Page 67 of Picking Daisies on Sundays

I wouldn’t succumb to the bad decisions of a romance lead and open that book because that would be the lit match that set fire to the idle gasoline in my heart.

And I refused to burn again.

31

I feel lucky to have had you, but dismayed to know what life is like

without you

Yet again, another argument had broken out during our club meeting. To say I wasn’t enjoying it though would be a lie because it washilarious.

Jia stood in front of Daya and I, where we both sat off to the side, gesturing to her celebrity look on the projector. It was an actress in an off-duty look wearing a matching red track suit, the zip-up open to showcase a white bralette, matching the white of her underwear pulled above her hips. Apparently, someone didn’t love the visible underwear look—

“Watch your mouth, freshy,” Jia sneered at…I followed her gaze to where Amelia, a freshman (AKA freshy), was leaning forward in her seat arguing with Jia. Despite Amelia being a freshman, she definitely had the same level of outwardness as Jia. Which made for a great show, but it also made me happy to see that she was so comfortable around us. It wasn’t too long ago that she was the quietest in the club, often sitting and watching silently because she hadn’t known anyone before joining. But now she was as involved as the rest of us.

Looking around the room, watching our group smile and laugh, it broke my heart to accept that this was the last time I would be part of it. Next week the seniors would be preparing garments for the runway exhibit and then graduating.

Daya stood up abruptly beside me, whistling to grab everyone's attention. “I think we’re all a little stressed about projects being due next week, so I’ll let that one slide Jia,” Daya said, while Jia rolled her eyes. “It’s time we vote anyways.” Daya listed off the names of those who presented, asking people to raise their hands for their vote. I kept count as she went. At the end, she looked at me for the answer.

“And our winner is…” I tried to stifle my laugh before saying, “Amelia!” Amelia then stuck her tongue out at Jia. I stood up with Daya at the front of the room. “Amelia’s look is this week’s Look of the Week, closing out our semester. I just want to thank everyone for not only a great semester, but an amazing couple of years. If I could come back here every Thursday night, I would. I am going to miss all of you so much,” I finished with tears building up in my throat.

It must have been obvious because everyoneawedand joined in on a group hug. I squeezed their shoulders and rubbed the backs of whomever was closest to me. This was one of the reasons the idea of moving to Paris seemed so difficult; I wouldn’t have them for a year.

“Okay, ladies, suck up the tears. We’re still seeing each other next week,” one of the other seniors grumbled, making us laugh. We pulled apart and everyone returned to their seats to collect their things.

Daya and I shut off the projector and grabbed our things as—

“Since when do you speak French?” she asked.

“What?” I replied off guard.

“That book in your bag, the title’s in French,” she commented. I looked down at my bag sitting on the chair where it laid wide open. Levi’s book right on top.

“Oh…it’s not mine?”

“Are you asking me?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“No, no, it’s not mine. It’s Levi’s,” I explained quickly. Why was I flustered? “He speaks French.”

She picked the book up examining it. “It has his name on in it…” she gave me a look that saidwhat aren’t you telling me?“Did he write it?”

Well, I couldn’t say no. “Yes.”

“Levi, your boyfriend,wrote a book?”Daya was amazed. Amazed enough that those who we were going to dinner with—Sandra, Gabe, Vera, Jia—overheard her.

“Yes…a poetry book,” I clarified. Gabe and Jia were fully aware that Levi wrote a book, but I hadn’t gotten the chance to mention that he gave it to me last night.

“Can this man get any more attractive?”Sandra shouted in disbelief.

“Men can write?” Vera joked, earning a slap on the shoulder from Gabe.

“The last guy I went on a date with said he’d never read a book in his life, and you’re telling me your boyfriend,” it was incredibly difficult to not wince when hearingyour boyfriendevery time, “is writing French poetry,” Sandra repeated.

“Have you read it yet?” Gabe asked. But he had no idea that was the exact thing I was avoiding.

“I haven’t,” I smiled, as if I was looking forward to it.

“Do you need me to translate?” Daya asked kindly, opening the book like an accordion.