Happenstance 3 (Happenstance #3)(9)
Author: Jamie McGuire

“Who cares?” I said, dipping a rag in ice-cold water and wiping his face.

He recoiled at the freezing cloth against his skin.

“I’ll make you an extra-tall cherry dip cone, and then you can forgive me,” I said with a cheesy grin.

Weston managed a tired chuckle.

“That’s not a bad idea. Maybe his sugar is low,” Frankie said, already holding a cone under the soft-serve machine. She dipped a tower of vanilla, complete with a perfect curl on top, into the vat of cherry dip-cone sauce, and she handed it to Weston.

He chomped off the top and hummed his satisfaction. “Way better than detention,” he said with a mouthful.

By the time Julianne walked in, Weston’s color had already returned.

“Hey, guys,” she said, grabbing Weston’s wrist. She stared down at her watch and then smiled up at him half a minute later. “Pulse is good.”

“Erin forced me to eat ice cream and rest instead of going to detention,” Weston said, seeming sleepy. “I should break up with her.”

“Does detention have anything to do with the fact that you’re covered in paint?” Julianne asked, leaning her head a bit as she focused on Weston’s pupils.

Frankie crossed her arms. “I was going to ask about that.”

The drive-through speaker beeped, and Frankie stood next to the window, greeting the customer while still watching us.

I winced under Julianne’s expectant eyes. “We sort of started a paint fight at the mural.”

“You did?” Julianne asked, her voice going up an octave.

“I did,” Weston said, holding his dip cone high in the air. “She just retaliated.”

Julianne covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. She smoothed her features and then stood tall. “All right, Weston, I’m taking you to Dr. Briggs’s office to get you checked out. Your mom is going to meet us there.” She turned to me. “Are you working or going to detention?”

I looked at Frankie.

“Just come after,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m afraid if I don’t go, Mrs. Cup might go to more extreme measures. I don’t want to end up getting suspended.”

“Come on,” Julianne said, leading us outside.

“I really don’t need to go to the doctor,” Weston said, seeming disgusted at the thought.

“Tell your mom that,” Julianne said.

She took me to my car, still parked at the mural. Lethargic and unhappy, Weston gave me a peck on the cheek before he drove away with Julianne.

When I walked into detention, Mrs. Cup stood. “How’s Weston?”

“Jul—my mom took him to see Dr. Briggs just to make sure he’s okay.”

Mrs. Cup nodded, sitting back down at her desk. She sank back into her chair as if the guilt would sneak up and swallow her at any moment.

After another half an hour, Mrs. Cup released us, and I rushed out to my car. I drove a few miles per hour faster than usual to get to work.

Frankie was swamped when I got there, and I quickly tied on my apron and opened my window.

“You look a little silly, wearing an apron when you’re covered in paint,” Frankie said, chomping on a wad of gum.

“Probably,” I said before taking an order from the small boy at my window.

Once the rush died down, Frankie began the task of cleaning up the mess we’d made. I grabbed a rag and helped. We scrubbed down the chocolate syrup and strawberry sauce and then wiped the candies away. A strange, unfamiliar feeling came over me, like I had been dropped into a dream I’d once had.

“What?” Frankie asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

She made a face. “I haven’t seen you in however long, and you’re holding out on me? Really?”

“It’ll sound awful if I say it out loud.”

“Do it anyway.”

I sighed. “It feels weird to be here.”

Her expression twisted into something I’d only seen when the Erins were around. “Weird, as in you haven’t been here in a while and you’re out of practice? Or weird, as in you’re too good to be here?”

“Frankie!” I whined.

After the flush on her cheeks changed from pink to bright red, she turned away from me, took a breath, and then faced me again. “I’m sorry. You warned me, but I still wasn’t prepared.”

“Is that really what you think of me?”

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to turn into Alder. Just…so much has changed for you in a short amount of time, but everything is still the same for me. It’s jarring.”

“I agree,” I said, that annoying whine still in my voice. I tried to stop, but every time my mouth opened, I sounded like a spoiled brat.

It was no wonder she felt like I was turning into Alder. I sounded a bit like her in that moment.

Frankie cocked her head and blew her bangs away from her face. “I know. You’re right,” she said, shaking her head. “Your whole world is spinning, and I’m feeling sorry for myself because you have a gallon of paint on your hundred-dollar jeans, and you haven’t even mentioned it.”

I looked down. “These aren’t that expensive, are they?”

She nodded.

Horrified, I stared at the Skittles-colored denim. “Why didn’t Julianne say anything?”

“She bought them for you?” Frankie deadpanned. “Of course she did. You’ve been shopping at the secondhand store your entire life, like the rest of us. Why did I think you’d know what you were wearing?”

“How do I get paint out of jeans?” I asked, scrambling to wet a clean rag. It was too late though. The paint had dried.

“So, what is it like, not having to worry about anything?” Frankie tried to cover the bitterness in her voice but failed.

“I still have worries. Sam and Julianne still have worries. They’re just different.”

“How so?”

“Basically, they’re the same worries you have, except for paying for things. They worry about me. They worry about the future, about their friends, about work—stuff like that. Having money doesn’t make the hard stuff go away.”

“Wait for it,” she said, holding up one finger. “I might be shedding a tear for rich people everywhere.”

I threw my rag at her, trying not to smile. “What I meant by what I said earlier was that my life has been split in two—then and now. This was a huge part of my life before Sam and Julianne.”