Friended

by Kilby Blades

  "Get up," she hissed viciously at the same time she ripped off all my covers.

  Please, God. Just kill me now.

  I turned to glare at her. "Did you stake out my house and break into the back door, or did my dad actually let you in?"

  Her glare was better.

  "Neither. I used the spare key in the mailbox. As your best friend I knew where it was."

  I winced. At the time, it had seemed fitting to extend my visitor ban to include Zoë. Hers was the only call I'd answered on Saturday, the day after roller derby. The way she’d immediately started defending him told me she'd already picked her side.

  "About that—" I started, but she cut me off.

  Maybe it was time to extend the olive branch. It still irked me that she'd been so quick to defend Jagger, but I missed her and I needed a friend.

  "No, Roxy. You go dark for three days? You can go dark for one day longer. And we'll get back to what kind of friend you've been to me in due time. For now I'm your fairy godmother."

  I shut up, mainly because Zoë was scaring me, but also because I was losing my fight. The quick change of heart pretty much summed up my last couple days: I was a schizophrenic mess. By now I could admit it was stupid for me to be pissed about Declan being the one to friend me—but what about Jagger’s lies? If he'd go to such lengths to hide something I'd forgive, he had to be hiding more.

  And he was, wasn't he?

  Damn skippy he was. He'd said as much himself: "lethal" secrets about which I "could never find out the truth". When Zoë asked again why I couldn't forgive him, I'd be pointing straight to that.

  But my heart knew a deeper truth: I'd been waiting for the ship to hit the iceberg. And as soon as it did, like a coward, I'd jumped the first lifeboat out.

  Women and children first.

  And that was my problem. I had always made like we were the Titanic—the most splendid thing to ever sail the northern seas, but destined somehow to sink. And I was one of the skeptics who'd gone aboard, all the while believing it was too good to be true.

  Why couldn't you believe you deserved all of him, Roxy?

  That question, above all others, was what kept me catatonic. I rarely cried, but these past few days I'd wept buckets. I knew I wasn't dynamic like Zoë or confident like Annika. But I'd thought I had a little more self-esteem.

  Don't go there.

  But I had gone there, a dozen times in as many hours. I’d finally figured out why a relationship with Jagger paralyzed me with fear. My naïve mother never learned not to believe every single lie all those rich, handsome, only-after-one-thing sugar daddies told her, and I couldn't end up like my mother.

  “I’m not taking you to class. There are things you need to see. Resistance would be futile, understand?"

  I nodded dumbly.

  "Good. Now, take a shower and put something decent on. You have enough problems. The last thing you need is to be seen looking like that."

  A quick glance in the mirror revealed tear-tracks on my face and bird's nest hair. When I returned from the shower, I saw that Zoë had tidied my room and put fresh sheets on my bed. It made me feel even worse for shutting her out.

  "Zoë…just, thanks." She gave me a look that was intended to give warning but I could see she was fighting to stay mad.

  She shook her head then, but her face softened.

  "Don't thank me just yet. It's only been three days, but you have missed a lot."

  I took her exit as my cue to follow. I felt weak as I descended the stairs and found I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten. I started toward the kitchen but she pulled me into the dining room, where I was assaulted by a sweet smell. The table held three bouquets of exotic flowers that looked like ones I'd seen in Mrs. Monroe’s garden. I blinked in disbelief.

  "This is the gift table, Roxy. It has everything Jagger sent to the house since Saturday night. There's more on the other side."

  I circled the table slowly, and sure enough there was another pile of stuff—the green iPod Shuffle and a white Nano I'd never seen. There were cards—lots of them.

  "Start reading," Zoë commanded gently.

  I pulled out a flat note card in the same fine stock as the envelope. It held the motif of a guitar.

  How can I just let you walk away,

  just let you leave without a trace,

  when I stand here taking every

  breath with you? You're the only

  one who really knew me at all.

