“Sure.” I looked over at Judy, who was starting to clean up inside.

“Wait, let me help you,” I said as I rushed back inside to help pick up the bits of torn birthday wrapping paper that had been strewn across the floor.

“That’s so kind of you, Lori.” She shot me another one of her supersmiles. Her smile was real, though. You could see it. “Totally unnecessary, since you’re our guest. But lovely. Thank you.”

“It’s a pleasure.” I felt myself smiling back at her, a genuine smile, and from it I had to conclude that . . .

Things I Like about Myself by Lori Palmer

I’m a good sister.

I’m a real artist.

I, Lori Palmer, am officially good with parents!

30

“So, where’re we going?” We’d been driving in Jake’s car for thirty minutes already.

“Can’t tell you. It’ll ruin the surprise.” He flashed me a grin. “Want to listen to music?”

“Sure. What do you have?”

“Here.” He passed me his phone, a self-satisfied look glinting in his eye.

I eyed him suspiciously and then opened his music. “You downloaded her!”

He nodded. “Yup!”

I chuckled as I scrolled through all the recently downloaded songs by Grimes.

“Which one is your favorite?” he asked.

“Depends what I’m doing?”

“Which one is your favorite for driving?”

“Good question.” I continued scrolling until I saw it. “How about this.” I pressed Play and the song “Violence,” with its strange, whispery, inaudible vocals, burst through the speakers. I waited for the beat to kick in; that dreamlike, eerie combination of synth sounds that was so addictive. We listened in silence for a while and then he turned his head to me.

“It’s cool. I don’t understand a word she’s saying, but it’s cool.”

“I think that’s the point.” I smiled at him and the flutter in my stomach was back. “So, you went and downloaded Grimes after I told you about her?” I asked, feeling a strange combination of being flattered and flustered at the same time.

“I also got some XOV, but couldn’t find those knives,” he said, and I laughed.

“The Knife. Singular.”

Jake smiled. That smile. That smile that felt like it held all the power of a million exploding nuclear weapons. I quickly looked out the window. It was no longer safe to look directly at him, or else I might be incinerated.

We drove for a few more songs and then he slowed down. We made a turn onto a small street that wound down toward the sea, and soon, we’d parked by the beach. He looked out over the sea and then shook his head. “Crap. Don’t tell me it’s not here tonight.”

“What is?”

We climbed out of the car. “Do you mind walking?” He bent down and started unlacing his sneakers.