Susane Colasanti - Now and Forever

“We don’t eat desserts,” Kelsey informs me. “We’re on cheer?”

“Have fun with that,” Georgia says.

The girls huff off.

“Where does Kelsey get off thinking she can manipulate everyone?” Georgia seethes.

“Profound ignorance will do that to you.”

Mrs. Kennedy, who was standing behind the girls all oblivious to their snark, swoops up to the table. She’s one of my best customers.

“Sterling! I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Kennedy. This is my friend Georgia.”

“Nice to meet you, Georgia. Do you know how delicious Sterling’s baking is?”

“Totally. She’s my sugar mama.”

“Everything looks so good!” Mrs. Kennedy has been buying from me since my first year at the Harvest. She bought from Gram for years before that. Mrs. Kennedy is probably tired of doing her own baking. She has four kids.

“You should run a catering business, Sterling,” Mrs. Cherski tells me as she passes by my table on the way to her own. She knits the most adorable hats.

“I’ve been telling her that for years!” Mrs. Kennedy says. Which is true. She tells me every year. Feedback like theirs makes me think about how I could do more with my life. Ethan’s success is pushing me to be more ambitious. I had this idea for a cooking video series. It would be a fun way to share recipes and tips. Maybe I could gear the videos toward cooking advice for teens and college students.

“We can only hope,” Mrs. Cherski says. “I’ll stop by later, hon. Did you make some of those chocolate peanut butter fudge brownies your grandmother was telling me about?”

“Right here.” I point to the tray.

“Those look incredible,” Mrs. Kennedy says. “I’ll take half a dozen. You know what? Let’s do a dozen. And I’ll take two cherry pies, two blueberry pies, and a dozen heart cookies. Oh, and a vanilla cupcake. That one’s for me.”

Georgia raises her eyebrows at me. She starts lifting brownies out of the pan with a spatula to place in a pink pastry box.

“Wow,” I say. “Thank you.” Mrs. Kennedy just ordered twice what she normally does.

“Thank you for the delicious treats. College is so expensive these days. I’m happy to contribute.”

Georgia and I put the order together. We pack the pink pastry boxes into a shopping bag.

“Thanks again,” I say.

“I hate to ask you this, but . . .” Mrs. Kennedy pulls a folded piece of paper out of her bag. “Could you give this to Ethan from my daughter? She’s eleven now, if you can believe that. She’s such a big fan.”

I’m shocked that Mrs. Kennedy is slipping me a note for Ethan. She’s a classic soccer mom. I thought she would be one person I could count on not to get crazy-stalker-fangirl on me.

“Sure.” I take the note from her.

“Oh, you’re the best.” Mrs. Kennedy picks up the shopping bag. “Have a good day, girls!”

“Bye,” Georgia says.

We watch the activity at the other tables for a minute. Then Georgia says, “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course. Why are you even asking?”

“It’s kind of . . . complicated.”

“What?”

“Remember when—”

“Hey!” A group of four middle-school girls comes rushing up to the table. “You’re Sterling, right?”

“Yeah.”

“OMG it’s her,” one girl says. “Can we get a picture?”

“Of what?”

“We want pictures with you!” she giggles. “Is that okay?”

“Oh. Um. I guess.” Why would anyone want a picture with me?

She comes around the table and bends down next to me. Her friends snap photos.

“Now me!” another girl shouts. They all take turns getting pictures.

After they run off in a squealing herd of giggles, I ask Georgia what she was going to say before.

“Can’t talk now,” she says. “We have customers.”

The line is so long at one point that I don’t even notice Miles and Reyna until they’re next. Georgia takes the next person in line while I talk to them.

“You guys didn’t have to wait in line,” I tell them. “You could have just come around.”

“Cutting in line is beneath us,” Reyna says.

“Yeah,” Miles says. “We prefer to wait with the common folk.”

“I heard your chocolate peanut butter fudge brownies are ridonculous,” Reyna informs me.

“Want one?”

“More like ten,” Miles says. “But we’ll manage with one if that’s all you’ve got.”

“Actually . . .” I check the chocolate peanut butter fudge brownie pan. “There are exactly two left.”

“It’s fate,” Reyna says.

I pack them up.

“So I haven’t seen Ethan for a couple weeks,” Miles says. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s awesome.”

“Gearing up for the tour?”

“Totally.”

Miles shifts awkwardly, scuffing his shoe on the grass.

“I hardly see him anymore, either,” I reassure him.

“You’re not missing out on much. That dude’s the biggest dork I know.”

Reyna swats his arm with the brownie bag. “Be nice.”

“If you talk to Ethan, tell him we said hey.”

“Will do.”

The next two hours are nonstop busy. The whole town is acting like obsessed superfans. Even dads and grandmas who have obviously never heard Ethan’s music. Ethan being from here is enough for them to worship him. In a small town like Far Hills, having someone famous living here is probably the most exciting thing that will ever happen.

My cookies sell out in record time. Then I notice we’re out of everything else.

“Guess we’re done,” Georgia says. She springs up from her chair, almost tipping it over. She starts quickly packing up pans and spatulas.

“I can’t believe it. I’ve never sold out that fast.”

“You’re rock star royalty now. Ethan isn’t the only one people are obsessing over.”

“As if that makes sense. Who am I?”

“The girl who just sold out in record time. Doesn’t hurt to have a famous boyfriend, huh?”

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m picking up on some prickly energy from Georgia. She can’t get out of here fast enough.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Who, me? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. . . .”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Georgia. If something’s wrong—”

“Nothing’s wrong. Can you please drop it?”

