Free Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit by Jaye Robin Brown Page A

step through the door of Rob’s house, but there’s a pause in the energy of the room. It makes me feel like Jane Goodall, observing the rituals of the small town straight. And believe me, the gorilla comparison, though definitely a bit of reverse stereotyping, is entirely too apt. The gorilla groups stop their conversations to do the quick scan and approval, or dismissal, of the new arrivals. In this case, us. And fortunately, by how quickly everyone goes back to what they were doing, we’re approved.
    I am out of my element.
    Completely. So I mimic an earlier moment.
    â€œHey, y’all come here.” I gather the girls around me,and to their delight, snap a five-face selfie. As they walk in ahead of me, I text it to Dana. The need for a touchstone is great.
    She texts back immediately.
    Holy fucking mother of God. Which one are you? And who you going to do?
    I. Am. Walking. Into. A. Football. Players. Party.
    No.
    Yes.
    I am walking into Hellcat Coffee.
    Dana is definitely winning. Hellcat Coffee is this amazing little place on South Moreland that’s enough on the fringe to feel dangerous. It’s also where all my friends from the last couple of years hang out on the weekends when there’s no rave to dance our brains off at. If I were there, I’d be curled on a tattered couch listening to spoken-word poetry. Not waxed and polished like some freak show at the prom.
    â€œYou okay?” Mary Carlson sidles next to me and I shove the phone into my pocket before she can look at it. I’d done the great social media app purge for when Gemma eventually demanded my phone. But texts could be a problem.
    â€œOooh, you have a secret love? Not looking for a boyfriend because you have one already?” She nudges me withher shoulder and because she’s probably five foot nine to my five foot three, she’s got to crouch a little to do it. Then she laughs.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?”
    â€œYour face when I asked you that. It was like I’d given you a lemon.”
    I smile and shrug. “Sorry. I was texting my dad and your question threw me off guard.” Her question is actually what I hate most in life. Why can’t people say boyfriend or girlfriend, or him or her, when they ask about relationships? Why can’t they drop the gender specification altogether?
    â€œCome on.” Gemma motions for us. Betsy and Jessica have already wandered off to their respective guys, so it’s down to the three of us. We exit through French doors out onto a manicured brick back patio. The keg planted in the center of the mossed bricks looks completely out of place in this Better Homes and Gardens layout. My phone buzzes but I can’t pull it out without starting a thing. And I don’t need Dana to be a thing right now. Hopefully she’ll forgive me.
    â€œHi.” George is there with his hands in his pockets.
    â€œOh, hi.” Mary Carlson gives George the Bailey smile. Funny how B.T.B.’s makes my day breezier, but Mary Carlson’s makes me feel like I can’t breathe. Especially when she’s elbowing me in the sides in a completely unsubtleway to point out the boy she wants me to hook up with.
    â€œY’all want a beer?” Gemma eyes the keg suspiciously.
    I shake my head. So do George and Mary Carlson. Awkward and sober. Just the way I like it.
    â€œWell, since you’re driving, I’m imbibing.” Gemma turns on the charm for the guy at the tap, and now we’re two, plus George.
    â€œDo you think there’s bottled water anywhere, or Coke we can pour in a red Solo cup?” George fidgets. I grab three cups from the table by the keg. “Come on, let’s go see what’s in the kitchen.”
    We turn in unison and smack straight into Chaz. He wolf grins when he sees Mary Carlson. “There you are. Did you come to the game? See my big play?”
    The roar from the bleachers while we were getting drinks from