She set a plate in front of me while I refilled her teacup from the ceramic pot.
“How was your first week as a senior?” Bibi asked. “Anything new and exciting on the horizon for this year?”
“Not much,” I said. “There’re a couple of new guys in our grade this year. Roman or Roland Somebody. He’s in my history class. Allegedly. So far, he’s been a no-show. The other guy, Holden Parish, is rumored to be a billionaire.”
“A billionaire. My, my.”
“I don’t know if that’s true, but he’s a stone-cold hottie, and the girls are throwing themselves at his feet. Which is hilarious, because I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s gay.”
Bibi grinned over her teacup. “And how is Miss Violet? Is she throwing herself at this handsome new gentleman?”
“Not remotely. She has a grand plan to date the star quarterback of the football team and lock Miller in the friend zone permanently. Meanwhile, poor Miller is still playing guitar and singing love songs to her every night.” I sighed. “New year, same story.”
My best friend had met Miller Stratton when we were thirteen. He’d been homeless then, living out of a car with his mom, and his situation had gone straight to Violet’s soft heart. A beautiful friendship grew between them, though “beautiful friendship” was Violet’s phrase. It was obvious to everyone—me mostly—that what they had went a lot deeper than friendship.
“A shame,” Bibi said. “What is she waiting for?”
“She has her reasons for keeping things where they are. I don’t agree with them, but I respect them.”
“Just as you have your reasons for not letting that young man in Louisiana be more than asummer fling.”
“It’s different with Violet and Miller. It’s so obvious they belong together that themnotbeing together doesn’t make sense.”
Bibi lifted her teacup. “I’m going to remember you said that so one day I can hold it against you.”
I laughed. “You’re like the auntie from that matchmaking show, trying to get everyone a happily ever after.”
“No, dear. Just you.” She set her cup on its saucer with both hands. “What else? What’s the news?”
“Chance Blaylock is throwing his annual back-to-school rager tomorrow night.”
“Are you going?”
“I have too much work to do. Orders to fill.”
Bibihmphed.“New year, same story.”
“I see what you did there.”
“Shiloh, you were in the garage until nearly midnight last night. I love that you give so much of yourself to your work, but don’t get FML.”
I choked on my orange juice. “FML?”
“Isn’t that what young people say when you don’t want to feel left behind?”
“FOMO,” I said, laughing. “Fear of missing out.”
“What does FML mean?”
“I can’t tell you. It’s inappropriate for your young ears.”
Bibi snorted and swatted my hand. “At the very least, go to the party to spend time with your best friend.”
“Violet and I are fine.”
I doubted the words as they left my mouth. Even before my trip to New Orleans, I wasn’t seeing her as much as I used to. Evelyn Gonzalez, the queen bee, and her crew had taken Violet under their wing. My shy bookworm friend might even get herself nominated to the homecoming court.
“Anyway, you know that alcohol makes me violently ill.” I shot her a grin. “So does listening to shitty house music.”