“Not if something’s wrong. I want to know what it is. I want to help you.”

But Georgia doesn’t say anything. She just keeps stacking pans.

We pack up the rest of my stuff in silence.

[6,837,328 FOLLOWERS]

There’s nothing better than Cosmic Bowling when you’re in the mood for dorktastic fabulousness. Their lanes light up. They have glow-in-the-dark bowling balls. Their shoes have white stripes that gleam in the black light. I’m wearing the MY BOYFRIEND IS A ROCK STAR tee Ethan gave me. The white glitter around the star looks fierce.

My shirt doesn’t lie. Ethan’s tour already has five sold-out venues. Just as Zeke predicted. Including Madison Square Garden. Which holds about fifteen thousand people.

Ethan is blowing up faster than even he imagined.

He goes up to roll. The fog machine is on. I watch Ethan take his turn in the fog, picturing what he’ll look like in the fog onstage. I heard they’re doing fog in the middle of “Now and Forever.” He’s going to look amazing. The Forever Tour is going to be epic.

I’m in a daze thinking about the tour when Ethan sits back down next to me after his turn.

“Are you stoked?” he asks.

“For what?”

“The tour.”

“I was just thinking about that.” Ethan wants me to come on part of the tour with him. Before we left for bowling¸ my mom said I could miss a few days of school for it. She understands about taking opportunities that come around once in a lifetime. Of course I can’t wait to go.

I think I see Georgia coming toward our lane. But that happy burst of adrenaline fades when I realize it’s not her. I called Georgia before I left for bowling to invite her along. I asked her to call me back even if she didn’t want to come. She never called. Knowing something’s wrong that she doesn’t want to talk about has been making me nervous ever since the Harvest.

“Um.” A girl is lurking by our chairs. “Excuse me. Ethan?” She’s clutching a camera.

“Hey.” He smiles at her warmly.

“I’m a huge fan. You’re my favorite artist.”

“Thank you.”

“Could I get a picture with you?”

“Let’s do it.” Ethan stands up to pose next to her. The girl seems to be by herself.

“Could you . . . ?” She holds the camera out to me.

“Sure.” I take a picture of my boyfriend with his fan. One fan among millions. I wonder how many more pictures like this I will take.

“Thank you so much,” she gushes.

“You’re welcome.”

This would normally be where the girl leaves to squee over her picture and Ethan and I get back to bowling. Except she’s not leaving.

We look at her expectantly.

“So . . . you’re really bowling?” she asks.

“I love bowling,” Ethan says.

“Same! That’s why I’m here. Duh, obviously. My family’s over there.”

“Cool. Well . . . it was awesome meeting you. Take care.”

“You take care, too!” the girl warbles. Then she bolts.

“Awkward,” I say.

“She was sweet. At least one girl here is impressed with me.”

“When have I not been impressed with you?”

“I don’t see you asking for pictures.”

“Ethan Cross!” I fling my arms around him. “I love you! I’m your biggest fan! Could you pleeeeease take a picture with me?”

“Absolutely.” Ethan holds his phone out in front of us. We press our faces together, my cheek touching his.

We smile for the camera.

[7,106,235 FOLLOWERS]

Georgia’s trying my yoga class. She’s been saying she wants to try it. I’ve had this queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach about us ever since the Harvest last week. We haven’t really talked since then. It’s not like Georgia to ignore my calls. When she finally called me back, she just said she’s been busy. We’re obviously in need of some quality vinyasa time.

This part near the end of class, when we sit cross-legged with the backs of our hands resting on our knees, eyes closed, and breathing deeply in lotus, is my favorite part. Practicing silence is a lot harder than it sounds. I always say I’m going to take time to sit like this every day for five minutes. Just five minutes a day to focus on breathing. Five minutes to be completely calm. To be completely in the Now. But it never works out. I’m always too busy or too preoccupied. This is the only time I truly experience being one with myself.

The class apparently worked for Georgia. She’s acting like her old self on our way to the gym’s juice bar.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk at the Harvest,” I say.

“No, I’m sorry I acted like such a spaz. There was a lot going on. It’s not your fault everyone was bothering you about Ethan.”

“They weren’t bothering me. It’s incredible that everyone’s into him.”

“You handled it like a pro.”

I smile at Georgia. It’s a huge relief to get back to our normal energy.

A glaring typo on a sign at the juice bar wipes the smile off my face.

“Excuse me,” I say to the cashier. “Your sign has a typo.”

“Where?”

I point to the its in TRY OUR PINEAPPLE TANGERINE SMOOTHIE. ITS YUMMO! “That should actually be ‘it’s’ with an apostrophe. As in ‘it is.’”

The cashier gives me a blank look.

“You can use my marker to correct the sign if you want.”

More blank look. I don’t know if it’s because she doesn’t understand what I’m saying or because she doesn’t care. “We’re not allowed to write on the signs.”

“Even when they’re wrong?”

“My manager said not to write on them.”

“Maybe you could ask your manager to fix the sign?”

“I’ll leave him a message.”

“Thanks.” She probably won’t tell him anything. Very few people are sympathetic to my mission. People who work in stores where I’ve pointed out errors on signs think I’m filing a complaint against them or something. They just don’t get that I’m trying to help.

Georgia and I take our juices to the side bar. The bar runs against a glass wall that looks out on the cardio floor. There are always hot guys on the machines. We immediately start scoping out guys for her.