Page 5 of The Bad Boyfriend Curse
That seems silly. I’m not used to relying on others to get places. “Isn’t there a bus?”
He shakes his head. “The city is trying to get a public transit system off the ground, at least a few routes, but it’s a small municipality. It’s challenging to get anything done. To be honest, I’m surprised this park project is happening at all.”
Mom told me my community service would be weeding and landscaping a park, which sounds incredibly boring but mindless and easy at least. Other than that, I really don’t know much about the project.
Right after we cross the bridge, there’s an enormous complex of buildings that are surrounded by the greenest grass I’ve ever seen. “That’s the LeClair plant,” Jason says.
My eyes widen. Until now I don’t think I fully grasped how powerful this family my mother married into is. The grounds are pristine, and there’s a black chain-link fence with a gate surrounding the property. Like Jason’s brother’s house, it has a vague Victorian style, even though it’s definitely not that old. I kind of want to take pictures because it’s not like any factory I’ve seen before. I don’t say anything, because it feels weird to compliment the business that Jason only works at because his family owns it.
“Gordon Park is just on the other side of the plant,” Jason says as he turns left.
“What’s the story with this park project, anyway?” I ask.
“Gordon Park hasn’t been utilized to its full potential for a while,” Jason says, watching the road carefully. “No one can agree on what should happen there. Some want a big children’s water play park, while others want to turn it into a nature reserve. Because the town can’t make a decision, it’s been neglected. Finally we realized that we have to dosomething, so the parks and rec department partnered with the youth services department and created this summer restoration program to bring it back to what it used to be at least.”
My brows rise as a realization hits me. “So, all the kids working there will be, like, getting community service hours like me?” I didn’t really think about the fact that I’ll be spending the summer with a bunch of kids who’ve been in legal trouble. That issonot my normal crowd.
Jason nods. “There’s a need for youth programs to keep kids off the streets in the summer. So this is akill two birds with one stonesolution.”
I cringe reflexively. I hate that saying; birds are the best. Why would someone create a saying about killing them? Even more wrong to use that saying to talk about at-risk teens and environmental revitalization projects?
Jason stops the car on the side of a road between a convenience store and a parking lot. This must be the park… if you can call it that. It’s full of long grass, prickly weeds, and gravel. The only way I know that this space is a park is because there are two old picnic tables near the road, with a bunch of people sitting on them.
“This is it?” I fail at keeping the dismay out of my voice.
“It goes back a ways. There’s even an old bandstand back there. The woman in the yellow jacket is Lainey from Youth Services. Introduce yourself to her.”
I frown. I guess he’s not going to introduce me himself? I move to get out of the car. “Okay. Um, thanks for the ride.”
“Send me or your mother a text if you have any issues,” Jason says. “Have fun!”
I shut the car door. Have fun? At my court-ordered community service?
I exhale, slip my earbuds into my pocket, square my shoulders, and walk toward the picnic tables. It’s time for me to face the music and meet the people that I’ll be spending one hundred hours with this summer.
CHAPTER THREEThe Princess and the Weeds
With a straight spine I walk toward the tables. The woman in the yellow windbreaker grins at me.
“You must be Meera! I’m Lainey. I’ll be your supervisor here in the CROP program. Welcome to Gordon Park!” Lainey smiles and puts her hand out to shake mine. I can’t tell if she’s genuine or one of those people who’s mastered fake enthusiasm. Lainey is probably in her twenties and is East Asian, with dark eyes and clear skin. Her straight hair is in a ponytail, and she’s wearing blue shorts, and the yellow windbreaker zipped up.
“Yeah, I’m Meera Noorani,” I say. I quickly glance at the others. One table has two kids sitting at it, and the other three. I see only one other girl. Everyone looks bored.
“Okay. Have a seat,” Lainey says. “I’m going to review expectations in a few minutes.” She writes something down on her clipboard.
I sit next to the girl, since I fully intend to avoid talking to, looking at, or acknowledging the existence of guys all summer. Although, that might be hard if we’re the only two girls here. But I glance around again. None of these guys is my type anyway. Preppy, nerdy guys are my type. Not emo skater boys.A couple more guys come together and sit at the other table. The two guys across from me are talking to each other, and the four guys at the other table are laughing loudly. I might as well be invisible, which is good. I just need to do my time and stay out of trouble.
I pull out my phone to text my two closest friends, Keeley and Adanna, but pause. This summer will be easier if I have at leastonefriend in Cherrybridge. I sneak a look at the girl next to me. She’s white, with pale freckled skin, a septum piercing, and black hair. Her eyebrows are pale, so I assume her hair is dyed. She’s wearing black jeans and a blackSpirited AwayT-shirt.
I smile and take a breath, but realize I have no idea what to say. Maybe compliment her piercing? I have my nostril pierced; I did it because I like piercings, and since I’m Indian, it looks moreculturalthanrebelliouson me. But when the girl notices I’m about to say something, she wrinkles her nose and actuallygrowlsat me. I’m so taken aback, I flinch.
The dark-haired guy sitting across from me snorts a laugh. “Don’t mind Kennedy. She hates rich people.”
This guy is dressed like everyone else here, in a black T-shirt. His is oversized with some purple writing on it. His left eyebrow has two silver rings hanging from it, and his wavy hair reaches his shoulders. He looks a bit like my friend Keeley, so he might be mixed Asian like her.
My eyes widen. “What makes you think I’m rich?” I’m not dressed rich. I’m wearing light-wash jeans with a T-shirt and a pink cardigan—all from a thrift store. Hardly bougie. The only thing new I have on is my pink knotted hairband. Oh, and my new purple shoes.
The blond guy next to the dark-haired one laughs. “Your phone? Or maybe the top-of-the-line Porsche SUV that dropped you off? That your dad or something?”
