Being Friends With Boys (21 page)

When the doorbell rings at four o’clock, pulling me out of a cross-eyed black hole of reading, for a bizarre second I figure it must be Fabian at the door. Checking on me. Maybe even coming to explain that after last night he realized he really wants me,
not Drew, but he just didn’t get a chance to say it because I left so fast.

But then the giggling and shuffling around outside registers. With everything going on, I forgot that today is actually Halloween. Ridiculous, I know, because we just played the Halloween dance, but I guess I didn’t think about it. I hear Hannah open the door, her exclamations of delight. “Trick or treat” is hollered, and miniature Milky Ways plunk into plastic pumpkins and pillowcases.

I consider going downstairs to help her. That used to be our job—mine and Jilly’s—when she got too old for trick-or-treating and I didn’t want to be anywhere that Jilly wasn’t. I wonder if Jilly misses it today. Maybe she’s dressing up tonight, or—more likely—spending today recovering from a big Halloween party last night on campus. She’s probably glad not to be sitting at home, pretending to be scared by kids in werewolf costumes. The doorbell rings again, and I hear Hannah’s laugh. Helping her just wouldn’t be the same as doing it with Jilly. I text my sister
Happy Halloweiner!
, after one of our favorite picture books, but there’s no reply. She’s probably out, which makes staying in, without her, feel even worse.

Monday morning, Darby comes crashing into my room. “Come on, missy. We’ve got some work to do.”

“What the hell?” I can barely open my eyes enough to glare at her. It can’t be six thirty yet. “How are you even
up
?”

She yanks the quilt off me, squares her hands on her hips. “We’ve got forty-five minutes before we have to leave for your big entrance.”

I pull my quilt back over my head. “You make the entrance. I’m sleeping.”

“Come on,” she whines, plopping down on the edge of my bed. “Everybody’s been wondering about you all weekend. They’re going to be paying attention this morning. Don’t you want them to see you in something besides jeans and hoodies?”

I turn over, look at her squarely. “I’m not going to pretend. I’m not cool, and you need to live with that.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” she snaps. But knowing she can’t manipulate me with temper tantrums makes her recover quickly. “It’s like they say on
What Not to Wear
,” she tries again. “It’s not
not
you. It’s helping people actually see the real you.”

“The real me is going to sleep for another ten minutes.”

She slaps the edge of the bed. “Fine. But at least let me pick out your outfit.”

She’s not wrong, exactly, about people paying attention. When we get to school, I see Oliver already standing by his car. Abe is there, of course, and Eli, and a whole lot more kids than have ever
been there before. So maybe I’m not sorry that Darby made me put on my new sailor pants and a navy striped sweater. Earrings.

“Okay, go get ’em, champ.” She straightens the collar of my coat. I brush her hands away but hear her giggle when I stride off, swinging my hips in this exaggerated strut. For at least a few steps.

When I’m about ten yards away from Oliver’s car, a girl in a red jacket and a chunky knit cap separates herself and heads toward me. It’s Lish. Coming over to give me a hug. I can’t remember the last time I even saw her, and now here she is.

“Wow, right?” she says, bringing me closer in. There are so many people, they spread around three other parking spaces. Who
are
they all?

“Did you get my call?” Lish tugs on my wrist.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t get to call you back.”

She slides past the outer rings of kids, pulling me with her into the inner circle, where Oliver and Eli are.

“So do you want to go to lunch? Mondays we usually go to Duck’s.”

I nod, but not because I’m agreeing to go. More like, in my processing the “we” in that sentence, I understand she doesn’t mean just me and her.

Eli holds out his fist for me to bump it. “There’s my girl,” he says.

“This is Lish,” I tell him. Because I don’t know how else to introduce her.

“Yeah, we met.”

She giggles. He watches her with an interested glimmer.

“I was telling Eli that you guys should totally get in touch with the guys at this place WonderRoot. They do all kinds of awesome shows,” Lish gushes.

“You hang out there?” I try to sound casual but am mostly wondering how she knows a venue that I don’t.

“Oh.” She flicks her eyes at Eli but pretends she’s just looking into the air, trying to remember. “Kiaya’s brother knows some guys who do stuff there.”

So you haven’t actually been, have you?
I want to say. But it’s pointless to try to make her look bad, since Eli obviously doesn’t think she does. Plus, standing so close, I’m not sure I’m even mad at her—or more like I can’t remember why I was. Maybe we could check out this WonderRoot place. Maybe Fabian knows about it, and we could . . . But I’m still not ready to think about Fabian yet. Thank god we don’t have rehearsal this afternoon.

While Eli and Lish talk—mostly to each other—I look around, taking in the number of seniors suddenly here. Some of them catch my eye, give me a friendly nod, like they know me. My initial shock is wearing off, and I’m starting to absorb everything, when I see Trip walking over. With Lily, of course. Trying to get closer to Oliver.

Immediately, I want to hear what he says. I tell Lish I’ll be back.

When I reach them, Trip glances down at me, and I give him a
Hey it’s good to see you
smile. Because it is. Good to see him. And since he called me Friday night, maybe he’s ready for us to get back—

But he clears his throat, holds his hand out for Oliver to shake. “Just wanted to tell you good show, man. We should still jam sometime.” He pulls Lily closer to him.

“You were so good,” she says up at me. Her cheeks are brushed with glitter.

“Thank you. It was really a—”

But I don’t finish, because Trip turns and leads her back toward her gang of friends. She gives me a cute little wave over her shoulder. It’s hard not to stand there with my mouth open.

“Well,
that
was awkward.” I try to recover, rolling my eyes at Oliver.

