If I Were You

by Leslie Margolis

  “Thanks.” I step into the entryway and wait. I hope my eyes aren’t still glassy from the tears I shed earlier tonight. And if they are, I hope Kevin doesn’t ask about them.

  A minute later Kevin comes jogging down the steps. “Hey, Melo,” he says. “What’s up?”

  “Hey. I know it’s late but do you want to hang out?” I ask.

  “Sure,” he says, smiling his gorgeous smile. “How about we make s’mores?”

  “Perfect!” I answer.

  Moments later I’m in Kevin’s backyard at his fire pit. We are roasting marshmallows. I’ve got four crammed onto my stick. He’s just put on Beyoncé’s latest and the moment could not be more perfect.

  “I love summer,” I tell Kevin, curling up next to him as I gaze into the dancing flames.

  “Me, too,” he says, shifting a little. “Hey, can I ask you a question? How come you’ve been acting so weird lately?”

  “Lately like when?” I ask.

  “Like at the beach,” he says. “And earlier tonight. How come you took off so fast after I came to visit? And what’s up with your outfit? Is that dress new?”

  “It’s my mom’s,” I tell him. “Isn’t it awesome?”

  “Are you wearing her makeup, too?” he asks.

  “Yeah—do you like it?”

  “I thought you didn’t like makeup.”

  “I didn’t.” I shrug. “But I guess I changed my mind.”

  “Your hair feels weird,” he says.

  “I used some mousse and then some gel. And then more mousse. And hair spray so it wouldn’t get messed up in case it got windy later,” I explain.

  “Hey, look out!” Kevin yells.

  I sit up with a start and notice my marshmallows are on fire. I take them out of the flames and blow on them.

  They are now charred and crispy, hard on the outside and kind of bitter. I take a bite out of one, anyway. “Yuck! This stinks,” I say, tossing the marshmallow onto the ground.

  Kevin is staring at me like he doesn’t recognize me.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he says. “Never mind.”

  MELODY

  Color Me Blue

  Anya knows it’s been a rough night. Soon after Katie leaves she knocks on my door and asks if I want to talk about anything. I do, but I can’t, obviously. She says I can have the night off from piano, which is a huge relief, but I still feel lousy.

  I hate fighting—it’s the worst. But maybe this had to happen. I’ve been annoyed with Katie a lot lately. And my entire summer has been spent wondering if we’re even supposed to be best friends still.

  Maybe we don’t have enough in common anymore. Maybe we’re simply drifting apart. Is this what happens when you grow up?

  When we start seventh grade, we’ll be at a different school on a brand-new campus. There’ll be new kids, too. Katie has been my best friend since before we could talk. But perhaps there’s an expiration date on our friendship. Maybe we’re like bananas that were left in the sun too long and spoiled.

  Maybe it’s time to move on.

  I decide to go to bed early, and before I drift off to sleep this memory pops into my head from a bunch of years ago, back when Katie and I were seven.

  We were at Color Me Lovely. The store had just opened up and we couldn’t wait to go. Katie and I begged—literally begged—our parents on our hands and knees to take us there. They told us we had to wait for a special occasion. Except one day my mom had the flu, so my dad had the two of us on a Sunday, plus my brother, Kyle, whom he dropped off at a movie.

  I think we were pestering him so much and he wanted to stare at his phone for a while longer that he finally agreed and dropped a hundred-dollar bill with the cashier and said, “Let these girls paint whatever they want. I’ll be back in an hour.” Then he was gone—much to our delight.

  Katie and I held hands and giggled as we stared at the wall of options. They had everything: plates and bowls and cups; turtle planters; piggy, elephant, and goldfish banks. And figurines, too: mice, monkeys, dogs, and cats, hundreds of blank faces staring at us.

  I paced back and forth in front of the shelves for a while, overwhelmed by the choices. Then my eyes rested on the perfect thing: a gigantic platter, smooth and flat and huge.

