yolo (3 page)

“Sooo,” Ana said slowly, extending the word as she turned in her seat to face Emily. “Who do you want to meet at the party?”

Emily blinked. “Me? Meet?”

“Yeah,” Brandon chimed in. “What's your best case scenario for this weekend?”

“I have zero expectations,” Emily said. “I just want to have a good time.”

“Bullshit,
mamacita
.” Ana was having none of it. “You don't fool me. Not one little bit.”

“What?” Emily put on her wide-eyed innocent look, but Brandon wasn't buying either.

“Oh, c'mon.” Brandon let out an exaggerated sign. “There it is. The trademark Emily O'Brian big eyes of I-don't-know-what-you-mean. Dead giveaway.”

“A dead giveaway for
what
?” Emily was blushing now, her voice floating up a couple of octaves toward squeak territory.

“A dead giveaway that you have a plan,” Ana said, narrowing her eyes. “In fact, you know
exactly
what you're looking for at this party, don't you?”

Emily kept both eyes forward. “I will not stand for these wild allegations.”

“Oh, gimme a break,” Brandon shot back. “You've already got him imagined right down to the skinny jeans and the Columbia student ID. You're looking for pre-med—”

“Or pre-law,” Ana cut in, “and a loft in Tribeca that Daddy bought when he was in junior high to make sure he didn't have to live in the dorm.”

“Ooh, good one,” Brandon held up a high five which Ana smacked, much to Emily's amazement.

“See?” Emily said. “The two of you are never more united than when your purpose is to make me miserable.”

“Don't try to change the subject,” Brandon said. “I bet you're looking for one of those poor little rich boys who
wishes
he lived over in Williamsburg, but he's decided to tough it out in Tribeca and just grow a beard in solidarity.” Brandon was laughing so hard he could barely finish painting this picture.

“A beard? Ew.”

“Oh please. Ew all you want. You are so easy to peg,” Ana said, twisting a strand of her hair around her fingers. “It's like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“What makes you think
that's
what I'd be looking for?”

“You have a type.” Brandon announced this as if he were
stating that the sky was, indeed, blue. “You love a rich pretty boy with a broken heart and a bank account. You like 'em complicated.”

“Kyle wasn't complicated,” Emily protested.

“Exactly,” said Ana. “And look how that ended up?”

“Don't make me pull this car over,” Emily growled.

“I wish you would,” said Brandon. “I'm starving.”

“Well, you should have thought about that before you started openly mocking the driver.” Emily shot an evil grin at Brandon.

“C'mon, Em, I'm so hungry,” Brandon pleaded.

“Don't call me ‘Em.' And stop begging. It's not cute.”

“Well, it
can
be . . .” Ana said under her breath but still loud enough for Emily to hear.

“What?” Emily's jaw dropped open.

“Nothing,” Ana said quickly, though she was smiling as she remembered something.

“When did you make Brandon beg?” Emily demanded. “Tell me. Now.”

“Beg? I never begged,” Brandon said loudly.

“Keep clinging to that raft, big guy.” Ana had a spark in her eye.

“Spill it,” said Emily.

“Let's just say, I can make this one squirm,” Ana told Emily, jabbing a thumb in Brandon's direction.

“Whatever!” Brandon howled in the backseat. “I'd never give you the satisfaction.”

“Likewise,” Ana told Emily. “Why do you think he was squirming?”

“Foul!” Brandon yelled.

Emily was laughing. Ana giving Brandon a hard time was definitely better than Ana and Brandon giving
her
a hard time. This is what she loved most about having these two as her best friends: No one was going to let anyone get away with anything. She could totally be herself.

“I'll have both of you know that I am certainly
not
looking for a college boy,” Emily announced. “Or an heir. I'm not looking for anything really. Just a good time.”

“Yeah, a good time named Trenton Percival Howell III,” teased Brandon.

“Wearing Ray-Bans,” giggled Ana.

Even Emily had to laugh at this. “Ray-Bans?” she asked. “Really? My type is so particular he has specific sunglasses?”

“And underwear,” Brandon said. “Calvin Klein boxer briefs.”

