“Unless you go to the same college,” Drew said, defeated. The moment, their moment, was gone.
“True.” He smirked and then slowed his pace. Was he intentionally putting some distance between himself and the boys, or was Will getting cold feet about showing up with Drew? “Dope house, right?” he said, drawing her out of her head.
“Yeah,” she managed, because confusion aside, Ava G.’s house was dope. It was made of concrete and glass and had a front garden filled with cacti that resembled outlaws in the fading light. Green rocking chairs flanked the colossal wood door like emerald earrings, and the mailbox was an exact replica of the home.
“Museum goals,” Drew said, temporarily forgetting all about his about that . . . comment. Because she was about to walk into a party with Will Wilder, and how stressful and awesome was that? (Or “strawsome,” as her mother would say.)
Ava G. threw open the door before they had a chance to ring the bell. Her hair was piled into a thick bun on top of her head and sprayed gold to match her dress. She looked like an Oscar.
“Wilder!” she said in a high-pitched squeal. Without another word, she pinch-gripped their skateboards and tossed them outside like dead animals. “Hi, I’m Ava,” she told Drew, lips teetering between a smile and a frown.
“Drew. I’m new.”
“Wilder, is she with you?”
“Yep.”
Ava G. flicked a glance at Drew’s outfit—jeans, Vans, white T-shirt. Compared to her, Drew looked like the other Oscar, the one that’s green, grouchy, and lives in a trash can. “Are you going to keep those on?” she asked, pointing at her pads. “I can hide them in my room if you want.”
“Uh—”
“Yes,” Will said dryly. “Yes, she is.”
Drew giggled. Challenge accepted.
“Welll-come!” bellowed a mom, who moved toward them with the tight quick steps of a runner who couldn’t be bothered to stretch. “Did Ava tell you?” she said, thrusting a basket toward them. “This is a no-phone zone.”
They dropped their phones inside and were told to make themselves comfortable. Which was easier said than done. Despite the sea-glass-colored walls, driftwood picture frames, and ceramic starfish, nothing about the house was comfortable. The lights were bright, the music was classical, and the all-white furniture was protected by towels. Girls sat stiffly on the couch while boys stood in a cluster by the bookshelves. This wasn’t a party. It was a library. And the worst part was Drew couldn’t tell Fonda about any of it. She couldn’t say You’d have cooler music or You’d have better snacks or You’re more fun than all the Avas put together, because Fonda could never know Drew was there. Could never know she chose Will over the Spa-tacular. Could never know she was leaving her skate pads on because Will thought it was hilarious. The whole thing felt like a giant punishment for lying. One Drew knew she deserved, but she resented nonetheless.
“So, back to my other question,” she said, stopping Will before they braved the living room. She was aware of the eyes watching them. Eyes that wanted to know what the adorable seventh-grade boy was doing with the new girl and why she was dressed like a stormtrooper. But Drew decided that standing close to the front door was more important than mingling, in case his answer made her cry and she needed to bolt.
As if also sensing the eyes, Will took Drew by the hand, led her through the kitchen and out the sliding glass doors onto the porch. His touch sent electrical currents throughout her entire body. Maybe she was a lamp.
“What is it?” Drew pressed. “You’re freaking me out.”
Will leaned against the glass railing, took a deep breath, and exhaled. “Henry Goode likes you.”
“Who?”
“The guy I was skating with at lunch that day. He thought you were, you know, cool, I guess.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Henry. He’s in your PE class.”
“And?”
“At the beginning of lunch that first day, he said there was a cute new girl named Drew and he wanted to hang out with you.”
“And?”
“He called dibs.”
Drew could feel her heart beating against her scalp. “Dibs?”
“Like, he saw you first.”
“So what?”
“So you’re off-limits.”
“Ew!” Drew said. “For one, he didn’t see me first; you did. For two, I get to decide when I’m off-limits. And for three, I’m a person, not the last slice of pizza. He can’t claim me.”
