Chapter Eleven

By the following Sunday, the day of the barbecue at Grandma Jolene's, I'm a mess of emotions. First, there's the family stuff. Normally, for a party like this, Mom and Dad would do all the cooking together, but since Mom is gone, Grandma Jolene has gotten everything catered from a famous place an hour outside Dell's Hollow. Despite Dad's commitment to not driving, he made an exception, since Grandma Jolene, too busy with party setup herself, tasked Dad and me with picking it up, which we couldn't do on our bikes. Now we're en route home again.

And then there's El, whom I've not seen for a week, since she's been busy with work and I've been busy fixing up Mom's car. El reached out to Riley on Instagram, but we've not heard from him yet about a race time. I've been texting with her and thinking about her pretty much nonstop since we kissed in the car after the race at the motocross track. And kissed, and kissed …

It's a lot to process while I'm wrapped in the honey-sweet, smoky smell of barbecue, riding along with Dad, who has been tunelessly humming Metallica for the last half hour. I keep checking my phone, hoping El will have sent me something today, but I've not heard from her since we texted goodbye last night, long after midnight. And I don't want to text her again because I already sent a picture from the BBQ place. Yes, I'm excited to see her, but I'm not desperate. I've got some semblance of cool self-control left … or at least I'm trying.

As we near home, Dad finally stops humming and clears his throat in a time-for-a-Dad-talk-about-your-future kind of way. "So, JoJo …" he says tentatively. "It's almost your senior year … what are your plans for this next year? And after?"

I inhale sharply, wrenched out of my cyclone of thoughts about El and our kisses and what it will be like to see her again tonight at the cookout and will it be weird and will she like my friends and will we kiss again and—

"JoJo," Dad prods. "Not sure if you heard me, but I asked what your plans are for the future."

"I heard you," I mumble, trying to compose an answer that is more than just blurting out: "I plan on kissing El Blum again, if she'll let me!"

In an effort to buy time, I pull down the passenger side mirror and fiddle with my nose piercing. "I mean, I guess my plans are to get through high school? Do senior year stuff?"

This would be the perfect moment to tell Dad about the F1 Academy, but I don't say anything. Because what if he says no? Better to give myself more time to figure it out than to get rejected outright now.

Dad slows his already glacial pace to let a family of geese cross the country road. "Sure, of course, senior year stuff. But what about after that? Are you thinking college? You could go to one of the UNC schools … then you wouldn't be too far from home."

"Dell's Hollow isn't home."

It's an automatic response, but one that rings empty, even to my ears, after the last few weeks. Does Dell's Hollow feel more like home? When did that happen?

The minute El Blum walked into your life, whispers a treacherous voice in my head. Or maybe not a treacherous voice, but a true one.

Dad doesn't say anything, his eyes still on the road, but the muscle in his lower jaw twitches, like it does when he's about to cry.

I put a hand on his arm. "I'll keep UNC in mind," I say softly, offering my words like an olive branch. "And I'll let you know my plans as soon as I do. Promise."

The F1 Academy form is still in my messenger bag, which sits at my feet. I'm not sure what I hope to accomplish by carrying the form around everywhere, but I'm hoping the answer will come to me. I got an email this morning from a racing coach in the circuit who'd seen my initial email interest form. The coach and her team had watched my old tapes and wanted to talk. But the same doubts plague me: What if I'm too rusty to race? What if I've lost all my skills, since I've not been on the track since Mom's accident? What if I can't drive anything other than karts at Putt by the Pond these days?

I push all those worries way down and let the scent of ribs and baked beans wash over me. The application isn't due until August 1, meaning I still have weeks before I need to let the academy or any racing coaches know what I'm doing. Plenty of time to figure out my future and get my dad to literally sign off on it.

My best friend CJ, a short, curvy, blond seventeen-year-old, and their boyfriend James, a seventeen-year-old Black trans guy who CJ has been crushing on since we were all in ninth grade, are waiting at Grandma Jolene's house when Dad and I get there. Grandma Jolene has put them both to work in the backyard setting up tables and chairs.

After I drop a tray of ribs on the kitchen table, I rush into CJ's arms. They wrap me in a hug and, for the first time in months, I relax.

"I'm so glad to see you," I whisper, channeling my inner YA heroine and letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

CJ squeezes me tight. "I'm glad to see you, too. Now, where is she?"