But he shrugs noncommittally. Maybe it’s just because there’s somebody else approaching to shake his hand.

“Nice, man,” the good-looking senior says to him. “And you were beautiful.” To me.

“Thanks,” I manage. It is so stunningly strange to be accepting a compliment from a guy like him. “I’m really glad you enjoyed what we did.”

I tune out while they talk, but snap back when I hear the guy ask Oliver how long it takes him to write and put together all those songs. I expect Oliver to look up, wave me over, and get me involved, but instead he scratches his chin. “I dunno,” I hear him say. The second part I don’t catch, and then “. . . getting the lyrics right, and then there’s the tune, too. It’s a long process for me. I’ll just say that.”

I’m so perplexed by his answer, when Lish charges across the circle, wanting to introduce me to a round of her new friends, all I do is follow, blind.

But it doesn’t take long for me to forget Oliver’s weirdness in the parking lot, because on the walk to my locker, and then to homeroom, first period, all these random people—people who haven’t said hello to me since eighth grade—are paying me compliments and giving me looks of praise. It’s crazy. But what feels even crazier is that I did it. I got up there and sang. They really are talking about
me
.

Don’t forget who your real friends are, Captain Famous
, Benji writes to me in third period, after Dr. Campbell tells us we have another take-home due Wednesday.

What’s your name again?
I write back.

He turns around, gives me a sly grin. I give one of my own right back to him.

I can’t linger long after third period, though, because in the hubbub of this morning I apparently did agree to meet Lish for lunch.

“Off-campus lunch, eh? Very uptown of you, Coastal,” Benji says as we walk.

“It’s just a bunch of girls. I hardly know them.”

“Just wish I was going to be there to see it, is all.”

“I bet you do. But there’s that whole, you know, class thing you have.”

“Yeah, well.” He sighs. “You riding the pep squad bus with the volleyball crew after school now too?”

“They’re not going to be my
friends
,” I retort. Although I guess Lish, technically, is my friend. Sort of. Still? “Anyway, you know I can’t do this test without you.” I grab a bunch of his army jacket in my fist, make a begging face. “We don’t have rehearsal today, so—after school okay?”

He brings two fingers up to his right eyebrow in a semi-salute. “You know where to find me.”

“Awesome. And who knows. Maybe I’ll skip to go off campus with you during second-session lunch sometime.”

“Oh, very rock star of you, Coastal,” he says over his shoulder, ambling off. “Very rock star. But hey—you were good. Sincerely.”

This compliment from Benji is, for some reason, more powerful than any other I’ve gotten today.

“I love you, Benji,” I yell after him, making a few people turn and stare.

When he waves, embarrassed, I know I almost meant it.

Walking off on my own to the parking lot, though, everything becomes a little more muddled in my head. I told Benji it’s no big deal, this going off campus for lunch, and I guess it isn’t, but honestly, I am looking forward to being around Lish. Not so we can immediately jump into being best friends again or anything—I’m not
that
stupid—but because seeing her toothpaste-commercial smile this morning made me realize I’ve actually missed her. When she dropped away at the start of school, I guess I just sort of accepted it.

Seeing her waving to me when I’m still twenty yards away, how she comes up and tucks her arm into mine to walk me over to her other girlfriends, feels pretty . . . nice. Something about her giggly enthusiasm is contagious, I guess, and piling into Kiaya’s car with everyone else, laughing at something someone says—it feels good. I wonder if that’s what’s been missing for me lately—not only Lish but plain, old-fashioned girl
giddiness
.

At Duck’s Cosmic Kitchen we order our food, and the girls fall into talking all around me. Not in a bad way, though. Just like I’m a part of it already. Like I don’t need an introduction.

Most of it is drama from the dance. Things I missed by being up onstage and leaving early.

“—and it’s just like, break up with him already, please.”

“Yes, please.”

“But she just spent the whole time, practically, on the bleachers, crying her mascara down her neck.”

“So stupid.”

“So lame.”

“It doesn’t even make sense because she didn’t even like him that much in the first place. We had to, like, convince her to even go out with him.”

“And now we can’t convince her to break up with him.”

I think of Gretchen and her saga with the Wrestler.

“I know how that is,” I say.

Five faces whip in my direction, focused. The waitress brings the plates with our sandwiches. I wait until everyone’s got their food to go on.

“I wrote a song about it, actually.”

“That vanish song you sang?” Kiaya goes. Her eyes are fringed with the thickest black lashes I’ve ever seen. “God, that was
so
crush.”

I shake my head. “No, the first one Oliver did, ‘Just Hang Up.’ I wrote it when my step—when someone I knew was going through something similar.”

D’Shelle laughs with her mouth open. “That’s what we should
tell her to do! Can we get you to go to her house and sing that song?”

“I could serenade her, sure.” I giggle, and accept one of Lish’s fries.

By the end of the school day, I almost feel like a different person. I don’t even feel down anymore about Fabian. Yeah, he has a boyfriend. So, it sucks that we can’t be something more. But we’re good friends already, right? And it would be stupid to mess that up. Probably it’s
good
that he has someone else, because it resolves the dating-in-the-band problem. I should call him this afternoon. I should be embarrassed for taking it all so seriously.

I forget about the whole Oliver-maybe-letting-people-think-he-writes-the-songs thing from this morning until psych. I’m late, and Oliver hasn’t waited outside for me. But he sounds perfectly fine saying hey as I take my seat next to him and Ms. Neff starts up class.

After psych, though, he’s walking so fast toward the parking lot, I have to trot to catch up with him.

“It’s not like we got offered a record contract or anything,” he grumbles when I ask how it feels being a real rock star.