“I know,” Will said. “That’s what I told him, but without the pizza part.”
Was this good news or bad news? Was Will being respectful or ridiculous? Should she be flattered or furious? Drew looked out at the backyard, giving her tangled thoughts a moment to sort themselves out.
“The trees look like broccoli, don’cha think?” Will said.
It was the kind of comment Drew would have appreciated under different circumstances. But now? It seemed like he was trying to change the subject. “I don’t get it.”
Will pointed at the treetops. “I know it’s dark, but if you look closely—”
“Not the broccoli thing. The Henry thing.”
Will ran a hand through his hair. “When I told Henry he couldn’t call dibs, he asked if I liked you. I didn’t want to start a whole thing, so I panicked and—”
Everything inside Drew sped up. He said the L-word! He said the L-word! He said the L-word! He said the L-word! He said the L-word! He said the L-word! He said the L-word! He said the L-word! “And what?”
“I said I didn’t know who you were.”
“Well, do you?”
“Yeah, doofus, we met at Battleflag, remember?”
This time Drew couldn’t help but smile. “No, I meant do you like me?”
Was it bold? Very. But she couldn’t waste another millisecond of her life guessing and assessing. The truth had been waiting outside long enough. It was time to let it in.
When Will opened his mouth to answer, Drew almost yelled, STOP! She wanted to freeze time, crawl inside the sliver of space between knowing and not knowing as if it were a sleeping bag, and zip it all the way to the top. Keep the truth outside a little longer and stay in that place where everything she wanted was still possible.
“Do I what?” Will asked, with a devilish half smile.
“Do you like me?”
“I dunno.” Will glanced out at the broccoli. Then down at his sneakers. “Do you like me?”
“That depends.”
He met her eyes. “On what?”
“Are you going to act like you don’t know me when Henry’s around?”
“That depends too.”
“On what?”
“Are you going to wear those pads to school on Monday?”
Drew laughed. “Probably.”
“Then I will definitely act like I know you.”
“Even if Henry’s around?”
Will smiled. “Especially if Henry’s around.” He looked down at his toes and kicked a few pebbles before catching her eye again. “Look, I’m sorry I ignored you. That wasn’t cool. Do-over?”
“Do-over.” Drew smiled back. She couldn’t wait to tell her friends! But ugh—she was supposed to be puking chicken, not having the best conversation of all time. Now, instead of celebrating, she’d have to keep the broccoli trees, her bravery, the L-word, and Will’s emotional maturity from them forever. Which almost made the night seem pointless.
Almost.
chapter nineteen.
REGRET WRAPPED ITSELF around Fonda like a stinky hug and squeezed. She faked bad chicken, lied to her best friends, and spent forty minutes curating the perfect outfit for this? The lights were doctor’s-office bright; the music was elevator-y. And were those baby carrots in the snack bowl? It reminded Fonda of a toddler
birthday party, except boys and girls talked to each other at those.
She considered calling Drew to see how she was feeling, but contact with the outside world was no longer an option. Ava G.’s mother had taken her phone.
“Styles!” Ava H. called from the towel-covered couch. If her metallic leggings weren’t enough to get Fonda’s attention, her black sequin top certainly was. “Get over here!”
Chin lifted and chest thrust, Fonda catwalked into the living room wearing what she hoped would establish her as an out-of-the-box thinker. Silk kimono, black shorts, and wedge sandals. It was attractive, not try-hard. Fashionable, not trendy.
“Love the look!” Ava G. said, snapping a picture with her invisible phone.
“Yours too,” Fonda managed, even though Ava G. was twinning with an Academy Award.
“I want,” said Ava R. “How can I shop it?”
Have a birthday party at Ginger Sushi. The kimono is free with a group of seven or more, Fonda didn’t dare admit. Instead, she just said, “It’s vintage.”
“Really?” Ava R. said. “That’s super ann.”
