say, ‘Splitting a pizza on a random Thursday?’”
She squints at me. “I guess? I mean—I wear hockey T-shirts every day. I’m not the one you should turn to for fashion advice.”
“You’re my only female friend, so can you just try to phone it in?”
“In this case, your only female friend is not your best call. Rafe?” Bella hollers over her shoulder.
“Yeah, belleza? ”
“Lianne needs a consult.”
Now I’m embarrassed. “It’s just pizza,” I say, wishing I’d handled this problem by myself.
Bella’s exquisite boyfriend pokes his head into the room. “It’s never just pizza,” he says.
“It isn’t?” And is that a quaver in my voice?
He shakes his head. “This is a date, pequeña . Did you steal that shirt from someone twice your size? It’s like you’re hiding in there.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Rafe comes into my room and stands in front of the open closet. He flicks the hangers aside one after another. Then he pulls out a sweater that I haven’t worn in a year, holding it up to my body. “This is good.”
“It’s pink,” I argue.
“Yeah, but it’s small . Just try it.”
“All right,” I grumble. “Turn around, Rafe.”
He spins to face the bathroom and I whip off my too-big shirt and slide the sweater over my head. “Okay. What do we think?”
After he turns around, Rafe whistles. “Yeah, baby. That sweater says, ‘ Hola, señor .’”
I’m not sure I agree. There’s a hint of cleavage, which is good, I guess. But the sweater just highlights the fact that I’m shrimpy everywhere . “Small clothes just make me look small.”
Rafe grins at me in the mirror. “Not small . You’re fun-sized.”
Bella pops another candy into her mouth. “Don’t know if you noticed this, chickie, but DJ isn’t exactly King Kong.”
“What do you mean?” Rafe and Bella exchange an amused glance while I adjust my so-called boobs. “Wait—what is DJ’s name, anyway?”
“Um, is that a trick question?”
“DJ is his nickname ,” I point out. “What’s his real name.”
“Well, it’s Trevi. Duh . But of course we call his brother that. So he needs his nickname.”
Sigh . The hockey crowd is big on last names and nicknames. I lean over my keyboard and begin typing like mad into the web browser. I find him on Facebook, and learn that his real name is Daniel Trevi. So at least I have that going for me—a single bit of data proving he’s a real person and not some figment of my imagination.
“Thanks for all your help,” I tell Bella. “You two can go back to pawing each other. I’m good.”
Bella crosses her arms so I know she’s about to deliver some kind of advice. “We’re not done here. What are you wearing over that?”
“My coat? Is that a trick question?”
She rolls her eyes. “Tonight you leave your baseball cap at home, missy.”
“What?” I’d feel naked without my hat. It’s bad enough that I can’t wear dark glasses, too, because the sun is already down.
“She’s right,” Rafe argues. “No hat tonight.”
I’m so used to concealing myself that I pull open a drawer and hunt around for something sexier than a baseball cap. “I need at least a scarf, then.”
Bella leans forward and pulls one out of the drawer. “This is pretty. It sparkles.”
I consider the piece she’s holding. It is pretty—sort of see-through, with tiny sequins that catch the light. It’s whimsical and feminine. But I never wear it. “That one itches,” I complain.
“Sometimes we must suffer for beauty,” she says, tossing it around my neck.
Right . “Says the girl in sweatpants.”
“When is DJ getting here, anyway?”
“He’s not.” I grab my coat. “He had a study group go late, so he asked me to meet him at the restaurant.”
Bella raised an eyebrow. “That’s odd. Gino’s is on kind of a dark corner…”
I wave off her concern. “It’s a five-minute walk, Bella. Thanks for the consult.”
She turns
She squints at me. “I guess? I mean—I wear hockey T-shirts every day. I’m not the one you should turn to for fashion advice.”
“You’re my only female friend, so can you just try to phone it in?”
“In this case, your only female friend is not your best call. Rafe?” Bella hollers over her shoulder.
“Yeah, belleza? ”
“Lianne needs a consult.”
Now I’m embarrassed. “It’s just pizza,” I say, wishing I’d handled this problem by myself.
Bella’s exquisite boyfriend pokes his head into the room. “It’s never just pizza,” he says.
“It isn’t?” And is that a quaver in my voice?
He shakes his head. “This is a date, pequeña . Did you steal that shirt from someone twice your size? It’s like you’re hiding in there.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Rafe comes into my room and stands in front of the open closet. He flicks the hangers aside one after another. Then he pulls out a sweater that I haven’t worn in a year, holding it up to my body. “This is good.”
“It’s pink,” I argue.
“Yeah, but it’s small . Just try it.”
“All right,” I grumble. “Turn around, Rafe.”
He spins to face the bathroom and I whip off my too-big shirt and slide the sweater over my head. “Okay. What do we think?”
After he turns around, Rafe whistles. “Yeah, baby. That sweater says, ‘ Hola, señor .’”
I’m not sure I agree. There’s a hint of cleavage, which is good, I guess. But the sweater just highlights the fact that I’m shrimpy everywhere . “Small clothes just make me look small.”
Rafe grins at me in the mirror. “Not small . You’re fun-sized.”
Bella pops another candy into her mouth. “Don’t know if you noticed this, chickie, but DJ isn’t exactly King Kong.”
“What do you mean?” Rafe and Bella exchange an amused glance while I adjust my so-called boobs. “Wait—what is DJ’s name, anyway?”
“Um, is that a trick question?”
“DJ is his nickname ,” I point out. “What’s his real name.”
“Well, it’s Trevi. Duh . But of course we call his brother that. So he needs his nickname.”
Sigh . The hockey crowd is big on last names and nicknames. I lean over my keyboard and begin typing like mad into the web browser. I find him on Facebook, and learn that his real name is Daniel Trevi. So at least I have that going for me—a single bit of data proving he’s a real person and not some figment of my imagination.
“Thanks for all your help,” I tell Bella. “You two can go back to pawing each other. I’m good.”
Bella crosses her arms so I know she’s about to deliver some kind of advice. “We’re not done here. What are you wearing over that?”
“My coat? Is that a trick question?”
She rolls her eyes. “Tonight you leave your baseball cap at home, missy.”
“What?” I’d feel naked without my hat. It’s bad enough that I can’t wear dark glasses, too, because the sun is already down.
“She’s right,” Rafe argues. “No hat tonight.”
I’m so used to concealing myself that I pull open a drawer and hunt around for something sexier than a baseball cap. “I need at least a scarf, then.”
Bella leans forward and pulls one out of the drawer. “This is pretty. It sparkles.”
I consider the piece she’s holding. It is pretty—sort of see-through, with tiny sequins that catch the light. It’s whimsical and feminine. But I never wear it. “That one itches,” I complain.
“Sometimes we must suffer for beauty,” she says, tossing it around my neck.
Right . “Says the girl in sweatpants.”
“When is DJ getting here, anyway?”
“He’s not.” I grab my coat. “He had a study group go late, so he asked me to meet him at the restaurant.”
Bella raised an eyebrow. “That’s odd. Gino’s is on kind of a dark corner…”
I wave off her concern. “It’s a five-minute walk, Bella. Thanks for the consult.”
She turns
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