I was pretty sure I'd rather get eaten alive. But I kept her name out of the conversation. You'll have to clear that with Luke. He already has a bug-out plan.
What is it?
And so I told him about Luke's zombie apocalypse plan, and we discussed the pros and cons, and in the end, he made me promise I'd save him from the zombies.
Okay, I finally relented. I'll save your sorry ass from the Walkers.
I smiled as I waited for his text, and I laughed when it finally came through.
Thank you.
You're welcome.
"I wonder where he's taking me," Danica calls from the closet, and I stop fiddling with the buckle of one of the heels in her mountain of misfit shoes. "I hope he takes me to this seafood place across town. That guy from Alpha Sig took me there three weeks ago, and their lobster risotto was so good."
I've never had lobster risotto in my life. In fact, I don't think I've even had regular risotto. What the hell is it? Like, rice?
"Yum," I say before catching a quiet yawn in my hand.
"Oh, Hailey, you have no idea. It was so good, I just wanted to die."
"Sounds amazing," I say, my stomach growling even though I don't even really like rice. Or lobster.
I eye the pink quartz clock on her wall, wondering how it's only seven o'clock when it feels like midnight passed hours ago. "What time is Mike picking you up?"
"Any minute!" she shouts as another top flies out of her closet.
I look down at my own clothes-an oversized navy-blue sweatshirt and a pair of mom jeans that smell like sausage-infused dog breath.
"Okay," Danica says as she reappears in her room. "How do I look?"
The golden sequins of her draped top catch the light in just the right way to accentuate her soft curves, meeting a tight fuchsia skirt that is long enough to be decent, but short enough to be suggestive. Long copper hair that she must have spent hours straightening falls over her exposed shoulders, meaning that she must have skipped her classes today. Again. Her makeup is just as flawless, and even the way she stands seems professional, like she's ready to walk onto a runway built just for her.
"You look beautiful," I say, and Danica frowns.
"You think so? This skirt just feels so-"
The doorbell rings, and her eyes go wide.
"Oh my God, I'm not ready!"
I lift a tired eyebrow. "You look-"
"I look like shit!" She bulldozes me off her bed. "Answer the door. Tell him I'll be out."
My clothes suddenly feel a whole lot grungier; that dog-breath smell a whole lot smellier. "Uh-"
"Go!" Danica orders, forcing me out of her room and slamming the door behind me. The doorbell rings again, and I stare across our apartment at the white front door and sigh.
One heavy footstep after the other, I make my way down the hallway, through the living room, and to the door. I straighten my sweatshirt-for God knows what reason-and swing the door open.
And there Mike stands, flowers in his hand, a nervous smile on his face. His hair is trimmed and styled, with only a few rebellious pieces escaping onto his forehead.
"Hey," he says as I run my fingers through my own short curls.
"Hey."
"Hi!" Danica peeps from the other side of the room, and I turn around just as she careens past me and into Mike. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses him on the lips before lowering down from her tiptoes. She's wearing the same sequined top, but an even shorter fuchsia skirt, and I stand off to the side wondering exactly how many fuchsia skirts she owns.
"Wow," Mike admires as he takes a look at her, and she spins around, her face lighting up like a one-thousand-watt bulb.
"These are for you," Mike says, handing her a big bouquet of red roses just as I start to walk away. "And these are for Hailey."
I turn around to see him holding a small bouquet of orange sunflowers, white daisies, and purple wildflowers. He smiles and extends his arm, and I just stand there staring.
"Why?" Danica asks, and Mike's eyes and mine both swing to where she's standing with her brow furrowed at the tiny bouquet in his hand.
"Why what?" Mike asks.
"Why'd you get flowers for Hailey?"
Her narrowed eyes lift from the sunflowers to me, like the answer will burn itself into my forehead or something. I'm fidgeting under the heat of her gaze when Mike says, "Because I thought it would be a nice thing to do?"
"You thought it would be nice to get flowers for my roommate?"
"She's your cousin," Mike reminds her. A baffled line etches into his forehead at the attitude Danica is copping. "I used to get them for your mom . . . What's your problem?"
Watching Danica change her attitude is like watching winter turn to spring. I can't see the moment it happens, but then there's suddenly no ice in her voice. Only blistering sunshine. "No problem. I was just wondering." Her megawatt smile is bright and pretty right before she coils her arms around his neck again and gives him a lingering kiss on the cheek. "You're so sweet. I love that about you."
Her feet drop back to the floor, and she shoots me a first-degree burn of a smile before telling Mike, "I'm going to go put these in some water."
I'm watching her walk away when Mike steps toward me and extends the flowers again. "I thought they might remind you of home. Most farms have sunflowers, right?"
I stare up into kind brown eyes, and then down at sunflowers even bigger than the ones that used to grow outside my bedroom window. Eventually, I take the bouquet and muse, "The ones back home aren't nearly this pretty."
When Mike says nothing, I gaze up at him again to find him smiling down at me. His cheek is dimpled, his eyes are soft, and I'm swallowing thickly and taking a step back. "So . . . where are you taking Danica tonight?"
Mike lifts his hand like he wants to run it through his hair, but then he remembers it's gelled and he drops it to the side. He drums his thumb against the seam of his pants pocket instead. "They just opened a Primanti Brothers across town."
"Primanti Brothers?" I ask. "That famous Pittsburgh restaurant?"
"Yeah."
"I saw it on the Food Network channel . . . Isn't it like sandwiches and stuff?"
"I think they have pizza too," Mike offers, and I almost laugh.
After glancing toward the kitchen, I ask in a lowered voice, "Want some advice?"
Mike stops drumming his thumb and asks, "Advice?"
"Danica wants you to take her somewhere fancy. Primanti Brothers sounds cool, but . . ." But this is Danica. "Danica mentioned some seafood place downtown. She kept raving about their risotto."
"Rice?"
"Yeah," I confirm, even though I'm still not sure. "I think she's hoping you'll take her there."
Mike and I break our whispered huddle just as Danica reemerges from the kitchen.
"So where are we going?" she asks as she grabs a jacket from the coat closet.
Mike glances at me. "Uh . . . Well, there's this new restaurant that just opened across town-"
"Oh, I love new restaurants!" my cousin cheers as she pushes through the million jackets stuffed into the closet. All of them are hers, since there wasn't room left for any of mine.
Mike's shoulders relax, and he says, "It's called Primanti Brothers, and-"
"Isn't that a sandwich shop?" Danica says, turning around with her nose scrunched in disapproval.
"Well, yeah," Mike says as she hands him her jacket. He holds it open for her, and as she slips into it, he adds, "but they're famous."
Danica turns around and pouts, "But I dressed up . . ."
Mike's fingers get caught in his hair when he attempts to rake his hand through it. He tugs them loose and says, "I . . . was also considering this seafood place."
"Harbor 1921?" Danica squeals, and Mike's eyes dart to mine before returning to the excited girl in front of him.
"Yeah. Do you want to go there instead?"
"Yes!" Danica exclaims, grabbing her purse and swinging open the door. "They have the best lobster risotto! It's so amazing. You have to get it."
Her voice trails off as she walks out the door, and Mike's eyes meet mine just before he follows her out. I force a smile and give him a thumbs-up, and he drums his fingers on the door jamb before scratching his hand through his hair again. He effectively ruins all the styling he did to it, and then he closes the door behind him.