  It was oval shaped, the biggest thing in the entire store, which seemed perfect because it’d leave me with endless space to create on. My mind was racing with possibilities and I couldn’t wait to run over to the paint area to choose my palette, but of course I did wait because back then Katie and I did everything together.

  When I took the platter off the shelf, it was so heavy that I almost dropped it. The woman working there said, “Are you sure you want this?”

  I nodded, too excited to speak.

  Katie was still looking at the wall of stuff and I didn’t know why she was hesitating.

  “Take a platter,” I said. “It’s okay, my dad already paid for it.”

  “No, let’s start with something small,” Katie said, pointing to a tiny little cup—the kind my parents drink espresso from.

  I frowned, about to give in because I always did what Katie said, but that day was different. Something made me stop. I actually didn’t want to paint a tiny mug. “That’s no fun,” I said, handing Katie my platter so I could climb the ladder and get another.

  Katie didn’t look happy, but she didn’t complain, either.

  We headed to the color station and the woman working there handed us a small plastic tray with space for six separate colors.

  “I really need eight,” I told her. She was wearing a paint-covered apron and seemed tired.

  “Take twelve,” she said, handing me a second palette. “There’s only room for six colors in each one.”

  I squirted in my colors, starting with blue. Katie was right behind me and she did the same. I was glad I had two palettes because it turned out that twelve colors wasn’t even that many. And in fact, it was hard to choose between cerulean blue and shimmery satin for my last square.

  When I headed back to the table, Katie followed.

  That’s when I noticed she’d chosen every single color that I had, even the special blends and four shades of green, which surprised me. I’d passed on the red sparkle because there were only a few drops left and I wanted Katie to have it. Red sparkle was her favorite color back then. It still is. Except she didn’t even choose it, she simply went and copied me twelve whole times.

  I didn’t bother pointing out her oversight because I didn’t want her to feel bad.

  I’ve always been worried about Katie feeling bad. Even at seven. That’s when I started to notice her little comments. How she always wanted to be at my house even though we used to spend most of our time at hers. When I turned eight, I had a sleepover birthday party. Katie was there, of course, and so were Ella and Bea and a few other girls from school. As soon as we rolled out our sleeping bags Katie started in about how much bigger my room was than hers, and how my clothes were so much better, and she wouldn’t stop. It was embarrassing, but I didn’t know what to say, so I ignored her. And I kept ignoring her, even when those remarks increased.

  It’s like I blinked and suddenly it was too late. This is how she was with me and I couldn’t stop her. It’s how we were together.

  But at Color Me Lovely none of that mattered. I was too busy thinking about the masterpiece I was going to create. I wanted busyness but clarity, distinct images but a lot of them. Like a page of computer icons except each one drawn by me—perfectly.

  I found a tiny half pencil next to our station and I picked it up and started sketching a design on my plate. Before the graphite even hit the ceramic, Katie asked, “What are you doing? We’re supposed to paint. Not draw.”

  If someone else were to talk to me like that, I’d think they were being way too bossy. But this was Katie’s regular tone of voice.

  “I’m going to sketch out my design first,” I said, biting my bottom lip and staring at the
heart I’d drawn, trying to decide if the sides were even. Making sure the two pillows are equally stuffed with the arches perfectly aligned is always the hardest part. I could’ve used a compass—that’s what my brother would’ve done. But somehow that seemed wrong. I wanted to teach myself how to draw without it. I’ve always liked the look of freehand better. It’s so much more natural.

  “Want to get a pretzel after this?” asked Katie. She was breathing down my neck, being annoying. I moved a few inches away from her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said, feeling bad that she noticed.

  Katie looked out the window. “And then I want to check out the new leggings at the Gap. Your silver pair are so cute, I think I should get the same ones. Or maybe I should get them in gold so we can be silver and gold together. Or maybe we should tell Ella and Bea to buy the gold pair and they can be the gold twins and we can be the silver twins and the four of us can be a whole shiny crew. Are you almost done?”

  “We just got here,” I reminded her. “And we’ve been wanting to paint something forever.”

