Being Friends with Boys

by Terra Elan McVoy

  I wander into the first shoe store I come to and spend some uncertain time dawdling near the entrance, pretending to be interested in stiletto-heeled boots and brown leather clogs. The salesgirl is superglad to see me, and just as I’m telling her I’ll let her know if I need any help, a display deeper in the store catches my eye. Or, more specifically, a single pair balanced on the clear plastic shelves. I go straight to it, surprised to be drawn to shoes at all, particularly such girly ones. But these are so perfect it’s almost funny: vintage-looking heels that maybe a pinup girl would wear, with a little peep-toe front spanned by a multilooped bow. Picking them up, I know that these are shoes I could be comfortable in. The heel is more sturdy than the skinny spikes you usually see, and when I try them on, they hug my feet in a way that’s supportive instead of pinching. The best part is? They’re the exact dark blue of the ribbon on my dress.

  I thank the shopgirl after I pay, and then I just about skip out of the store. Until I stop dead in place, seeing Lish and Bronwyn walking past.

  They stop too and are—oh god—coming over to say hi.

  “We’re shopping for Winter Formal too!” Bronwyn squeals, indicating my bag. She hugs me, one thin arm wrapped around my neck.

  “Haven’t had any luck yet, though.” Lish pouts a little.

  “If someone wasn’t so picky.” Bronwyn pokes her.

  “Can we see?” Lish asks, leaning forward to peek.

  Why they’re acting like they haven’t ignored me the last few weeks, I don’t know.

  “I, um . . . want to keep it a surprise,” I fumble. “If you don’t mind.”

  Lish nods. “Of course, of course. We were certainly surprised—in a good way, I mean—when we heard you were back with Sad Jackal. But ooops—” She covers her mouth with her hand, makes a coy face. “Was that supposed to be a surprise too? I mean, you didn’t say anything to us, so . . .”

  I narrow my eyes at her. It’s only slightly, but I see her see it.

  “I guess I’ve been busy.”

  “Well, you can’t be too busy during lunch.” She pushes me gently on the arm. “You should come out with us again. I mean, you just disappeared and—”

  Right. That’s what happened. I disappeared. And now, suddenly, with Winter Formal a week away, I’m visible? Do you really think I’m that stupid, Lish, that I would let this happen again?

  It is so, so tempting to call her out on it right now. To cut her down to the insignificant-feeling size she’s reduced me to so many times. But right as I’m gathering up the words, taking in a deep breath, I look at her in her trendy mall-store outfit, her Hollywood-magazine hair—at Bronwyn, who makes sure to match Lish in every way, because god forbid she do her own thing—and I feel really sorry for them both.

  “There’s a lot going on,” I let out. I try to make it sound like I’m disappointed, but only barely. “You know how it is. But I’ll see you at the dance. Good luck with shopping.”

  I give them a twinkle-finger wave and stride away, head high, but not because I’m trying to prove something by looking superconfident, if they’re watching. Instead it’s because I honestly don’t care anymore what Lish thinks or what she says. Because I know—I really know—that I have way better friends than her.

  Chapter Twenty

  How does a week rush by so quickly? I don’t know, but it happens. Because suddenly we have gone from Holy shit we only have two weeks to practice to Holy shit we only have two hours before we go on, and I don’t have much memory of anything in between. All I really know is how crazy it feels, now that it’s here.

  This year Winter Formal is in the Old Courthouse in Decatur. The band has to get there an hour before the doors open, for sound check and to coordinate with the DJ about when we’ll go on and all that. I’m meeting the guys there, which means most of the day I get to participate in another round of Darby’s Beauty Parlor. This time she and Gretchen are doing it too, which makes it more fun. Darby gives me hot lemon tea “for my throat,” and then I rest with cucumbers on my eyes for an hour while she takes a bath. Then it’s my turn for an aromatherapy soak, and as I float there, I try not to think about Lily doing similar things, getting ready for Trip. Try not to think of him handsome in his suit. After that, while Gretchen’s in the tub, Darby supervises my high-energy protein dinner and massages shea butter into my feet before I get dressed.

