Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Greta stepped out onto the porch for a breath of fresh air. She didn’t realize Ramona had followed her until she was deep in thought.
“Dude,” Ramona said. “Just do it.”
“Paid for by Nike,” Greta chirped.
Ramona lit a clove cigarette, and instantly Greta was back in their shared freshman dorm room, trying a clove for the first time and nearly puking before she learned to love them (and not to inhale).
She took one from Ramona and accepted a light.
“What’s stopping you?” Ramona asked, hooking a boot heel over the railing.
A flood of reasons and fears tidal-waved through Greta’s mind.
“Um, hurting my parents, abandoning Ash, my sisters being mad at me, how expensive it is to move, not having a job here, things with Carys being so new, failing…”
“Failing at what?”
“Just…failing. Here. After leaving.”
“How could you fail here?”
“I don’t know, a million ways. I have to do better here than I would’ve at home, to…”
“To convince yourself it was worth it?”
Greta paused. “I guess?”
Ramona rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what everyone’s big thing about failing is. Failing rules. Failing is proof to yourself that you tried something. That you did something instead of just sitting on your ass letting life pass you by. How’s that a bad thing?”
Greta hadn’t thought of it like that.
“Plus who gets to decide what failure looks like for you? Oh, wait, lemme guess. Your family?”
Ramona didn’t give her time to confirm that.
“Well, honestly, dude, fuuuuuck them. They wanna stay on Owl Island? Great! You’re not trying to control their lives. You’re just saying you wanna leave. You know, Greta is just great in a different order. You can’t fail!” Ramona crowed.
A group of people walking past cheered at that, raising go cups high.
“See?” Ramona said. “The whole city agrees!”
A warm, sparkly feeling lit Greta up.
“Yeah!” she said. “Yeah, I can do whatever I want. Failure’s, like, part of life. And I decide what it is.”
“Exactly, dude! You just call your family and you say, Hey, everyone, I’m outta here. Love ya, bye!”
“Yes! I do love them, and I do wanna be out of there.”
“There you go,” Ramona said.
They clinked Jell-O shots, then downed them.
“I’m gonna call ’em right now!” Greta said.
“Yes!”
Greta fumbled out her phone and called her mom. It went to voicemail.
“Hey, Mom. I’m outta here. Love ya, bye!” Then she added, “This is Greta. Your daughter. And by here, I mean Owl Island. Love you, byyyee.” She hung up the phone and turned to Ramona.
“I can’t believe you did it,” Ramona said, eyes wide.
“I did it!” Greta said.
They high-fived, and Greta’s phone rang.
“Don’t answer that,” Ramona said.
“I’m not! Not answering, Mom!” she called.
Another group of passersby cheered.
“The whole city does agree,” Greta said.
The door opened, and Carys came outside. She was the most beautiful person Greta had ever seen.
“The whole city agrees with me, baby,” Greta told her, opening her arms.
Carys smiled and moved into them.
“Is that right?” she drawled. “About what?”
“That I decide what failure means and that I don’t have to answer my mom.”
Carys grinned. “Well, the whole city sounds right to me.”
“Me too.” Greta’s voice was slightly slurred. She felt euphoric.
“I like you,” Ramona said to Carys.
Carys replied, “I like you too.”
“Sweet.”
“Aww, you like each other. Yay,” Greta said.
“If y’all wanna come back inside, we’re gonna unwrap presents,” Carys said.
“Oh, yes,” Ramona said, jumping to her feet. “I brought the best thing. Can’t wait to see it unwrapped.”
Inside was glorious pandemonium. People were swapping gifts with ceremony and unwrapping each other’s to reveal boxes of tissues, pairs of scissors, pillowcases, cans of beans, tubes of toothpaste, and various personal tchotchkes.
Greta exchanged her Times-Picayune–wrapped gift with Muriel, who handed her a box wrapped exquisitely in matte yellow paper embossed with shiny yellow pineapples and tied with a green bow.
She slid the paper off, careful not to rip it, revealing a fancy black box. She lifted the lid and peered inside. Nestled in glitter-specked black tissue paper was one of Muriel’s signature pink sugar cubes.
Greta grinned. “Thank you ever so much!”
“My pleasure. Thank you,” she replied, holding up one of Horse’s dog toys.
Around them, people laughed and teased one another and exchanged the gifts back again.
“You know,” Muriel said, leaning in conspiratorially, “I don’t really need the sugar cube back.”
Greta grinned and popped it in her mouth, letting the sweet sugar dissolve on her tongue. Then she paused. “Er, I do need mine back. It’s Horse’s favorite.”
Muriel handed it back and leaned in again. “I like your Carys very much.”
“Yeah?” Greta hadn’t realized she’d been nervous about Muriel not liking Carys. “Me too.”
She waited, hoping that perhaps Muriel might elaborate on all Carys’ wonderful qualities. But instead, she just kissed Greta’s cheek.
“Happy Chanukah, my dear. I’m going to take my leave. Thank you for inviting me, and please do pass my compliments on to your friends. Tell them that I’d be delighted to have them cater the next gardening get-together that I host.”