  Katie rolled her eyes. “Not forever, Melo. Only since we saw the sign last month.”

  “It’s been a few months,” I said, and went back to my drawing, erasing one of the small clouds I’d made and redrawing it an inch to the left. Much better.

  “So can we go?” asked Katie.

  I cringed and lifted up my pencil, wanting to tell her to be quiet but not wanting to hurt her feelings. “Let’s do this for a while,” I said. “Okay?”

  “Fine,” Katie said, stretching out the word like she was annoyed at me for acting unreasonable.

  She picked up a paintbrush and started painting right away, and I was impressed that she didn’t want to draw out her idea first in erasable pencil. She’s so much bolder than I am. I got lost in my own work. I drew tons of tiny little images: rainbows, hearts, stars, happy faces, a tree with a swing hanging off a high branch, a soccer ball, daisies and tulips, pink high-tops with rainbow laces, and little marshmallows bobbing in mugs of steaming hot chocolate—all the things I loved. I wanted to make a platter my family could look at and say, “That’s so Melo.”

  I was halfway through, working on my second dog, this one a Dalmatian, when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Katie was standing up and stretching.

  I glanced over at her platter, which she’d painted one shade of blue. “What are you going to do with it now?” I wondered.

  Katie looked at me like I was crazy, like there was something wrong with me. “What do you mean, Melo? It’s done.”

  I put down my own brush, stunned. “You’re not supposed to paint stuff a solid color, Katie. You’re totally missing the point.”

  “The store is called Color Me Lovely and this is what I think is lovely,” Katie said.

  I stared at her platter. It was a pretty blue, yes, but it was so boring and uninspired. It looked like something you could buy at any store, not something a seven-year-old would go out of her way to create when given the freedom to make anything. “I know but isn’t it kind of…”

  “Kind of what?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Katie looked over my shoulder. “Well, yours looks like some crazy cartoon!”

  “Thanks,” I replied, even though I could tell she wasn’t exactly delivering a compliment. But crazy cartoons sounded cool to me.

  That’s the first hint I had that we were completely different people. Maybe I should’ve done something about it at the time, but instead we stayed besties for five more years.

  It’s funny to think about because at the moment, I can’t even remember why.

  KATIE

  The Kevin Situation

  It’s been days and Melody and I haven’t spoken since our big fight and I feel bad, but also confused, like maybe I should apologize but I’m not sure what for, exactly.

  I keep going over what happened, trying to figure it out, and I even wrote everything down in chronological order, like I’m studying for a test.

  Day one of summer: Melody and I are sitting at the beach when a gorgeous guy walks by. “He’s so hot,” I say.

  “You think?” Melody asks.

  “I don’t think, I know, and not only that—I’m in love.”

  Melody laughs. “You don’t even know him.”

  “Doesn’t matter. By the time this summer is over, I will. I’m totally calling dibs.”

  This would have been the perfect time for Melody to say something like, “Oh, actually that guy is my neighbor and we’re already going out.” But Melody didn’t say a word. Why didn’t she say anything to me?

  July 4: It’s a little before sunset. Melody and I are camped out at McClaren Park, waiting for the fireworks display. We’ve finished our picnic dinner and are playing hacky sack. That’s when I see Mystery Dude again. He zooms by us on his skateboard before I can think of what to say. Not wanting to miss another opportunity, I grab the hacky sack and throw it at him. I hit the back of his head and he stops, jumps off his board, and turns around, surprised and maybe a tad annoyed.

  “Sorry about that,” I say, jogging over. “Guess I don’t know my own strength.”

  He looks at me and then at Melody and then at the hacky sack I’ve scooped up off the ground. “Oh, no worries,” he says.

  “Hey, are you from around here?” I ask.

  He smiles and tells me he’s kind of new. He moved to Braymar in June.

  That was the beginning—or so I thought! I introduce myself and Melody and the three of us watch the fireworks together, splayed out on my red-and-white-checked picnic blanket.