  “Wow,” she says, smoothing my dress down after we get it zipped up. Her face is coated in some kind of shiny peel-off mask.

  I press my hands to my new waist, give the skirt a little back-and-forth twirl. We decided to keep my hair down, partly for warmth, but also because the gentle waves she makes still look great. She’s swept the front part back and to the side a little, fastened with a fake-pearl clip Darby found for me at the mall, so even though it’s down in the back, you can still see my face and those collarbones I apparently have. The small, dangly earrings Hannah loaned me are just the right amount of sparkle, and with the shoes, the whole thing is pretty remarkable.

  I grab Darby in a huge hug. “Thank you for all of this.”

  “It’s fun for me,” she dismisses. “And you’re messing up your dress. Now.” She hands me the small drawstring purse she’s loaning me for the night. “Lip gloss, eye smudge, mascara, lipstick, and fresh powder are all in here. Perfume, too, and a tiny deodorant, in case.”

  “Those fit in here?”

  “Plus your phone and your money. And some cough drops.”

  “You are the best, seriously.”

  She shrugs. “First record deal, you’re buying your baby stepsister some Louboutins. Just sayin’.”

  We hug again and head downstairs. Dad’s driving me to the Courthouse, and when he looks up from the couch, the expression on his face is borderline embarrassing.

  “Don’t say anything,” I warn him jokingly.

  “Say what? You look that gorgeous to me every day.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true.” His face is all innocent.

  “Okay, Dad. Let’s just go, all right? Before this swan turns back into a pumpkin.”

  We make fun of my stupid mixed metaphor, and he helps me into my coat. I take Dad’s arm, and we head out.

  It’s a little weird to walk into Winter Formal by myself. There are no flashbulbs popping, no gaggle of girlfriends squealing over my dress, no nervous date with a corsage. Instead I climb up the marble staircase to the main room upstairs, where the stage and the dancing will be. The guys are all there, standing along the back wall, trying to pretend they aren’t getting nervous while waiting for the sound man.

  “Wow,” Fabian says, coming over to give me a hug.

  “You think?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “You too,” I tell him, admiring his green vintage jacket and crazy black-and-pink splotched tie. Eli’s done vintage as well: a red jacket cut narrow to his frame, with black silk lapels and even a flower in his buttonhole.

  “Sharp, man.” I nod my approval.

  “Not bad yourself, sister.” He winks back.

  “Here.” I go over to Oliver, who is tugging at the knot of his tie. He’s trying to make it look cool and loose, but mostly it looks like he put it on wrong. I tighten the knot all the way and then pull it down, just barely, working it a little looser as I go.

  “There.” I pat his lapels, and the true gratitude in his face fills me up with warm.

  “Okay, you guys?” the DJ calls, ready for our sound check.

  “Here we go,” Abe whispers, letting out a low whistle.

  “It’s gonna be great,” I tell him, all of them, though I have to suck in a deep breath too.

  It doesn’t take that long to set everything up. There are some tweaks and adjustments, and Fabian has a hard time with his monitor, but then we play through “You’re Ugly, Too,” to make sure everything’s right, and the boys all nod at each other, nod at me. We agree it sounds good. That we’re ready.

  “Let’s go outside,
dude,” Eli says, shaking out his wrists. “I could use some air.”

  I’m not sure how far I can walk without my shoes filling with blood, but I’m also not going to be all girly and dumb about it. It’s freezing out, so we pile back into our coats and scarves, tell the sound guy we’ll be back in plenty of time. We don’t want to sit at the picnic tables outside the Courthouse, looking like we’re waiting, but we don’t want to go in anywhere, either. So we amble in the direction of school, talking about all the stuff we haven’t talked about because we’ve been practicing so hard: video games, movies, who is stupid at school and who is not. Eli has his flask, of course, and it makes the rounds. I take a sip, part for tradition with them, part for courage. When we get down to the tracks, a limo passes us, headed toward the square.

  “Must be time, then,” Abe says, staring like he’s trying to see inside.

