Both Sides Now by Peyton Thomas

Author:Peyton Thomas [Thomas, Peyton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2021-08-24T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

After debate club lets out, Adwoa frog-marches us to the Green Bean, pushes us into a corner booth, and orders our drinks for us. She is not messing around.

“I’m friends with the baristas here.” She points to her eyes, then us: I’m watching you. “Either of you tries to escape before closing? I’ll know.”

“You’re a dictator,” I tell her. “A totalitarian dictator.”

“That’s why they pay me the big part-time bucks.” She laughs, slings her Telfar over her shoulder, and steps away. “Don’t let me keep you! Get some work done. Some good work.”

I wait until she’s out the door—until we’re really alone, I mean—before I lift my head, meet Jonah’s eyes.

“Before we get started,” I begin, cautious, “I just want to say, again, how sorry I am for picking that fight with Bailey. Especially if he’s still grilling you about the musical, I . . .”

“Oh, no. He’s not even mad about the musical anymore. No, he . . . I mean, it’s totally ridiculous, but he thinks . . .”

I wait to hear what, exactly, Bailey thinks, but Jonah has stopped talking. He’s sighing, stirring his portable straw through his pink drink. I’d say it’s a miracle that Adwoa remembered his order, but then, so did I: an iced raspberry white chocolate soy mocha with rose petals; surprisingly indelible.

“What?” I ask, finally; he’s been quiet too long. “What does he think?”

“Honestly? He thinks that I . . . that I sided with you, in the Millie argument, because I . . .”—he is really struggling here—“because I have, um . . . feelings. For you.”

“. . . For me?” The words come out a pair of startled squeaks that might be—that I hope are—inaudible to human ears. It’s one thing when Lucy spouts her conspiracy theories on the bus. It’s quite another to hear them coming out of Jonah’s mouth. “But that’s . . . that’s bananas.”

I don’t so much choose the word bananas as vomit it out because my cognition’s left me. But Jonah—relief of reliefs—thinks it is funny, and he laughs, and the tension that forced him to take three or four tries with his last sentence evaporates.

“Thank you,” he says, and slaps the table lightly. “It is bananas.” His eyes go wide, suddenly, and he seems to backtrack. “Not that I wouldn’t . . . I mean, you’re not, like . . . like, anyone would be very lucky to . . .”

“Oh, no,” I interrupt, eager to spare us both some embarrassment. “You don’t have to say that.” Among the many things I’m not in the mood for: false flattery. “And if you’re going to talk to Bailey about this, maybe leave out the ‘anyone would be very lucky’ business.”

“Oh, trust me,” Jonah laughs, “I’ve spent the past two days trying to convince him that I’m not in love with you.”

“You know what?” I lean forward; so does he. “I’ve been trying to convince Lucy that I’m not in love with you.”

He laughs

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