  July 6: I invite Kevin to hang out with us at the beach and he shows up the very next day.

  July 7 until that awful night in August: Melo and I hit the beach almost every single day and we see Kevin a lot. Sometimes he sits with us on the bus and sometimes he sits with his surfing buddies. He spends most of his time in the water but on occasion he’ll come to land and play Frisbee with us. Once we split an order of cheese fries and twice he helps my stepbrothers build a tunnel. In all that time, Melody never tells me she likes Kevin. The two of them act like they hardly know each other.

  August 15: I ask Melody to help me babysit for the twins. Melody tells me her mom won’t let her come. Later that night my mom and Jeff decide to stay at home. I call Melody but she doesn’t answer her phone. I decide to surprise her, except when I show up at her house, I’m the one who’s surprised. That’s when I find Melody and Kevin kissing in her hot tub.

  And that was the beginning of the end of our friendship because Kevin was supposed to be mine.

  Okay, maybe calling dibs on a guy shouldn’t be allowed. It’s quite possible that Melody wanted to tell me about Kevin, but I never gave her the chance. I have a strong personality. I know that. I’ve been accused of being bossy before, but never by Melody.

  But I guess I shouldn’t dwell on history. Not when everything is better now. Kevin is mine and we’ve been going to the beach every day, just the two of us.

  Right now it’s 8:45 and he’s knocking on the door. I’ve raided Debbie’s closet again and I know I look amazing, but I glance at myself in the mirror anyway before opening up the door. Gold bikini with sheer white sundress—check! Matching sun visor—check! Matching sandals—check! New gold-and-blue-striped bag—check!

  When I open the door I find Kevin standing there with a gigantic chocolate donut.

  “Here you go, Melo,” he says, handing it over.

  “Thanks.” I smile and take a bite and chew and swallow. “Delicious.”

  “Wait, you’ve got a crumb on your lip,” he says.

  “I do?” I ask, wide-eyed.

  “Yeah, let me get it for you,” he says as he leans in and kisses me.

  “Wow,” I say, before I can stop myself.

  Kevin laughs.

  “I mean, um, cool. Is it gone?” I wipe my mouth, just in case.

  “Is what gone
?” he asks.

  “The crumb,” I say.

  “Oh, I was just kidding about the crumb,” he tells me.

  “Oh yeah,” I say, embarrassed now, blushing. “I know that. I was just kidding, too.”

  Wow, I am a dork. But now that I’m Melody my awkward behavior seems cute and Kevin doesn’t hold it against me. He puts his arm around me and we walk to the bus stop.

  We’re turning the corner and are almost there when I spy something I don’t want to see: a flash of red hair. Two flashes. It’s Ryan and Reese. Melody is with them. I mean Melody in my body—Katie. They’re playing with a balloon, trying to keep it aloft, laughing and giggling and having the best time.

  I cannot face Melody now. There’s no way! I think fast and throw myself to the ground. “Ouch,” I yell.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Kevin.

  “Um, I sprained my ankle. I need to go back to the house.”

  “Let’s see,” he says. “I am an EMT, remember?” He pulls his backpack off his back, unzips it, and starts rummaging around inside. “I should have an Ace bandage in here somewhere.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Never mind,” I say, standing up again. “I’m totally fine. In fact, I feel better already. That was a total false alarm.”

  Kevin looks from me to the bus stop and back again. “Is something going on?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. “I mean yes. I guess I don’t feel like hitting the beach today. Let’s do something else.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Um, let’s just hang out in my pool.”

  “But I’m supposed to meet Sanjay. We were gonna surf.”

  “You surfed yesterday and you can surf tomorrow,” I say. “Please?”

  “Okay, fine.” Kevin shrugs and follows me back to the house. I put on my favorite radio station, get us some lemonade, and then put two rafts in the pool. Soon we are drifting.

  “Isn’t this so much better than the beach?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” says Kevin. He’s wearing dark shades so I can’t see his eyes, but he seems to be frowning.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Um, are you sure you hurt your ankle?” he asks.