  “It’s freezing out here anyway,” Oliver says.

  “You okay in those shoes?” Fabian asks.

  I nod. “Just cold.”

  He puts his arm around my shoulders and I huddle up next to him as we turn around, head back, this time none of us saying anything. As we walk up the hill, past the Chick-fil-A, we see more and more couples hurrying toward the Courthouse, more cars in the loop with herds of kids climbing out. It’s all really happening. We still won’t play for a while, but it’s freezing, and, as Abe says: “We have to show up and dance.”

  Inside, the lobby of the Courthouse has been transformed since we left. The entire place is lit up with white Christmas lights, and snowflake garlands stream down the rail to the stairs and up the columns, fluttering slightly. There being people in here makes a difference, too. Instead of cold and stony and a little foreboding, now the place is echoing with the sounds of couples already here and music booming from upstairs.

  We wait in line to check our coats with everyone else, looking around the room, smiling oh my god it’s time smiles at each other, watching people as they come in, and pretending not to be.

  “You look awesome,” someone says behind me. An arm loops around my waist.

  I turn enough to see him.

  “Wow. So do you.”

  Benji’s outfit is simple: jeans, a dark blue jacket and plain white T-shirt, but it looks somehow extra-sharp on him. His hair, slicked back fifties style, adds greatly to the affect. For a brief second I picture him showing up like this at my door, being my actual date tonight, and then I remember kissing him. I wonder how different tonight would’ve been if we’d made a less awkward couple, if we hadn’t turned out better as friends.

  He can see me looking at him strange, because he pricks up one eyebrow. His eyes are sparkling, though maybe a little sad, too. We hug and he bumps fists with the other guys, and once we hand off our coats, we all head upstairs to see what things look like on the dance floor. There still aren’t that many people up here—it’s cooler to hang out downstairs, I guess, watching everyone make their entrances—but the decorations and the hundreds of twinkle lights make everything warm and beautiful.

  “You wanna?” Benji says, holding his hand out toward the floor. Only a few brave couples are dancing, plus one big throng of freshmen, but everyone’s clearly having fun. I’m not sure I want to get too sweaty before we go on, but dancing with Benji sounds better than tensing up in a bunch of nerves. I grab Fabian and Oliver, pulling them with us, when someone says to me, “Your name’s Charlotte, right?”

  It’s the sound guy. Looking a little perturbed.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not a messenger, all right? I’ve got work to do here.”

  I take the notebook he’s handing me.

  “Um, thanks.”

  Staring down, a prickly feeling sweeps over my arms and bare shoulders. I know exactly who left this for me, and I crane my neck, trying to spot his tall blond head in the crowd.

  “Can you tell me when he left?”

  The sound guy gestures rudely to the dance floor. “I’ve had a few other things to focus on.”

  “Okay. I get it. Thanks.”

  “You okay?” Benji leans in.

  “Yeah, I just . . .” I turn the notebook open to the first page. His handwriting pulls sharp, unexpected tears up from inside me. “I just need a second.”

  I push past the guys into the hall, to the bathroom, which fortunately isn’t crowded yet with three hundred girls waving mascara wands. I do have to wait for a stall to empty up, but I don’t let myself start reading until I’m safe, and alone, the door locked securely behind me.

  Dear Charlotte, it starts. What are you trying to do to me?

  Twenty minutes later I can finally come out. Girls have been banging on the door—only a few of them asking, concerned, if I’m okay—but I don’t care. I had to finish reading all fifteen front-and-back pages, and then I had to make myself stop crying enough to walk out of the stall. It takes another five minutes, maybe more, to straighten my makeup halfway back to what Darby created earlier tonight. Thank god for her tiny travel makeup kit. And lots of tissues. By the time I’ve taken a few deep breaths, and a drink of water at the fountain outside, I find the guys—standing, again, against the back wall, watching people dance—and I hope I look at least a little bit pulled together.

  “Where’ve you been?” Oliver looks freaked. “We have to go on in, like, ten minutes.”