“Who’s Super Ann?” Fonda asked.
“Super ann-oying.” She pouted. “Now I can’t get it.”
“I can take you shopping,” Fonda offered. “I know a bunch of great vintage shops.”
“Super yay!” Ava R. said.
“What does that stand for?”
“Just a lot of yay.”
Fonda laughed. And not in that phony I’m-trying-to-fit-in sort of way. She was genuinely amused. All those years she spent resenting the Avas for not “seeing” her suddenly seemed childish and unnecessary. A total waste of what could have been fun. Because as it happened, all she had to do was step out of the shadows and show them she was there. Sure, it took a generous scoop of courage and a dash of effort, but once she did it, everything changed. So much so that Fonda was starting to wonder if she was wrong to want her own friend group. Maybe the power move was to merge: bring in her girls, become one giant group, and dominate that way. Like the game Infection, where one person starts off as It and, when they tag someone, that new person becomes It too. The more people they tag, the more Its there are. Soon the minority becomes the majority, the little becomes the big.
“Speaking of muses,” Ava H. said, “who do you think’s gonna land the PP?”
“Easy. The blonde in the knee pads,” said Ava G. “I mean, who wears that to a party?”
Fonda smiled to herself. Drew would. Then, “What’s a PP?”
“I think it’ll be Jasper and Frankie,” said Ava H., ignoring Fonda’s question. “I heard they were going to cut the power.”
Ava G. side-eyed the clump of boys by the bookshelves. “They better not, or my stepdad will sue.”
“What’s a PP?” Fonda asked again.
“Anyway, how are we going to get a PP in the dark?” Ava R. asked.
“Will someone please tell me—”
“It stands for party post,” Ava R. explained. “It’s the VOTN that goes viral.”
“VOTN?”
“Video of the night. Someone always does something embarrassing, and we always record it.”
“But we don’t have our phones,” Fonda said. Aware that she said “we” and double aware that no one corrected her and said, You’re not a we. You’re a you. Only we’re we’s.
“My parents are only staying for ten more minutes,” Ava G. whispered, then lifted an eyebrow as if to say, Know what I mean?
Fonda did not.
“Every party, they say they’re going to stay until the end, but they always get bored early. You can tell my mom’s about to lose it when she starts rubbing her forehead. See?”
Sure enough, Ava’s mom was watching the crowd of kids with a deepening frown. She let out a sigh and rubbed her temples dramatically. And as Ava G. predicted, exactly ten minutes later, her mom and stepdad went to the guesthouse to watch a movie.
The moment they were gone, Ava G. called, “Showtime!” and everyone sprang into action. Boys began pushing couches against the walls, girls unloaded sodas and chips from their backpacks, Ava R. changed the music, and Ava H. dimmed the lights. Before long, crushes were flirting freely, and the Avas got everyone dancing to the electronic beats of “Mi Rumba.” They had clearly done this before. Many times.
“Come awn, Styles!” shouted Ava R. as she yanked Fonda into the center of their undulating mass. All around her bodies were jumping, sweating, twirling. Hands were waving, fists were pumping, and baby carrots were getting tossed like confetti.
When the song changed to GRiZ’s “I’m Good,” Fonda kicked off her shoes, not caring if anyone thought she was copying her sisters, and sang, “Na na na na na na na na na,” with everyone else.
Until that moment, Fonda had no idea it was possible to have fun without Drew and Ruthie. She missed them, she really did, and wished they had been invited. Then they’d be all sweaty and out of breath from doing the Nae Nae too. They’d be singing their throats raw and freestyle dancing with kids who weren’t so bad after all. And they’d finally understand why Fonda was trying so hard. Maybe they’d even start trying hard too.
But as she danced, all thoughts of her friends and nestie domination fell away. There was something so relaxing about being in the good time instead of trying to create it. About not having to worry about anyone’s fun but her own. And Fonda was determined to enjoy every sweaty second.
chapter twenty.
