BFF Breakup (10 page)

“I love you like a sister,” Abbey told me, “but not in a million years.”

The night dragged on and on, and while staring at hilarious-less TV shows, I couldn't stop wondering what was happening at Susanna's house. I wondered if her bedroom was all decked out like Madeline's with a TV, DVR and computer and tons of space. I wondered what they were doing and what sorts of things Susanna and her friends did at sleepovers. I also wondered if they were talking about me. I don't know what I thought they might be saying, but it's like I could feel my loser vibes all around the house that night, and I wondered if Madeline, who I
have sort of an ESP thing with on good days, picked up on it and then made fun of it.

The next morning the sun was shining and the weather had that cool fall crispness in the air. It was only 10:00, but I wondered if Madeline was back from Susanna's yet. I decided to walk across the creek to see.

I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and put on my favorite Saturday jeans, the ones that were worn through in the knee and were soft and comfortable. I grabbed my purple hoodie and headed down the slope behind my house, kicking through the leaves that were just beginning to fall on the patches of dirt and rock that mark the path. The rain had let up but the creek water still flowed, and I smiled remembering the snake from just a couple of weeks ago.

I hopped over the creek using the large rocks as stepping stones, wondering, once again, when Dad was going to build that swing. Then I made my way through the trees and up to the edge of Madeline's property. Her lawn was kept electric green and trim with the help of a two-man landscaping team. Abbey and I had learned early on how to mow our own lawn.

The wind kicked up a bit, sending ripples across her always perfectly blue pool and some brown leaves cartwheeling across the top. I walked up on the back porch, gave a quick knock, then let myself in.

I could hear voices in the kitchen, so I headed that way.

As I came around the corner of the living room, I heard several girls' voices, one being Madeline's. I slowed my pace and peeked around the corner to see who was there, my heart pounding violently in my chest. When I looked around the corner, I saw them—all of them. Madeline, Susanna, Natalie, and Julia. They sat at the kitchen island eating cinnamon rolls, the kind that come in the tube you have to unroll—offensive to the kind my mom makes from scratch for Madeline and me. Susanna stood on the opposite side of the island from the other girls with a plate and a glass of orange juice. They were all laughing.

For a moment it was like I was frozen in place. Madeline said that Susanna had invited her to
her
house, and that if they were spending the night here, she totally would have had me over. Had she completely lied to my face?

I wanted to get out of there. I couldn't bear seeing all those stupid girls and listening to their stupid talk. I turned to sneak back out, but just as I did, Susanna saw me. She screamed like she'd been murdered, which made all the other girls scream, and then she yelled, “Oh my god, who
is
that?”

What could I do but turn back around, with the best at-ease look on my face I could muster?

“Hey, guys.” I waved. “Just me.”

“Oh my god, you scared the life out of me!” Susanna said, clutching her chest like she was an actual heart attack victim.

“Brooke,” Madeline said, getting up from her seat, her brows all pulled together in a totally appropriate what-the-heck-are-you-doing-here look. Her eyes darted from me to the other girls, like she was trying to figure out who deserved her attention most.

“Oh, um,” I eloquently began. “Hey! Just dropping by to see if you were home and . . . you are. Hi!” They all stared at me, confused, and I just wanted to get out of there and go home.

“Well,” Madeline began, looking uncomfortable. Although I couldn't figure out why because I was the one who accidentally busted in on her me-less party. I was the one who should be the most uncomfortable. “Um, do you want some cinnamon rolls? They're not as good as your mom's, but at least we didn't burn them.” She laughed. Fake laughed.

“No,” I said, the girls' eyes burning into me. “I should go home. I shouldn't have come over. Dad and I are about to leave for Home Depot.”
Home Depot?
Where did that come from? “We're picking out new faucets for our bathroom. Should be fun!”

Since when did I start lying to my best friend? Oh, yes, I remember—when she started lying to me about
not
inviting me to her dumb sleepovers.

“Oh,” Madeline said, and for a split second I thought she might argue with me. Like,
No! Stay! We were just about to call you!
Instead she said, “I'll walk you out.” Like I needed a security escort to make sure I really left or something.

At the door, Madeline said, in a low voice, “I'm really sorry. Susanna called at the last minute asking if they could come over here instead. I figured you already had plans by then.”

It took a great effort of willpower not to say,
Plans? Without you? Since when do we make plans without each other?
Instead I was able to hold back, maybe because I felt sucker punched by the whole incident, start to finish.

“You're not mad, are you?” she asked. I gotta say, she actually looked concerned.

“No,” I said.

“Okay,” she said. “What did you end up doing last night?”

“Went bowling with Abbey and a couple of her friends.” I didn't want Madeline—my very own best friend—knowing I had spent a Friday night at home with my dad watching bad TV.

“Oh, cool!” she said, almost like she was relieved. “That's amazing Abbey let you.”

I nodded. I needed to go. Immediately. I felt the prickling of tears coming up behind my eyes and I had to get out of there. “Well, I should go. Don't want to keep Dad waiting.”

“Yeah, okay,” she said. “Maybe later today you can come over?”

“Sure,” I said. “I'll call you.” And I probably would have, if it weren't for what happened next.

“Talk to you later,” Madeline said, and then, from the kitchen Susanna's voice rang out: “Bye, Brooke!” And then all three girls burst into laughter.