  Next to him Fabian crinkles his brow at me, wondering am I okay.

  I ignore both of them. “Have you seen Trip?”

  Oliver arches up on his toes to look over my head. “Why? Is he here?”

  “I think so, I mean he might be—”

  But then, like that, there he is, standing in dirty jeans and a baggy sweater, his hair a mess, the rest of him blurred suddenly by a new crop of tears—tears there’s no way I’m going to let fall, because I don’t have time to redo my makeup a second time. Just the thought of it pisses me off all over again.

  “What the hell is this?” I demand, shaking the notebook at him. “What do you mean, you couldn’t help yourself? That I can’t blame you for being afraid of how you felt? I completely blame you! This whole last month has been your fault, you stupid ass. What am I supposed to do, say I’m sorry Lily broke up with you because you couldn’t shut up about me? I’m sorry you got mixed up in a bunch of stupid shit, because after our nacho date you didn’t want to be just friends? I’m sorry for how jealous you got, hearing about me and Benji? How am I supposed to feel, you telling me all this now, huh? You finally coming around, showing up, pouring out your heart, when you know I have this big thing tonight, when you know I’ve been missing you so much and now I have to . . . to . . . get up there and . . .”

  But I can’t say the rest, because suddenly his arms are around me and I’m surrounded by him, and it feels so absolutely good and right to be here in the middle of him, him, him. It’s a feeling I’ve needed for weeks now. Probably my entire life.

  “I can’t do it anymore.” He presses his lips to the top of my head. “I don’t want to be the person I was being without you. Even if you don’t feel the same way—even if we’re only friends— that’s fine with me. I just want to be around you again. I thought about you . . . who you are to me . . . what I’ve been since I left—”

  I step back so I can see his face. “Did you really think that splitting us up was going to make things better?” I’m still trying not to cry, but it’s hard.

  He takes my hands.

  “Big dummy, I know. But once I knew how I felt, it sucked not being able to be with you. And you kept getting extra-fabulous, extra-hard to not be with. But after . . . Lily . . .” He says it like it’s embarrassing. “Not being with you at all hurt even more.”

  “Um, Charlotte?” Fabian’s hovering behind me.

  “Oh god.” I turn to him. On his face I see that it’s time. And I’m so not ready.

  “I’ll be here,” Trip says. “I know there’s a lot more talking we need to do. And I’m really sorry to spring it all on you like this.�
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  I grab him around the neck, squeezing him close. “I missed you,” I say, fierce, before letting go.

  “I know. It was stupid. You can tell me all the reasons why later.” His face is so sincerely sorry. And sweet. And I’m just glad to be seeing it again.

  But Fabian genuinely looks anxious now as he reaches for my arm to guide me toward the stage. I realize Oliver and the other guys are already up there, that the DJ’s last song before us is halfway through. I take Fabian’s hand and we work our way to the front of the room, pushing past people and faces and voices telling us good luck. I look for Trip, to wave to him, but he’s already melted into the crowd.

  “You need some more time?” Fabian’s got one foot on the stage, one on the floor—half of him ready to play, the other half here for me if I need him.

  Eli comes over. “She all right?”

  The song around us repeats its final chorus, quieter and quieter, and people start moving closer to the stage. We’re on the far edge, away from most everyone, but still it would be nice if there were some kind of curtain.

  “I’m fine,” I tell them both, sucking in a deep breath. “I mean, the boy I think I love more than anything just told me he’s in love with me, and that this whole time he’s been ignoring me and making me feel like utter crap—all because he hasn’t been able to make himself happy without me, and I’ve been writing all these songs and doing all these things, thinking I’ll never talk to him again but also knowing I won’t be happy without him either, and I’m supposed to process all that in, like, ten seconds, while in the meantime I have to get up here and sing, and be there for you guys, who’ve stuck by me through this whole thing, but . . . yeah. I’m okay.”

  “Whoa.” Eli looks like I might electrocute him.

  “Ready?” the DJ interrupts, wanting to introduce us. Oliver appears next to him, fingers yanking through his bangs.