Page 30 of Furious

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.