  -Phil Collins

  I won't walk away from you, Roxy. Please don't walk away from me.

  Song lyrics. Jagger was sending me song lyrics, knowing how they would get to me.

  "Keep reading, Roxy. There're a dozen more."

  I reached to pull out the chair at my hip and lowered myself to sit on wobbly legs. My hand shook as I retrieved the second card.

  Some people want it all,

  but I don't want nothing at all

  if it ain't you baby,

  if I ain't got you baby.

  -Alicia Keys

  Roxy, I'm not giving up on us. I'll do whatever it takes.

  Looking up at Zoë, I shook my head, unsure that I could continue. She only handed me a third.

  We belong to the light,

  we belong to the thunder.

  We belong to the sound of the

  words we've both fallen under.

  Whatever we deny or embrace,

  for worse or for better.

  We belong, we belong,

  we belong together.

  -Pat Benatar

  Please, Roxy. Let me apologize. I'm nothing without you.

  I heard the sniffle, but I didn't realize it had come from me. Didn't know my tears were falling until one landed on the note.

  "I can't do this." My voice sounded small.

  This time the hand she held out contained a tissue. "You can and you will."

  She’d handed me five tissues by the time I read through the pile, which seemed to contain lyrics from every epic love song that had ever topped the charts.

  "C'mon," she tugged at my elbow. "We'll listen to the playlists in my car. Right now we have some place to go."

  She placed the rest of the items into her purse and we headed out the front door. I nearly tripped over a blanket I recognized—the gray blanket Jagger had wrapped us in as we’d spent that magical afternoon by the seaside bluff.

  What the hell?

  Zoë gave me a pointed look.

  "That's the blanket Jagger shivered under the two nights he spent sleeping on your porch."

  I had to swallow a couple of times before my voice worked.

  "Jagger slept here?"

  She didn't need to answer. Instead, she just led me to her car. Things got worse when she docked the Nano and started playing his songs. Ten minutes later I sat, dejected and remorseful with my head against the window, drowning in the Mariah Carey version of We Belong Together when the jolt of the car pulling into somewhere caused me to open my eyes.

  "I thought we weren't going to school," I whined pathetically.

  "I said we weren't going to class," Zoë clarified. "It's 9:45. Second period started ten minutes ago. No one will be in the halls."

  I felt like a loser when I tried, and failed, at not scanning the parking lot for his car.

  "He's not here."

  Where is he? I wouldn't let myself ask.

  "He got a three-day suspension."

  By then we were climbing the steps to the school building, and I stopped short.

  "Suspended! For what?"

  "Breaking Dan Wesley's jaw."

  She grabbed my elbow to drag me forward and I was too bewildered to protest.

  "Jagger was fighting?"

  She turned to pin me with another powerful look. "Jagger was fighting for you."

  "I don't' understand." I shook my head, unseeing as I followed Zoë down the hall. "What does some kid named Dan Wesley have to do with me?"

  "He wasn't kind eno
ugh to introduce himself to you at the gas station that morning.” she said bitterly. “He heard you and Jag broke up and said some pretty crass things. It took Declan and two teachers to pull him off."

  Jagger defended me.

  "Is he okay?" I nearly shouted, panic lacing my voice.

  Zoë reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.

  "Maybe you should ask him yourself."

  I shook my head immediately. I wasn’t ready.

  Zoë huffed and shook her head, looking off to the side in frustration. "Physically, he’s fine."

  I followed her mutely as she walked us into the building. Jagger had a reputation for a lot of things, but fighting wasn’t one of them. Were the permanent records grown-ups talked about real, and would a three-day suspension go on Jagger’s?

  "We're here.”

  I stopped walking when she did. It was then that I realized we were at my locker. Only it didn't look like my locker. It looked like some kind of shrine. More of the same guitar-embossed cards bearing Jagger’s handwriting had been taped on front, this time without the envelopes. They all held lyrics to more songs.

  What do you think I would

  give at this moment?