Madeline called my name, but I was running, already halfway down the hill to the creek, refusing to look back.

O
H, MAN. NOT GOOD. SO NOT GOOD.

Could the timing have been any worse for Brooke to pop over? I started to kick myself for not inviting her like I said I would if we were sleeping at my house, but honestly, I did not want to know what a night with the girls plus Brooke would be like. She and Susanna probably would have ended up in a grisly Colosseum-style fight or something.

I knew I needed to call and make it up to her even though I hadn't technically done anything
wrong. I put it off all afternoon. I knew Brooke would be mad and I wasn't ready to have my best friend upset over something so small as a sleepover—with people she didn't even like, I might add. So instead of calling her, I hunkered down in my room while Mom, just back from Chicago, snapped at Dad about the leaves covering the pool. Dad snapped back that if she wanted it cleaned, she could get out there and do it herself.

Whenever they were both home, there was always a battle over something, and it was always something so stupid. Like whose responsibility it was to make sure there was toilet paper in the bathrooms, or the fact that Dad ordered spicy pepperoni pizza just because he knew Mom didn't like it, or because Mom purposely stayed at work late to avoid her own family. That one always stung, and Dad accused her of it a lot.

“You act like your job is so much more important than mine,” he'd said just that afternoon. “But for some reason, I can get my work done during regular business hours, without having to take time away from my family on nights or weekends.”

“I think my job is a bit more high-pressured than yours,” Mom had said, with a definite ring of condescension in her tone.

“Maybe you can sign up for some classes at the
community college on time management,” he'd said, matching her tone. “You can learn how to get all that hard work done in an efficient manner.”

“How dare you,” she'd snapped, and that's when I decided to go back upstairs. I started to tiptoe so they wouldn't hear me, but when I realized they never heard or noticed me or my brother—who stayed out of the house more and more, and because, lucky him, he had a car—I stomped up the stairs with extra force. I wanted to see if they'd hear me and stop fighting long enough to yell at me instead of each other. But they didn't. Mom accused Dad of never supporting her, and Dad accused Mom of not supporting the family. It was a typical day in the Gottlieb household.

Up in my room, I called Brooke. I knew she was mad and I understood why, but I also didn't have the energy to appease her. I was tired. Tired from being up late last night, and tired of the constant stress of just being in my house. But Brooke was my best friend, and I didn't want us fighting or being weird with each other anymore.

“Hey,” I said when she answered the phone. “What's up?”

“Hey,” she said. “Nothing.”

I snuggled under my goose down comforter. I felt like I could fall asleep right then and not wake up until Monday for school.

“So,” I began, trying to gauge her mood. Was she mad? Were her feelings hurt? Was she indifferent? Grateful I hadn't invited her over? “You should have stayed this morning for breakfast. The girls asked about you when you left.”

“The
girls
did?” Brooke said.

I guess
catty
was the word to describe how Brooke felt about the whole thing. She was not going to make this easy.

“Brooke,” I said. “Come on, don't be like that.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like
that
. I'm sorry if things were awkward this morning.”

“It wasn't awkward,” she said, and I knew she was lying.

“Be honest,” I said. “Would you have wanted to spend the night with Susanna and the girls?”

“Who cares.” She let out a big sigh.

“You don't even like them,” I said, which was the truest thing either of us had said to the other in a long time.

For a moment she didn't say anything, but then she said, “True.”

“See?”

She sighed again. “I felt like an idiot this morning, going over there.”

“Don't,” I said. “The whole thing got so messed up
anyway. Staying at my house was last minute, and I really didn't think you'd want to come over anyway. I should have at least asked you, though.”

“It's no big deal,” she said.

“How was Home Depot?”

“Um, we didn't end up going,” she said.

“Oh,” I said. “So, do you want to come over? I think we're going to order in for dinner.” I wasn't sure that we were, but the cinnamon rolls we'd had that morning were basically the last things in the fridge.

“I don't know,” she said. “I think we're going out to dinner.”

I couldn't help but think that was a total lie—Brooke and her family rarely went out to dinner. Both her parents were such good cooks and besides, they thought it was a waste of money when they could relax in their own home with their own food. I'd heard her mom say it before.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “It'll be fun, and you can spend the night. We'll see if we can successfully stay in my room all night and completely avoid my parents. It'll be like a challenge.”

“I could pack supplies and bring them over,” she finally said, her voice getting some life back, and I knew I was off the hook. “And I think I saw a big box of Hot Tamales in the cabinet.”

“Perfect! Grab them before Abbey sees them.”

“I'll come over in like an hour, okay?”

“See you then,” I said.

Downstairs, it seemed the battle had ended. I walked into the living room and found Dad staring out at the backyard, his arms folded and his gaze unfocused.

“Dad?” He cleared his throat, then turned to me and forced a smile. “Brooke is spending the night. Okay?”

He patted my shoulder, keeping that smile on his face. It was a sad smile, which I didn't think was possible, but there it was. I waited for him to say something, but he just turned and walked back to his study without a word.

An hour later, Brooke showed up at the back door with her bag slung over her shoulder and the big, red box of Hot Tamales in her hand like an offering. As she came into the living room, she said, “Did you know it's been proven that the best way to cool down your mouth from spicy food is to drink milk? Not water, milk.” She shook the box. “Got milk?”

“Actually, we might not,” I said. “No one has been to the store in a while.”