on the floor and stretching across the aisle to toe at her leg with one foot. My Doc looks huge and ugly against her faded jeans. “What are you doing after school?”
She blinks twice, and when her mouth opens the pencil falls out, clattering against the desk and into her lap. “Um, what?”
“I am speaking English, right?” I tease her, going for light and joking, the way we’ve talked to each other forever, until this summer.
But it’s too late—her eyes flash confusion at me, like I haven’t been her best friend for the last ten years. And it hurts.
“I just thought you might want to come downtown with me, maybe go to the café and hang out for a while,” I say, pulling my foot back and sitting up straight. “You wanted to yesterday, so…”
It takes her a minute to understand that I’m not kidding, I guess, which hurts even more, and when she smiles, that hurts the most. For a second I wish I could throw my arms around her and tell her I’m sorry, for not being around, for ignoring the fact that she needs me as much as I need her, for everything.
But I can’t do that here, so instead I let the sudden bloom of my own relief brighten the dull fluorescent lights and smile back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE’S WAITING BY MY LOCKER WHEN I GET there after last period, earbuds in and her ancient iPod clutched in one hand as she scrolls through the menu. For a minute it all feels so familiar—I can’t even count the number of days Darcia or Jess or both of them met me just like this after school, here and in junior high, before we headed off for slices of pizza at Cosimo’s or to crash in one of our bedrooms.
But when Darcia looks up at me, I can see the uncertainty in her eyes, and it hurts just as much as it did earlier.
“It’s a good day for mochas,” I say, fixing my best normal smile to my face. Maybe if I pretend nothing has changed, she’ll start believing it.
“That’s true,” she says, glancing down the hall at the door. It’s gray and windy, and the trees are nearly nude now, shivering as their cast-off leaves swirl along the ground. “I could go for some of Geoff’s carrot cake, too.”
“No, no, you have to try the pumpkin muffins,” I tell her, slamming my locker shut and shouldering my backpack. “He just came up with some new recipe last weekend, and I’m pretty sure they’re illegal, they’re so good.”
She ducks her head when she grins, but she turns off her iPod and pulls out her earbuds as we head outside. Our shoulders bump companionably as we walk, and I hold my breath. This will work, I tell myself. I can do this. I don’t have to disappear out of my own life, not completely.
Well, I don’t want to. I don’t know if that matters very much, but it’s true. And as we make our way to Bliss, just like we have so many other afternoons, I ache. It’s like a limb I hadn’t realized was missing, a really vital one, has suddenly grown back.
The bell over the door jingles when we walk in, and Trevor looks up from his stool behind the counter and grunts a hello. His laptop is open, and he stares at the screen as if it’s personally responsible for everything wrong in the world.
If he ever finishes the novel he’s apparently been working on since, like, birth, I’m not sure I want to read it.
Darcia takes the table by the window while I wander into the back in search of Geoff. He’s taking something out of the oven, and straightens up with streaks of flour like eraser dust on his dark cheeks.
“Hey there, Birdie.” He slides the tray onto the nearest counter and leans over to kiss my cheek. “You’re not working today.”
“Nope. I’m here with Darcia.” I poke at one hot muffin and bend down to sniff. Pears, I think, and something else I can’t identify, but it smells delicious.
He lifts an eyebrow and dusts off his hands. “Really? You two haven’t hung out in forever.”
“Spare me the drama.” I roll my eyes and snatch a plate of almond cookies
She blinks twice, and when her mouth opens the pencil falls out, clattering against the desk and into her lap. “Um, what?”
“I am speaking English, right?” I tease her, going for light and joking, the way we’ve talked to each other forever, until this summer.
But it’s too late—her eyes flash confusion at me, like I haven’t been her best friend for the last ten years. And it hurts.
“I just thought you might want to come downtown with me, maybe go to the café and hang out for a while,” I say, pulling my foot back and sitting up straight. “You wanted to yesterday, so…”
It takes her a minute to understand that I’m not kidding, I guess, which hurts even more, and when she smiles, that hurts the most. For a second I wish I could throw my arms around her and tell her I’m sorry, for not being around, for ignoring the fact that she needs me as much as I need her, for everything.
But I can’t do that here, so instead I let the sudden bloom of my own relief brighten the dull fluorescent lights and smile back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE’S WAITING BY MY LOCKER WHEN I GET there after last period, earbuds in and her ancient iPod clutched in one hand as she scrolls through the menu. For a minute it all feels so familiar—I can’t even count the number of days Darcia or Jess or both of them met me just like this after school, here and in junior high, before we headed off for slices of pizza at Cosimo’s or to crash in one of our bedrooms.
But when Darcia looks up at me, I can see the uncertainty in her eyes, and it hurts just as much as it did earlier.
“It’s a good day for mochas,” I say, fixing my best normal smile to my face. Maybe if I pretend nothing has changed, she’ll start believing it.
“That’s true,” she says, glancing down the hall at the door. It’s gray and windy, and the trees are nearly nude now, shivering as their cast-off leaves swirl along the ground. “I could go for some of Geoff’s carrot cake, too.”
“No, no, you have to try the pumpkin muffins,” I tell her, slamming my locker shut and shouldering my backpack. “He just came up with some new recipe last weekend, and I’m pretty sure they’re illegal, they’re so good.”
She ducks her head when she grins, but she turns off her iPod and pulls out her earbuds as we head outside. Our shoulders bump companionably as we walk, and I hold my breath. This will work, I tell myself. I can do this. I don’t have to disappear out of my own life, not completely.
Well, I don’t want to. I don’t know if that matters very much, but it’s true. And as we make our way to Bliss, just like we have so many other afternoons, I ache. It’s like a limb I hadn’t realized was missing, a really vital one, has suddenly grown back.
The bell over the door jingles when we walk in, and Trevor looks up from his stool behind the counter and grunts a hello. His laptop is open, and he stares at the screen as if it’s personally responsible for everything wrong in the world.
If he ever finishes the novel he’s apparently been working on since, like, birth, I’m not sure I want to read it.
Darcia takes the table by the window while I wander into the back in search of Geoff. He’s taking something out of the oven, and straightens up with streaks of flour like eraser dust on his dark cheeks.
“Hey there, Birdie.” He slides the tray onto the nearest counter and leans over to kiss my cheek. “You’re not working today.”
“Nope. I’m here with Darcia.” I poke at one hot muffin and bend down to sniff. Pears, I think, and something else I can’t identify, but it smells delicious.
He lifts an eyebrow and dusts off his hands. “Really? You two haven’t hung out in forever.”
“Spare me the drama.” I roll my eyes and snatch a plate of almond cookies
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