From This Moment

  Izzy smiles when she sees me, and puts a napkin in the book she’s reading to hold her place.

  “Hi,” I say, sliding into the seat across from her. “You look pretty.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How’d you get a table so quick?” I ask. The sidewalk is filled with people waiting for a seat.

  Izzy waves her hand. “I’ve been here for a while,” she says, gesturing to the orange juice and half-empty cup of coffee that are sitting in front of her. “Just reading.”

  “Oh.” I want to tell her it might not have been the best idea to take up a table when there are so many people waiting, but I don’t. It wouldn’t be nice, and besides, it’s too late now.

  Then my eyes fall on her book. It’s our book club book. Me and Liam’s. Someday, Someday, Maybe.

  “Oh,” I say, surprised. “You’re reading that?”

  “Yeah.” She sighs. “I decided that if Liam and I are going to work through our problems, I should probably start being more into the kind of stuff he’s into. So I guess I’m joining your book club.”

  I’m annoyed. I know it’s petty—why shouldn’t Izzy be allowed to join if she wants?—but the book club belongs to me and Liam. We started it way before Izzy even moved to our school district, way before she showed up and started dating Liam. It’s our thing, the place we go to connect, to debate, to share opinions. Not that we need an excuse to do those things, of course, but it’s just . . . Izzy’s going to upset the whole dynamic. Liam and I have years of private jokes and rituals built up around this stuff. Izzy can’t come in and expect to just get it.

  And what, is she going to be allowed to start picking books? The whole point of book club is for me to force Liam to read girly books, and for Liam to force me to read something awful. Like when he made me read Sarah’s Key, this book about the Holocaust that I’m pretty sure was based on a true story. I kept waiting for the book to turn around and have a happy ending, but it didn’t. It was just one big depressing mess.

  Liam said I needed to open my mind to things that have gone on in the world, and that just because some of those things might be depressing didn’t mean I should shy away from them. But now that Izzy’s joining our club, is he going to tease her like that, too? Or is she going to agree with him?

  I have a vision of the two of them making me read some book on World War II or something and then ganging up on me and making me feel like I don’t care about anything that’s important, that I’m dumb for wanting to read books with happy endings. I read to escape my problems, not start thinking about someone else’s, thank you very much. But now the whole meeting is going to be the two of them bullying me, and then maybe at the end Izzy will climb into Liam’s lap and they’ll make out in front of me. Wow. Book club’s really going to suck from now on.

  “Did Liam invite you to join book club?” I ask carefully.

  “No,” she says. “But he’s—” She lowers her voice and looks around. “Moody,” she whispers.

  “Oh.” I look around, too. “Why are you whispering?”

  “Because it’s private,” she says.

  “Okay. So what happened?”

  “We had a horrible night!” she says. “He came to the star walk, and we ended up getting into a fight.”

  “About what?” I ask. I wonder if I should tell her Liam and I got into a fight, too. On one hand, it’s not really any of her business, and besides, I don’t really feel like talking about it. On the other hand, why wouldn’t I bring it up? And what if Liam already told her? Won’t she think it’s weird if I don’t mention it?

  “Well, first, he showed up all moody,” she says. “I’m not sure, but I think something happened at Juliana’s party that made him upset.”

  So he didn’t tell her we got into a fight. I pick up my menu and study it intently, stalling for time while I debate in my head—tell Izzy that Liam and I got into an argument, and that it might have had something to do with his bad mood? Or don’t say anything and hope that she doesn’t find out later and wonder why I never mentioned it?

  “Oh,” I manage. I feel like I’m saying “oh” a lot. Does Izzy realize I’ve been saying “oh” a lot? Suddenly I’m very aware of the sun beating down on me from overhead. Why didn’t Izzy pick a table with an umbrella? I look around to see if there’s another table we can ask to switch to, but they’re all full. I pick up my water and take a small sip.

  “Are you okay?” Izzy asks. “You’re being weird.”

  “No, I’m not,” I say.

