“Ready,” Anjali says, informing me of her presence as I type in Roxanne’s IG name... @StangBangGranny76. I try not to think too hard on why she chose it.
“One of these days we’re going to be too late, and they’ll lock us out,” I scold as I fall into step beside her, and I hear her scoff.
“Please. You can’t rush perfection.”
I side-eye her and snicker, and she swats me in the stomach. Talking ‘bout can’t rush perfection when she’s wearing yoga pants, a Stanford Med t-shirt, and Adidas slides with toe socks. Her hair is always in one of those bun things, and she never wears a stich of makeup.
“You just didn’t want to get out of bed,” I tease, and she nods shamelessly.
“Exactly. My bed is perfection.”
I turn my attention back to my phone as Roxanne’s profile loads. Her latest picture is of Ralph kneeling in his flowerbed, and the caption says, “Honey Bee.” I snort and double tap.
The next picture takes a minute for me to process. I don’t even realize I’ve stopped walking until Anjali punches my arm.
“Dude,” she says. “You’re getting worse. You sure you don’t want to go see Student Health? Talk to someone? Get on something?”
I shake my head without looking up from my phone.
Kelley is in a bounce house with Jude. But Kelley and Ivy are in Chicago, so this doesn’t make sense. But the picture looks like it was taken at the cul-de-sac.
“Can’t do drugs,” I mumble as I check the date. A week ago.
She scoffs, no doubt about to launch into her lecture on the validity of ADHD meds and erasing the stigma, but I cut her off.
“I got nothing against ADHD meds for other people, Anj. I wasn’t introduced to them in a healthy way and now I don’t trust myself with them.”
I scroll. Three more similar pictures.
Anjali says something else, but I don’t hear her.
The next picture is of Jocelyn and Zay. They both have on party hats and big, blue, heart-shaped sunglasses. Zay is smiling. Big. Jealousy stirs in my chest.
Anjali kicks my foot as I stare at the third picture.
“We gotta move, Jesse.” I wave her off.
It’s a birthday cake with one of those edible fondant photos of BTS on it.
Nine candles.
June is smiling behind it.
“I gotta go,” I say as I shove my phone in my pocket and head the opposite direction of our class.
“What the hell!” Anjali yells after me. “You can’t just skip class, Hernandez! This isn’t undergrad!”
“Take notes for me, Thakrar,” I shout over my shoulder before breaking into a run. “You’re the best!”
I can’t believe I missed her birthday. I can’t believe no one told me it was her birthday. Seriously, what the fuck? How could they not tell me?
I hop the transit bus that’ll take me to the mall. While I ride, I scour every recent photo on all of my friends’ social media accounts.
Nothing.
Not a single picture, story, status. Nothing to suggest they celebrated June’s ninth birthday a week ago without telling me. Nothing to suggest they even see Jocelyn and the kids at all.
Before I can think better of it, I go to Jocelyn’s profile. I haven’t looked at it in a month. When I first got to Boston, I stalked it. Multiple times a day. It wasn’t until Anjali asked me if she should be concerned about my “creepy obsession” that I stopped.
The breath is sucked right from my lungs as soon as her profile loads. There aren’t many pictures of her. Mostly June and Jude, and my chest aches with longing. I miss them.
Jude’s little buzz cut has grown back. There’s a back-to-school photo for both of them, and I can’t hold back my proud grin when I notice that June is wearing a short-sleeved shirt. There’s a picture of June on a soccer field. One of Jude smiling with his face and hands covered in paint. Then there’s a photo taken in the wildflower clearing in the state park. It’s the only recent photo that has Jocelyn in it too. Her, June, and Jude stand in the field, surrounded by wildflowers, with big, toothy smiles on their faces.
My first thought is I should have been there.
My second is who took this fucking picture.
My third is that I can’t do this to myself again.
The bus pulls up to the mall, and I close out of the app. I head straight to the bookstore, ask a clerk for recommendations that a nine-year-old would enjoy, and buy everything she suggests. I grab two of those teeny bopper magazines that have BTS on the cover too.
I check out and head to the UPS store. I box everything up, write a quick Happy Birthday note, and overnight it to June. Then I take out my phone and shoot a text to the group chat.
Me:Don’t ever let me miss another birthday.
I watch multiple chat bubbles pop up, typing dots appear, then they go away. It happens several times before one of them finally sucks it up and hits send.
Ivy Bean:Okay.
No apology, though I guess they don’t owe me one. They were doing what they thought was best. I drag my hand over my face. Tug on my hair. Sigh.
She’s happy. Her and the kids. They’re happy.
I need to let myself be happy too.
Even if it hurts.
Two days later,my phone rings, and my stomach nearly falls to my feet when I see the Caller ID. I’m so busy staring at it that it almost goes to voicemail.
“Hello,” I say quickly, heart in my throat.
“Jesse?” a familiar voice says. “It’s June.”
My smile is immediate.
“Hey, June Bug!”
“Thank you for the books,” she says excitedly. “Mom got me another bookshelf because I ran out of room.”
“I’m glad you like them.” I swallow and try to stop smiling like an idiot. “How was your birthday party?”
“So much fun. We put up a bouncy house, and I had friends come over. Granny Roxanne made me a cake with BTS on it. I got my own practice soccer net and new green cleats, and I got to have a sleepover.”
I’ve literally never heard June this excited before. She’s talking a mile a minute.
“Soccer, huh?” I say, playing dumb. “You play soccer now?”
“Yeah, and I’m really good.”
“I bet you are,” I say with a grin. “Probably better than all the boys.”
“Yup,” she says proudly, popping the p.
I ask her about school, and she rambles on about her teacher and her friends. She mentions that little twat Cole, but I hold my tongue. I listen to her talk for a while, and then I hear Jude in the background begging for a turn.
“Jude wants to talk to you,” she says with an annoyed sigh, and I chuckle. “But Jesse...”
“Yeah, Joanie Baloney?”
She giggles, then clears her throat. When she speaks again, it’s a whisper.
“Are you still doing your superpower?”