Future Perfect by Jen Larsen Read Free Book Online Page B

coincide in any meaningful way, but thank you for your attention and support.”
    I stand up straight. “Laura,” I say. She’s still studying the tables, still not meeting my eyes.
    â€œYou didn’t even tell me you had gotten in,” I say.
    She glances at me for the tiniest second and looks away. “I didn’t want to—I wasn’t sure. And you and Jolene are so anxious and I didn’t want to come sugarplum-dancing out the door and rain on your worry parade, you know?”
    â€œSugarplum—what?”
    â€œI’m an artist,” she says. She is the only person in the world who can say that without sounding pretentious. She shrugs. “Why do I need to spend four years being told that I’m not an artist yet but I could be if I listen to them when I can already listen to myself because I know who I am and what I can do, you know?”
    I’m quiet for a moment. We’re both watching Mrs. Tam butter every slice of her loaf slowly and methodically, and then line them up along the edge of the table.
    â€œSay something,” Laura says in a voice that’s too casual. “You always have something to say.”
    â€œOkay,” I say. “So you’re just going to drive to San Francisco and hope everything works out and you don’t die starving and poor on the street?”
    â€œWell, that was something to say.”
    â€œAm I wrong? Do you have a better plan?”
    â€œOmar knows people,” she says.
    â€œOkay,” I say. “So the plan is that you are going to move to San Francisco and hope that knowing people is going to work out while he takes blurry black-and-white photos and you”—I wave my hand around—“and you be an artist. Which is lucrative.”
    She stalks back toward the maze of tables.
    â€œLaura,” I say, trying to catch up to her.
    She stops at the sagging palm tree festooned with nets and ropes and sad-looking plastic fish, and turns. Her eyes flicker over my face and she reaches out to squeeze my hand.
    â€œIt’s just that it’s not a good idea,” I say.
    She sighs, but she doesn’t drop my hand. “It’s okay,” she says. “Do you not want to come up to Omar’s then?”
    â€œI just don’t want you to do anything stupid,” I say.
    â€œI know,” she says.
    â€œHave you told Jolene?” I ask.
    â€œI haven’t told anyone,” she says.
    â€œSo I don’t count, ha ha?”
    She grins at me quick, her lightning-flash smile that illuminates everything. “Maybe Omar can convince you that we’ve got the talent to make it in the big city on our wits, our convictions, and our old-fashioned work ethic.” She bats one of the palm tree leaves out of her way.
    â€œMaybe,” I say, because anything can happen, and the crash of glass that just came from the kitchen wasn’t my fault this time.

CHAPTER 5
    T he problem is that I name them, and once I name them I never want to give them away.
    But she just looks like an Annabelle Lee. She’s the smallest shih tzu I’ve ever seen, just a fluff of tangled fur on my knees and little worried black eyes that don’t look away from mine, even as I feed her tiny bits of our dinner. She doesn’t even startle when the gulls squawk or flocks of tourists flap by to take pictures of the flaking fiberglass lighthouse at the end of the dock.
    This is my favorite part of the day, after my work shift and before there is anything else to do right away. The sun is starting to set red-gold and the ocean looks bright and strange in the light, like an alien landscape. My father is late as always to come meet me, but I never mind. My feet hurt and my back hurts but no one is talking to me and I can not think for just a couple of minutes.
    I had been considering breaking into the big bag of fried things I’m bringing home for dinner and stealing a couple offries before