"Where's who?"

Of course I know CJ is talking about El, because we've been messaging about El and our dates and kisses and what does it all mean? this entire week.

CJ releases me and glances around the backyard like El might be lurking behind the shed. "Don't pretend you don't have a girlfriend."

"She's NOT my girlfriend."

"Did you tell her that when you were smashing faces while playing Mario Kart the other day?" James says, a smile spread across his face.

"I hate you both," I mutter.

CJ wraps an arm around James's waist and snuggles against his side. "We love you, too," CJ says, beaming. "And don't worry, I promise we'll be cool when El gets here. James spent at least half the drive from Charleston reminding me not to tell your new lady about that time you peed yourself during a race."

I splutter with fake outrage. "Hey! That was a secret! One that only you, me, and like three thousand other people know, since I was seven at the time and the race was broadcasted on our local public TV station."

James cracks up, and I like him that much more for it.

CJ winks at me. "Every racer starts somewhere. Speaking of that, have you filled out the F1 Academy form yet?"

I pat the messenger bag slung across my shoulders. "It's in here. Already filled out. I just need to get my dad to sign it."

"Promise me you'll ask him?"

"Promise."

"Because if you don't do this, JoJo, you'll be missing out on a huge—"

Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You" explodes from the outdoor speakers, interrupting CJ's lecture. Which, okay, I love that CJ is encouraging me. And yes, we've discussed the F1 Academy form a dozen times, but I'm not really ready to confront my missed potential or racing or any other part of that world right now. Thankfully, at that moment, Grandma Jolene and Florence follow the music, bursting onto the porch in a twirling rainbow of silk dresses, clattering heels, gold jewelry, and bottle-red and icy-blond hair. They dance for a moment, swaying in each other's arms, and then Grandma Jolene dips Flo deeply.

"God, I love them," CJ mutters beside me. "Promise me we'll be as fabulous as they are when we're in our sixties."

"Absolutely," I vow, unable to stop a grin as Florence rights herself and then lifts her sunglasses to glance around the backyard. She's a tall white woman with a pouf of blond hair twisted up on her head.

"Where's my favorite almost-granddaughter? JoJo, get over here!" Florence calls out.

I wave and walk toward her. "Hi, Flo. It's good to see you."

She air-kisses both my cheeks and then looks me over. "Well, now, JoJo Emerson-Boyd. Aren't you a sight. You're looking more and more like your sweet mama every day. Which is a good thing because Lord, she was a beauty." Florence shakes her head, making her gold earrings dance. "We all sure do miss her, JoJo."

With these words, Florence pulls me into her ample bosom, wrapping me in a cloud of orange blossom scent that reminds me of a dozen other backyard cookouts like this one. I close my eyes for a moment, just letting myself believe Mom is in the next room, putting out her famous caramel cake and helping Dad in the kitchen.

But of course she's not. And I'm not going to start crying now, in front of my friends, Florence, and Grandma Jolene.

"I miss her, too," I say quietly, pulling out of the hug more abruptly than I intended and swiping at my eyes.

Florence pats my shoulder. "I know you do, darlin'." Then she turns to CJ, who she's heard about for years, with a loud, happy exclamation, and gives them a huge hug and shakes hands with James.

"Hey, JoJo!" my dad hollers through the open kitchen window. "Your friends just pulled into the driveway. Can you get the door for them?"

My heart leaps up into my throat like a skydiver in reverse. El is here. Time to let her meet CJ and James and my family.

Dad has set up the kitchen table as a bar, and all of Grandma Jolene's liquor cabinet is on display. He's also mixed up his famous firecracker punch, one of Mom's favorites, and he's placing a large bowl of it on the table as I walk past.

I raise an eyebrow at the bowl. "Is that for all of us?"

Dad sighs. "I'd like to say no drinking for you and your friends, but I was seventeen once, too. So no more than two glasses of punch, fair? And none for any of your friends who are driving." He hands me a glass with a small bit of punch inside. "This one is for tasting purposes."

I throw back the viciously sweet combination of cherry Kool-Aid, whiskey, vodka, Sprite, and a hint of hot sauce. It sizzles on the way down, landing in my stomach like a booze-soaked fireball. "It's perfect. Mom would have loved it."