  “You kind of are. You’re—” She reaches across the table and grabs my arm. “Oh God!” she says, the color draining from her face. “Liam’s here. Just act natural.”

  “Liam’s here?” I ask. That’s impossible. What are the chances Liam would show up at the exact same restaurant as us at the exact same time? It’s a big island. Plus, Liam hates going out to breakfast. He thinks any time before noon is too early to get out of bed.

  I start to turn around.

  “Don’t turn around!” Izzy shrieks.

  “But are you sure it’s him? What is he doing here?”

  “I invited him.”

  “You what?”

  “I invited him to breakfast.” Izzy takes off her sunglasses and starts polishing them with her napkin. Then she puts them back on, sliding them up onto her head. They pull her hair back from her face, making her look younger than she is.

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to make up with him. I need things to go back to the way they were.”

  “Then why did you invite me?”

  “So you could defuse the tension.”

  “I can’t . . . I mean, I’m not really up for defusing anything, tension or otherwise.”

  “But—oh, shh! Here he comes!”

  A second later, Liam slides into the seat next to me. I don’t look at him, but my heart speeds up and my stomach flips. He’s so close I can smell the spiciness of his cologne, the freshness of his soap, the fruitiness of his sunscreen.

  “Hey,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s talking to Izzy or me or both of us. He doesn’t sound upset, which I guess is good.

  “Hi,” I say. I look up from my menu and our eyes meet. I catch my breath and my pulse starts racing. Something passes between us, a frisson of electricity, something alive and exciting. I can tell from the look on his face that he hasn’t told Izzy about our fight. We have a secret. A secret from Izzy. We’ve never had that before. It’s thrilling and scary and exciting and terrifying.

  “So,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. “Uh, what’s good to eat here?”

  “I’m getting pancakes,” Izzy announces boldly, like she’s waiting for someone to tell her she can’t.

  “French toast,” Liam says without even looking at the menu. He gets French toast anytime we’re at a twenty-four-hour diner, when we go out for a late breakfast, or on rare occasions like this, where we’ve somehow managed to drag him out of bed before the afternoon.

  “Are you sure?” I tease, figuring I might as well embrace my role as tension-defuser. “You haven’t had that in a while.”

  “True,” he says, pretending to think about it. “I’m going to switch it up today and get some bacon with my French toast.”

  It’s a joke. Liam always gets bacon with his French toast. I smile, glad he’s not going to hold a grudge about our fight. I mean, obviously we’re going to have to talk about it at some point—we can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. But at least it’s not going to be weird until we’re able to work it out. I let out a sigh of relief.

  But Izzy’s not having it.

  “You always get bacon,” she says, and she sounds irritated.

  “He likes what he likes,” I say simply. I take another sip of my water, then try to move on before Izzy can get going. “I’d like some orange juice, though. Izzy, which one is our waitress?”

  “Yeah, he likes what he likes until he doesn’t like it anymore,” Izzy says sourly.

&nbsp
; “What’s that supposed to mean?” Liam asks, frowning.

  “Nothing. Just that you pretend to be loyal until you’re not.”

  Oh. My. God. What is she doing? She’s talking like a crazy person. If she wanted to confront Liam about what she found in his phone, this is definitely not the way to do it. And if she has decided to do it this way, she definitely shouldn’t be doing it in front of me.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Liam says. He sounds like he really doesn’t, either. He glances at me, like he’s looking for some kind of clue as to what Izzy’s talking about. But there’s no way I’m getting involved in their drama.

  I shrug and give what I hope is a confused-looking smile. “Where is that waitress?” I ask. “All these tourist places think they can get away with having bad service because they don’t need to keep any regular customers.” I cluck my tongue, which I’ve never done before. Like, ever. I sound like someone’s grandmother. It really shows how much stress I’m under. A young girl who probably doesn’t even work at the restaurant wanders by, and I flag her down. “Excuse me,” I say frantically, “but can we get some juice for our table?”