SAGE AND RUTHIE settled between the succulent garden and the living room window of Sage’s house, then froze to make sure they hadn’t been detected.
“I can’t believe you and Ava G. live together,” Ruthie whispered as she lowered her EyeClops Infrared Stealth Goggles. She looked like a fly with her wide plastic eyes, black tights, and leotard. Meanwhile, Sage, who always wore black, looked exactly like herself. Except for the gold high-tops, which had been replaced by black ballet slippers.
“I know. It was super weird at first, but it’s been about a year, so . . .”
Deciding the coast was clear, they rose up and began spying on the dance party.
“How did that even happen?” Ruthie asked, her eyes fixed on Ava G.
“Gold hair spray and a lot of nerve.”
“No.” Ruthie smiled. “The two of you living together.”
“Well, Ruthie,” Sage began, “when a man and woman love each other . . .”
“No, really.” Ruthie laughed, suddenly aware that she was spending Friday night with someone new. And not hating it at all. “What’s the story?”
“My mom died when I was two, my dad and Ava’s mom started dating when I was nine, they got married when I was eleven, and Ava and I stopped ignoring each other last month. She’s a dumb-dumb, but my dad says I need to try.”
Ruthie felt a rush of prickly tingles all over her body. Would Sage think she was a dumb-dumb when she left TAG? “Why do you call everyone that?”
Sage pointed past the window, at the bouncing throng inside. “Look at them. What about any of that seems intelligent to you?”
“It’s not supposed to be intelligent,” Ruthie said. “It’s supposed to be fun.”
“Please,” Sage said, adjusting her glasses. “They’re doing it because they don’t have anything to say. I mean, dancing is so weird, am I right?” Then in her best caveman voice she added, “Uh, let’s bang on instruments and flail around.”
Sage did have a point. Dancing was ridiculous if you really thought about it. “It’s like kissing,” Ruthie said, doing her best caveman. “Uh, let’s press our lips together and make mmmmm noises.”
“What about clapping? Let’s all smack our hands together to show how much we like you.”
“Or breathing,” Ruthie said. Then she took it back. “No one really invented that, did they?”
“Hey,” Sage
said, her attention back on the party. “Isn’t that your friend?”
“My friend?” Ruthie asked, trying to generate a list of possibilities. She couldn’t come up with a single name. Both of her friends were sick at home. “Who?”
“The one you walk home with after school.”
Ruthie adjusted the focus on her lenses, pressed her face up to the window, and bristled. There was a girl inside who looked exactly like Fonda, and she was doing the Nae Nae with the Avas. Her hair was flat-ironed, her feet were bare, and she was trying to pass a Ginger Sushi bathrobe off as outerwear. Ruthie lifted her goggles and drew back her head, her heart beating erratically in her chest. “How is this even possible?”
Sage sighed. “Anything’s possible with dumb-dumbs.”
Ruthie stood. Her body wanted to spring into action, but her brain was still trying to catch up. Was there really a Fonda look-alike running around town? Assuming there was, and she also went to Poplar Middle, and also had a bathrobe from Ginger Sushi, wouldn’t they have heard about her? Or was that dancing girl the real Fonda? Real, but fake.
“I have eyes on a possible double agent,” Ruthie said, trying to stay in character. Because the moment she stopped playing spy and started playing herself, she’d have to accept that one of her best friends lied about being sick so she could go to a party without her, and that was too much hurt to handle all at once.
“We have to infiltrate. She needs to be questioned.”
“We’ll be exposed!” Ruthie said, hands shaking.
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.” Sage pulled Ruthie up to stand. “Let’s move.”
The moment they reached the front door, the lights went out, the music stopped, and everyone began to scream.
“What’s happening?” Ruthie asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sage said, “but we’ve just been granted cover.” She focused her night vision goggles and led the way. “Follow me.”
girl stuff. Page 10