Dad gives me a watery smile, which I return. There's a knock on the door, and I leave Dad with the punch and hurry to open the door.

El Blum stands on the porch, a box of veggie burgers in hand, with Zaynah at her side. El's short blond hair is in two adorable space buns and she's wearing sneakers, jean shorts, and a black tank top. She's perfect, and I have to fight the desire to kiss her then and there.

"Hi," I say, giving a little awkward wave.

"Hi." El leans in closer to me, and I swear, for a second I think she's going to kiss me right in front of Zaynah.

But no. She points at my upper lip. "You have a bright red mustache."

My hand flies to my lip. "Oh! It's from my dad's firecracker punch. Which is delicious and dangerous."

"I like it," El says.

Zaynah rolls her eyes at that, which reminds me that I should be inviting the two of them into the house, not standing outside flirting with El.

"Come in, please, and help yourself to punch or anything else." I step wide to let them walk past. El's hand brushes mine as she steps through the doorway.

"It's good to see you," she whispers, so only I can hear.

Heat flushes through me at her touch. "I missed you," I admit. And it's true. Texting has been great this week, but I've really just wanted to be alone with El again.

CJ and James appear in the hallway then, and a smug, knowing smile crosses CJ's face as they catch my eye. "El?" they mouth.

I give the smallest of nods and CJ shoots me a thumbs-up. I can feel a blush rising on my cheeks, and I can't stop a grin from spreading.

"Uhm, El, Zaynah, this is CJ and James," I say, wrenching myself a step backward from El. "CJ is my best friend from Charleston and James is their boyfriend and an all-around exceptional human. And this is El and Zaynah, my friends from the volunteer club, who I told you about."

At this, CJ and James both make elaborate, theatrical bows. A laugh bursts out of El, and she and Zaynah return the ridiculous bows.

We all move through the hallway, talking and awkwardly bumping elbows, and then we're at the punch table and everyone except Zaynah, who doesn't drink, fills a red plastic cup with the firecracker punch. Before we can take a sip, Dad shoves us outside as more of Jolene's and Florence's friends arrive, letting themselves into the house without knocking.

The next hour is a blur of older hippies and local folks filling the backyard and greeting Grandma Jolene and Flo, my friends all talking to each other, El and CJ cackling over something but I don't get to find out what because Dad sends me to find more chairs, and then I'm bringing more cups of firecracker punch out for my friends, and then finally, finally, it's time to eat. Everyone fills a plate and my friends and I sit down at the picnic table under a massive oak tree near the back of the yard. My head swims from my second glass of punch, and sweat makes my T-shirt stick between my shoulder blades, but El's squeezed next to me, her bare legs pressing against my own.

"Everyone! Settle down for just a minute, please!" Grandma Jolene's voice rises above the laughter and conversation. She stands on the back deck, her hand in Florence's. "We just wanted to thank y'all for coming out this evening and for helping us celebrate Florence's birthday!"

Florence plants a kiss on Grandma Jolene's cheek, which makes the crowd of people in the yard cheer. Grandma Jolene beams at her and beside me, I swear El scoots closer.

Grandma Jolene continues. "Now, we're leaving for Italy early tomorrow morning, so we might have to head to bed before the dancing stops, but y'all stay as long as you'd like. We're so happy you could make it, and cheers to my family and to the friends who have become family."

It's her yearly toast and it sounds both sadder and sweeter somehow this year.

Grandma Jolene raises her glass of spiked lemonade and says, "To family!"

We all raise our own glasses, and repeat: "To family."

The words catch in my throat as a vision of my mom, sitting with my dad and me under this same oak tree, rises in my mind. Beside me, El makes a small noise as she says it, and without thinking, I rest my hand above her knee and squeeze her leg. Because I'd wager good money she's thinking about her sister, Max.

Family. What a lovely, terrible, messy, heartbreaking, and heart-filling thing all at once.

"We'll find Max," I whisper, leaning in close. "Don't worry, Mom's car is running great, which means we're that much closer to getting Max's info from Riley. If he ever tells us when a race is happening."

"Thank you," El says, her voice scratchy. She takes another long sip of firecracker punch, which paints her lips red.

Before I can tear my eyes away from El's red, red lips, CJ flicks a grape at me from across the table. In one incredibly smooth move, I catch it in my mouth, proving that my reflexes aren't totally a lost cause after all.