  She scrunches up her face and just walks away, without even explaining that she doesn’t work there.

  “I don’t think she works here,” Izzy says kindly, apparently saving her wrath for Liam and Liam alone.

  Our waitress comes over then, the real one, and she gives us a smile. “Hello!” she says brightly. “Would you like to start with a Bloody Mary or a mimosa?” Um, does she not realize that we’re not twenty-one? Some of us aren’t even eighteen. And besides, the last thing this situation needs is alcohol. Everyone here is already acting crazy enough.

  Izzy frowns, like she’s actually considering it.

  “No, that’s okay,” I say quickly. “We’re all just going to have orange juice.”

  “Great!” the waitress says. “I’ll be right back with those.” I’m not sure if it’s my imagination but I think she gives Liam an extra-special smile before she walks away. Doesn’t she realize Liam has enough problems? He’s already in trouble trying to juggle Izzy and Annabelle, how is he going to add a random waitress into the mix?

  “I wanted a mimosa,” Izzy mumbles once the waitress is gone.

  “You’re not twenty-one,” I point out, and take another sip of my water.

  “Yeah, but she wasn’t going to ID us. She suggested it. Nobody IDs at brunch.”

  It’s not true—I’ve had brunch out plenty of times and seen people getting ID’d. At least, I think I have.

  “And besides,” Izzy goes on, “I didn’t want orange juice at all.”

  “You just said you wanted a mimosa,” I say.

  “So?”

  “So a mimosa has orange juice.”

  “Yes, but if I couldn’t have alcohol in my orange juice, I wanted something else.” She’s tapping her nails against her menu, all agitated.

  “Okay,” I say, annoyed that she’s acting this way but really wanting to keep the peace. “We’ll just call the waitress back over here and change our order.”

  “No,” Izzy says. “It’s too late.” She tilts her head down and starts scanning the menu. She hugs her arms close to her, bending over a little bit until her hair falls over her face. I glance at Liam, wondering what he’s thinking about this whole thing, but he’s on his phone, texting. To Annabelle? I pretend to be looking around for the waitress and try to get a glimpse of his screen. But I can’t see anything.

  “I’m going to get an omelet,” Izzy says.

  “Really?” I ask. “I thought you were a vegetarian.”

  “I am,” Izzy says. “Vegetarians can eat eggs, Aven. Some even eat chicken or fish.”

  I frown. “I think that’s called a flexitarian.” I turn to Liam, who’s still typing away on his phone. “Liam and I read a book about it.” He doesn’t say anything, so I keep babbling on. “Well, it wasn’t just about being pescatarian, it was this book about the food industry and how, you know, things are being put into our food supply that are gross. And, like, GMOs.” Izzy stares at me blankly, and Liam’s not even looking at me. “And how we’re not supposed to eat processed foods.” By the end of the sentence my voice has a bit of an edge to it, and I’m sounding kind of hysterical.

  Which is unfortunate, because I’m supposed to be the calm one here, the one who’s smoothing everything over. But you’d think the two of them could help me at least a little. Izzy’s being annoying and combative, and Liam’s just sitting there texting on his phone and ignoring us.

  “You know,” I say to him, “you’re being kind of rude.”

  He still doesn’t respond, so I reach over and poke him in the upper arm. He’s holding his phone in such a way that his bicep is flexed, and even though I’m mad at him, I can’t help noticing how ripped he is. I remember yesterday, the two of us on the beach, Liam with his shirt off, me up on his shoulders, reaching down and holding on to his chin, how strong he felt under me, how his stubble felt under my fingers. Even though I’m frustrated with him right now, I’m somehow still completely and totally attracted to him. Which makes me even more frustrated.

  I poke him again, a little harder this time.

  He looks up, surprised. “Did you just poke me?”

  “Yes. I just poked you. Because you’re being incredibly rude.”

  “How am I being rude?” It’s one of those questions boys ask when they know exactly what they’re doing but just feel like being difficult.