  If you'd stay I'd subtract twenty

  years from my life.

  I'd fall down on my knees,

  kiss the ground that you walk on,

  If I could just hold you again.

  -Billy Vera

  Please take me back, Roxy.

  I couldn't believe my eyes. Five similar cards with equally apologetic song lyrics were taped down my locker in artistic formation for all the world to see.

  For all the world to see.

  The tears—tears of guilt this time—started once again.

  What have I done?

  Twenty-Five

  Lover You Should've Come Over

  Maybe I'm too young

  to keep good love from going wrong.

  But tonight, you're on my mind,

  so you'll never know.

  -Jeff Buckley, Lover You Should’ve Come Over

  Zoë

  After she’d seen what I needed her to see at school, I took Roxy to my house. I couldn't risk her kicking me out of hers. As hurt as part of me was by her behavior, the larger part had seen it coming. All along, she'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Only, she didn't seem to realize she'd practically thrown it.

  Gunther: How's Operation "Head-Out-of-Your-Ass" coming along?

  Gunther was texting me surreptitiously from study hall. I glanced over to where Roxy sat on my bed, surrounded by tissues, awash in silent tears.

  Zoë: She's taking it pretty hard. Is Operation "Pull-Yourself-Together-Man" faring any better?

  Gunther: Not even close. He’s not answering his phone, but I know he's still alive.

  Zoë: Let me guess. Instagram?

  Gunther: I think he's hoping she'll log on.

  Zoë: That's on this afternoon's agenda. Maybe that will end this?

  Gunther: I hope so, Sugar. Call me when you're done. Love you.

  Zoë: I love you too, babe.

  Forty-five minutes and half a box of tissues later, Roxy was still rereading his letters, still mopping her eyes and sniffling when I got up from my desk chair and sat next to her on my bed.

  “If this is how he feels, why did he lie?“

  They were the first words she had spoken to me since we left the school.

  "You scared him, Roxx.” My voice was gentle, but firm. I had to give her tough love. "And based on the way you completely overreacted, he had you all figured out."

  She sniffled. "What's that supposed to mean? And why are you making excuses for him—again?"

  "I'm not," I insisted. “And I think it's interesting how you haven't mentioned that, technically, I accepted his friend request.”

  She had the decency to look chagrined.

  “I’ll ignore the irony of that and focus on the real issue."

  "And what is the real issue?" she mocked without much fight.

  "You were skeptical all along. He knew it, and it made him feel like he had something to prove."

  She opened her mouth to protest, but I wouldn't let her get a word in.

  "And I know how he feels. When we first met, you did the same exact thing to me."

  Her mouth snapped shut.

  "I'm not blind, Roxy. I know I drive a Porsche and you don’t have your own car. I know the fact that I have a housekeeper makes you uncomfortable. I know I can roller skate backwards with both eyes closed while anything faster than a stroll makes you trip over your own feet. But here's the difference between us: you care about those things. And, at the beginning, you never let me forget it."

  Her look of bewilderment told me I was getting through to her.

  "You judged him the entire time, and it made him insecure. But he fell in love with you so hard that he'd have done anything it took to keep you. Even if 'anything' meant that he had to lie."

  She looked away from me, out my window toward the darkening woods and overcast sky.

  "All couples fight, Roxy. But the ones that survive talk things through. Don't turn this into more than it needs to be."

  She looked partially convinced—I took that as a good sign. I had more ammo, but wasn’t sure how much she could take.

  "You stay here for awhile, maybe get some rest. I'll ask Neide to fix you soup.“ I offered, deciding against pushing too hard. "You haven't eaten all day, and you'll need strength for what's next."

  Annika

  "Wake up," I growled in my most menacing voice which was, if I do say so myself, pretty menacing.

  Roxy's face was mostly covered with a messy tangle of hair, and she opened one groggy, unfocused eye. She closed it a second later, appearing to go back to sleep. I scanned Zoë's bedroom for something heavy to throw, but Roxy shot up abruptly, looking utterly and completely afraid.

