Page 12 of Sleeper: The Palisades Edition

“Right. See you in forty-five minutes.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour.”

Forty-five minutes later,I’m walking into Erewhon and scanning the café area for Nico, but I catch sight of a world-class ass in a pair of tight faded jeans and I can’t seem to look away. This girl is in the floral section, sniffing a bouquet of flowers and smiling like she’s being reunited with a long-lost love. She is stunning. She is surprisingly gorgeous in the way that a sunset is gorgeous. You just have to stop what you’re doing to marvel at the natural beauty and remember that it’s not your problems and To-Do lists that defineyou. It’s the things that take your breath away and give your life back to you by nudging you off track.

Suddenly, I am not so tired.

Suddenly, I feel wide awake, all over.

She turns her head, as if she senses that she’s being stared at.

We lock eyes, and at first, her face lights up. She recognizes me. I’m a man again. There are enough hours in the day. I’m not going to die alone. Everything is going to be okay. I can have it all.

Then, her smile fades, her expression hardens.

And I recognize her.

Same dark hair, same olive skin tone, same golden-brown eyes, same full smirky mouth—as my best friend.

It’s Willa Todd.

The unfuckable sister.

A sunset that I can only catch glimpses of in passing, if I’m lucky.

Fuck.

Fuck this day.

FOUR

WILLA

You know that scene inThe Great Gatsbywhere the girl is admiring the ridiculous number of orchids in her cousin’s living room when he invited her for tea, and then she hears someone enter, slowly turns around, and sees Leonardo DiCaprio standing there, all rain-soaked in a white suit, with his intense blue eyes? They stare at each other, after years apart, for an eternal breathless moment. The music swells. Finally, she says, “I’m certainly glad to see you again.” His jaw clenches and he says, “I’m certainly glad to see you as well.” And you just want to watch it over and over again, twenty times, because it’s so damn perfect and romantic?

Well, that little cinematic moment sucks donkey balls compared to what just passed between Shane Miller and me in the middle of a fancy overpriced organic market.

For a few magical, floral-scented seconds, I completely forgot that I was mad at him for forgetting my fucking name when I had spent my entire adolescence believing that we were soul mates.

He is so handsome now and shockingly sexy when he’s not being a relentlessly charming goofball in testosterone-fueled blockbuster comedies. He’s got bedhead and bedroom eyes that are somehow even more piercing blue because of his day-old stubble. His moistened lips are parted and look like they are on the verge of whispering something dreamy and subtly devastating and then kissing you until you forget your own name. The expression on his face, the way he was staring at me, it made me feel more beautiful and desirable than I’ve ever felt in my life.

And then I remembered that I am just the goofy little sister that he thinks of as “Willow” and that he’s a movie star with two kids who probably only dates actresses and supermodels. And his expression changes. Like I’ve suddenly come into focus and he’s realizing he doesn’t like what he sees so much after all. Worse, even. Like I’ve reminded him of everything that’s wrong with the world.

He takes a deep breath, runs his fingers through his hair, and takes a step toward me but stops when he hears my brother say, “Yo! Superstar!”

Nico comes bounding over from wherever he was, abandoning whatever hot chick he was chatting up. Do people still call them hot chicks here? Whatever. I place the bouquet of freesia back into the flower bucket and fiddle with the little gold heart pendant of my favorite necklace, watching as Nico and Shane hug each other. Not just a bro-hug, but a real, full-on, been-too-long-missed-you-old-friend embrace. It’s sweet.

When they finally pull away from each other, I start to make my way over to them, but some woman, about my age, goes over to ask if she can take a selfie withthem. She inserts herself between them, and they all lean in together so she can take a picture with her phone. It seems like the kind of thing that happens all the time. I know that girls used to love the idea of them being friends in real life. My brother instantly lowers his chin and makes his smirky musician face at the camera, but Shane is looking beyond her phone, smiling at me. Like he’s remembering something amusing.

Probably thinking about how I kissed his hand.

Whatever. I’m sure tons of girls have done spazzy things like that to him.

It’s a good thing I’m not a naïve, impressionable twelve-year-old anymore, because it would be really easy to misinterpret that look as something meaningful.

But I won’t. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ve moved on.

The girl says something gushy to them and then immediately steps away, probably to post the pic on Instagram. Nico grabs Shane’s shoulders and squeezes them, musses up his hair. and starts catching up with him. They seem completely unaware of anyone else’s presence here, so I go back to perusing the floral offerings.