  “You’re ignoring us for your phone,” I say. “If you come to brunch with people, you should put your phone away and enjoy their company.”

  “Sorry,” he says. He doesn’t sound sorry. But he puts his phone away.

  Izzy crosses her arms over her chest and sits back in her chair. “God forbid you have to put your phone down for a minute. You wouldn’t want to miss any important business you have on it.” She looks at me with an expectant look, like she’s hoping I’m going to back her up. Why would she think I was going to back her up? She’s the one who looked in his phone. And again, if she’s going to start confronting Liam about what she’s found out, she really shouldn’t be doing it in public. And definitely not in front of me. I have no place in this conversation.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Liam asks, frowning. “I hardly ever use my phone when we’re out.”

  It’s true. Liam’s usually very respectful when it comes to being distracted by his phone. But maybe Annabelle’s changed all that. Maybe he can’t stand to be away from her for even one second, so he’s constantly texting her. Maybe they’re sexting. Not now, of course. I don’t think Liam would be dumb enough to sext out at breakfast with his girlfriend sitting right next to him. Talk about reckless.

  “Well, apparently things have changed. Right, Aven?” Izzy asks ominously. She’s giving me that same expectant look, and a feeling of dread washes over me.

  I realize now why she invited me to brunch, why she didn’t tell me Liam was coming. She wanted to ambush us. Well, him. She’s going to bring up the whole Annabelle thing, and she wants me for reinforcement. What she didn’t count on, though, is that Liam and I are fighting ourselves—so Liam isn’t going to be too excited to hear my opinion on anything, especially his secret text buddy.

  And how exactly does Izzy plan on bringing Annabelle up, anyway? Is she going to admit she looked in Liam’s phone? And if so, is she really expecting me to pretend I’m okay with that? Because I’m not. And I’ve told Izzy that a bunch of times. In fact, all I’ve been saying this whole time is that she should ask Liam about her concerns, and that it was totally wrong for her to look in his phone.

  Obviously she wasn’t listening.

  She might be coming a little unhinged, honestly.

  I take another sip of my water.

  “You know what,” I say, trying to make my voice sound weak. “I’m not feeling so good.” I push my chair back from the table. “I think I better go back to the hot
el.”

  “What’s wrong?” Liam asks, concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “I just—”

  “Okay!” the waitress crows, setting three glasses of juice down on the table. “Orange juice for everyone!” She pulls her pad out of her apron. “Are you guys ready to order?”

  “Yes,” Izzy says. “I’m going to have an omelet with mushrooms and cheese. Wheat toast, no butter, slightly well done.”

  “The omelet or the toast?”

  “The toast.”

  The waitress turns to Liam. “And for you?”

  “French toast, side of bacon, side of fruit salad.”

  She writes it down. “And you?” she asks me.

  “Oh, um—”

  “She’s not feeling well,” Izzy interrupts. “So she’s just going to have some oatmeal. And can we get her a hot tea, too?”

  Great. Now my fake illness has cost me a delicious breakfast.

  When the waitress leaves, Liam turns back to me. “Are you okay? Do you need to go back to the hotel? Come on, I’ll walk you.”

  “Relax,” Izzy says. “She’s not sick. She just doesn’t want to be here when I confront you.” She sighs. “Look, I want to talk about this like adults.” She turns and looks at me. “And, Aven, I want you here to help meditate things.”

  “Meditate? I think you mean mediate.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.” Izzy folds her hands in front of her. “Mediate.”

  “What are you talking about?” Liam asks. “Why does she need to mediate anything?”

  “Because this might turn into a fight,” Izzy says calmly.

  “You guys,” I say quickly. “This is really not my business.”

  “What’s going to turn into a fight?” Liam asks.

  “When I ask you about Annabelle.”

  Oh my God. Oh my God! She’s doing it! She’s actually doing it! And it’s not even in the heat of the moment or anything, she just completely blurted it out like it was nothing.

  “Annabelle?” Liam frowns.