  "Annika?"

  I sneered. The veil of sleep began to lift, freeing her from her haze.

  "You have five minutes to get downstairs and meet me in my car. We have a long drive."

  She nodded shallowly, eyes still wide as I turned on my heel. She made it to my car with a minute to spare.

  "Lunch," I declared, motioning to the thermos of soup that sat in the drink holder. I threw her a baggie of oyster crackers that she barely caught. How Zoë had presumed for somebody so uncoordinated to eat soup in a moving vehicle was beyond me. All I knew was that she'd better not spill any in my car.

  "Is this another fairy godmother mission?" Roxy asked timidly as we sped out of town.

  I smirked at Zoë's name for all this.

  "Couldn't you tell by my costume? I'm Glinda, the Good Witch of the North."

  Her eyes widened slightly as she held me in her regard, but she soon trained them back to the road ahead. A Christmas Carol would be more accurate—you know, if it were Christmas. Zoë had been the Ghost of Christmas Present and I’d be the Ghost of Christmas Past. We rode in silence: me, Roxy, and our pain. I sensed hers, but I doubted she sensed mine. I could count on one hand the people for whom I would reveal this, my deepest secret. I was doing this for Jagger—dear friend, confidante and the only one who understood. He loved her, and her position in his carefully-guarded inner circle automatically placed her in mine.

  At some point, she did manage a few crackers and a bit of her soup, but I could tell our mystery field trip had her spooked. When we were a few minutes away from our destination, I started talking. I looked as primped and put-together as I usually did, but inside I was in knots.

  "You haven't been here long enough to remember Bryce King. He and I dated all through freshman year. He was my first boyfriend—gorgeous, popular…the whole nine. I was in love with him. So much so, that I only saw what I wanted to see."

  "I know the feeling…" she muttered, all bitter sadness.

  "Shut up," I snarled. "You don't know anything. He did a lot worse than tell me one white lie."

&nbs
p; She didn’t know better. Still, I was livid that anyone would compare Jagger to Royce.

  This is exactly why we're doing this, I thought with simmering rage. Someone needs to school this sanctimonious little...

  I forced myself to breathe.

  "As I was saying…I ignored the signs that he wasn't a good guy. I let all the controlling and bad behavior when he was drinking and excuse-making slide because he always apologized and there were times when he was really sweet."

  When I heard my breath shudder, I realized I was trembling.

  "Then things got physical," I ground out.

  I had her attention now.

  "I deluded myself into thinking things were fine because I could usually find one of his friends to handle him when he got too rowdy at parties. This one night, I needed help and no one was around.

  Roxy was so engrossed in what I was saying, she didn't notice we'd pulled off of the road and driven through wrought iron gates.

  "That was how I ended up here."

  She looked around, up at the canopy of trees that arched above the road, down the long driveway, and toward the chateau-style buildings that stood at the end.

  "Where are we?" She’d missed the sign at the gate.

  "The Sisters of the Holy Family."

  Understanding dawned in her eyes.

  "Hard to believe that they still have convents. Not only that—it turns out they're still dumping grounds for pregnant teens."

  Roxy shook her head, no longer stuck in her own misery. For the moment, she was concerned with mine.

  "I don't know what to say."

  I was surprised when tears prickled my eyes, and more surprised still when I realized they were for her.

  "You don't have to say anything. Just listen, okay? What I'm showing you today is really important."

  Parking in front of the schoolhouse, I cut the engine and we got out of the car. The residence was beautiful; a large, turreted hall was the centerpiece of the stone structure. We walked up a grand staircase to the main landing, all shining wood floors anchored by an enormous fireplace. Identical staircases leading to yet another level above flanked opposite sides of curved walls. This place held some of the most painful memories of my life. It also held some of the most precious. In so many ways, this convent felt like home.