“Totally!” Ana was laughing so hard she had tears running down her cheeks.

“Don't make me pull this car over.” Emily tried to sound like an angry dad on a TV show, but this just made Ana laugh harder. “I'll pull it over and kick you guys out and leave you there.”

“For the love of God, if you do pull the car over and leave us on the side of the road,
please
do it near some kind of rest stop because I'm
starving
. My stomach is literally eating itself.” Brandon curled up in the backseat and groaned.

“We're kind of in the middle of nowhere,” Emily said as she looked around.

“So is that place.” Ana pointed at an old and tattered billboard as they passed under it.
RICK'S DINER: BREAKFAST, LUNCH, AND DINNER. OPEN 24-HOURS. HOME OF THE STRAWBERRY TSUNAMI
.

“What the hell is a Strawberry Tsunami?” Brandon wondered aloud.

“Only one way to find out,” Emily said. She put on her blinker and merged into the right-hand lane. She hadn't realized until Ana pointed out the sign, but she was actually pretty hungry herself.

“Ugh. What am I going to find to eat at Rick's Diner that is on my diet?” Ana whined.

“You said you were hungry when we left your house,” Emily reminded her. “And you're the one who pointed out the billboard. The better question is why the hell are you on a diet at all?” Ana was constantly complaining about her ass being too big. She was curvy, but not a single pound overweight.

“Yeah,” said Brandon. “You're always talking about how you're on a diet, but you always look great.”

Ana sighed and slumped in her seat. “I'm sure they have some sort of salad.”

“And
I'm
sure that you are not leaving that diner until you eat an onion ring with me.” Emily was tired of this nonsense. She turned on the music, which happened to be Beyoncé, and sang along.
“All the single ladies . . .”

Brandon joined in, complete with choreography. Soon
Ana was laughing as they pulled off the highway at the exit for Rick's Diner, which was just off the side of the road. As Emily pulled into a parking spot, Ana sighed.

“Fine,” she said. “One onion ring. But only one.”

“And a Strawberry Tsunami,” Emily shouted.

“Absolutely not,” Ana said, shaking her head violently. “You can't make me.”

“Hashtag YOLO,” said Brandon. “I've gotta take a whiz.” Then he jumped out of the car and ran into the restaurant.

The diner looked like something from the set of a high school theater production of
Grease
. There were red vinyl booths with metallic flecks in the plastic. Every table had a Formica top with curved chrome trim. There was a jukebox playing oldies in the corner, and a counter crammed with truckers, travelers, and teenagers. And the neon lights that ran along the top of the walls glowed bright red, pink, and radioactive green.

After Emily and Ana walked in, they were quickly seated at a booth by a waitress wearing a pink-striped jumper, glasses on a chain around her neck, and a bouffant hairdo a color of orange that nature never intended. Emily slid in next to the window, and Ana sat next to her. Seconds later, Brandon slid into the other side and let out a low whistle.

“Can you believe this place?” he asked with a grin. “Go, greased lightning.”

“Right?” said Emily. “I want a double cheeseburger right this second.”

She flipped open her menu as Ana and Brandon did the same. Ana let out a gasp. “Holy cow! There must be twenty-seven
pages in this menu. They have every sandwich you can possibly imagine.”

“And a few that you can't . . .” Brandon pointed to something called a “tongue” sandwich. “How 'bout we
not
order one of those.”

“Agreed,” said Emily and Ana said together.

Emily ordered food like she'd been stoned for a month and was finally going to satisfy her munchies once and for all. Brandon joined in. By the time the waitress left their table, Ana was shaking her head in disbelief.

“How are we
possibly
going to eat all of that food?”

“We're not,” said Emily. “But I
am
going to try a bite of everything.”

“And I plan to finish whatever she doesn't,” said Brandon.

“And don't forget,” Emily said, “we have to save room for a Strawberry Tsunami.”

“
A
Strawberry Tsunami?” asked Brandon. He shook his head. “I'll be having one of those on my own, so you'd better plan to order one for yourself.”

The waitress brought the food out in shifts. First, Ana's tuna salad on field greens arrived with Emily's double cheeseburger and onion rings, and Brandon's pastrami Reuben with french fries. The stuffed grilled cheese with bacon and tomatoes arrived next, along with a basket of chicken fingers and sweet-potato fries with extra ranch and honey-mustard dipping sauce.

“Is there anything else I can get you right now?” the waitress asked.

“Yes,” said Ana, staring in horror at the tabletop. “I'll need a stretcher and an ambulance to carry my friends away once they eat themselves into a diabetic coma.”

The waitress laughed, and Brandon and Ana began snapping pictures of the plates one at a time. Emily spread mayo and ketchup on her burger, and was hefting the whole thing to her mouth when Ana smacked her arm. “Hang on. I need a picture of this.”

Emily bit down on the burger like she was in a commercial on TV and Ana squealed as she snapped the shot. “That is the
perfect
summer image.” She swiped and tapped a couple of times as she uploaded the shot to Instagram, just as Brandon tagged Emily on Facebook in the same shot from his side of the table.

“Okay, you two,” Emily said as she swallowed the delicious first bite. “Enough with documenting the food. Eat it!” She forked two onions rings onto Ana's bowl of salad, and watched as Ana tentatively put one in her mouth.

“Oh. My.
God
.” Ana sighed as she chewed. “This is the best thing that has ever been fried in hot oil.”

After two more bites of the cheeseburger, Emily passed it off to Brandon and tried a bite of his Reuben before doing what might have been described as a face plant in the grilled cheese. As she was dipping a chicken finger in honey mustard, the waitress reappeared just in time with a handful of fresh napkins.

“I don't know how you do it,” she said as Emily grabbed
the napkins and headed off a honey-mustard disaster in the area of her own chin.

“Do what?” Ana asked.

“Eat like that and keep those cute little figures,” said the waitress.

“That's the point,” Emily said, smiling. “We
don't
eat like this most of the time. We just got out of school this week, so we're sort of celebrating.”

“Well, good for you.” The waitressed grinned. “Lordy, I think I've gained ten pounds just standing here watching.”

All three of them laughed as they watched the waitress waddle back to the kitchen. A few minutes later, and several more bites into the meal, Emily's phone buzzed. She wiped her hands, then grabbed it to check her messages.

First she saw all the alerts from their Instagrams, tweets, and, of course, the Facebook notification for the photo of her stuffing the cheeseburger into her mouth. It was already racking up the likes. “Nice,” she said, nodding, as she showed Brandon and Ana. “I shall henceforth be known as Burger Girl.”

She stopped short, staring at the screen after the last of her alerts had loaded. There, listed in the dropdown from the top of the screen, was an e-mail from Kyle. Just seeing his name reminded her that the last time she'd cut loose like this in a burger joint was at the mall not far from her house. It was the week before prom and Kyle had dragged her away from her chemistry textbook for exactly forty-five minutes. Something
about the memory of his blue eyes staring at her over the chocolate malt they'd shared after their meal sent a wave of—what was it? Nostalgia? Pity?—over her. She couldn't decide if she missed Kyle, or if she just missed sharing a moment like this with someone who was more than a friend.

Her thumb hovered over the new message with Kyle's name in her in-box. Should she see what it said? Part of her was curious. The other part knew it was just him asking her to go out with him again. Did she want that? He kept messaging her saying that he had changed. But how much could one person change in one month? And even if Kyle had changed, was he the guy for her? Emily remembered the relief of finally making the decision to end things. She'd hardly looked back. Kyle wasn't a bad guy. He just wasn't
her
guy.

“Earth to Emily. Come in, Emily. Over.” Brandon's voice broke into her thoughts, and she looked up to see both him and Ana staring at her.

Emily felt her cheeks flush. “What?”

“What's up with your phone?” Ana asked. “How can you be more interested in whatever is happening there than what is happening with these sweet-potato fries?” Emily laughed as Ana shoved aside her picked-over tuna salad plate and replaced it with the basket of golden-orange fries. She crammed four into her mouth after swiping them through the ranch dressing.