From This Moment

by Lauren Barnholdt

  Instead I ended up in the library surrounded by forms, trying to enter everything into a stupid spreadsheet. Which was not fun. Especially since everyone was specifically told there could be no coed room assignments, and yet a few of the guys still listed girls on their forms. Some of them were dating, but some guys just picked random girls! Like I was going to be stupid enough to let them just sleep in the same room with girls they didn’t even know. I mean, how creepy.

  Also, a bunch of boys thought it would be hilarious to put random names down, like Godzilla, or Zac Efron or Jennifer Lawrence. But the joke was on them, because I just matched them all up randomly with people I was pretty sure they wouldn’t get along with. Like, anyone who put down a funny name was immediately matched with someone who has an obvious hygiene problem. It wasn’t even that hard—you’d be surprised how many boys my age have hygiene problems.

  Of course, even though the whole thing was a pain in the ass, if we’d had to fill out our forms over the computer, then I’d never have been able to do what I did. Which was forge my room assignment. Actually, forge isn’t the right word. That’s only for signatures. It was more like I manipulated. Manipulated myself right into rooming with Quinn and Lyla. They’re probably going to go ballistic when they find out.

  When Mr. Beals is done going over the rules, he starts droning on and on about the signs of ringworm and the fact that it’s highly contagious. (Apparently someone brought it onto the bus with them, which is ridiculous—if you knew you had ringworm, why would you come on the trip? Talk about being totally irresponsible.) Great. Probably by the end of the trip everyone will have it.

  I wonder what will happen if I end up with it. Maybe I’ll have to be quarantined. Maybe Liam will have it, too, but somehow Izzy won’t. We’ll have to stay in our rooms, like when people get sick on cruise ships with norovirus and aren’t allowed to leave their sleeping quarters. Obviously they’ll have to make an exception to the whole no coed sleeping thing if people are sick.

  Liam and I will end up sleeping in the same room, and of course we’ll feel fine, we just won’t be able to go anywhere because we won’t be able to be around anyone. And we’ll talk about that book Someday, Someday, Maybe, and I’ll confess that I picked the book because I loved the title and it reminded me of him.

  Actually, maybe I won’t confess that. This is my fantasy, after all. And in my fantasy, shouldn’t Liam be the one confessing his love to me? I can still use the book, though. Only this time Liam will say the reason he liked the book so much and read it so fast was because he liked the title, that it reminded him of me. That he was just sort of sowing his wild oats with Izzy and—actually, no I don’t like that. It makes it seem like maybe he wanted to use her for sex, like she was just so irresistible that he couldn’t stay away from her, and now that he got what he wanted, he’s done with her. Which isn’t exactly the kind of guy you want appearing in your fantasies.

  But then how am I supposed to explain the fact that he wanted Izzy over me? I’m not sure what’s worse—that he just had a physical connection to her, or that he actually liked her.

  Sigh.

  “You coming?” I realize Liam’s asking me. I look around. Everyone’s gathering their things. The presentation must be over. No one looks too worried about ringworm. I hope that doesn’t mean they’re going to be reckless with their germ prevention measures.

  “Oh,” I say. “Yeah, sorry.”

  “What’s your room number?” he asks me as we all filter back into the lobby.

  “Two seventeen,” I say. I don’t even have to look at the paper they gave us when we got on the bus to the airport. I already know exactly what room I’m in, because I’m the one who assigned it.

  “Cool,” he says. “So what should we do after this? You wanna hit the beach?”

  “What about Izzy?” I ask. “What’s she doing?”

  He shrugs. “She has something planned with her dance team,” he says.

  “Oh.” I swallow hard. “Okay.”

  Liam and me.

  Alone on the beach.

  The perfect time to tell him.

  Now all I have to do is make sure I really want to go through with it.

  FOUR

  IT’S GOING TO BE FINE.

  I just have to think positive.

  I’m a big believer in the theory that your attitude can influence what’s going to happen to you. So I just have to make sure I’m putting bright energy out into the world and everything will be okay. Including the fact that Lyla, Quinn, and I are about to be in the same room for the first time in over two years.

  I take the elevator up to the second floor, and when I step off, I can see Quinn down the hall, wrestling her bag through the door of our room before it closes behind her. As I get closer, I can hear voices coming from inside. Lyla must already be there.

  I press my ear to the door, trying to see if I can make out what they’re saying. But while everything else in the hotel is light and airy, the doors are made of dark oak. I can’t hear much of anything, except a few tense-sounding mumbles. And then nothing. Hmm. Silence really isn’t a good sign. Silence means they’re not talking. And if they’re not talking, how are they going to make up? I’m not stupid enough to think we’re all going to mend our issues with a few minutes of conversation, but we might be able to get things headed in the right direction.

  I mean, shouldn’t they at least be discussing little things, like where to put the suitcases or how nice the hotel is? What about the weather? Even strangers talk about the weather! Have the three of us gotten to the point that we’re not even able to treat each other the way we’d treat strangers?

  A memory flashes—the three of us standing outside school, Lyla yelling. Quinn and I standing there, dazed, not really able to believe what was happening. I pause with my key card over the door, wondering for the first time if this was a stupid plan, if maybe I should head back downstairs and ask Mr. Beals if there’s any way to change the room assignments.

  But I miss them so much.

  I can’t talk to anyone else the way I could talk to them.

  Yes, I have Liam, but he’s a boy.

  And Izzy is a girl, but she’s Liam’s girlfriend, which makes it impossible to ever be close to her the way you should be with someone who’s supposed to be a best friend. Izzy can never truly know me, because the way I feel about Liam is a big part of my life, and I can’t ever share that with her.

  And if I’m being completely honest, even if Izzy wasn’t dating Liam, I don’t think we’d be the kind of friends that me and Lyla and Quinn were. Lyla and Quinn and I just got (get?) each other. They were the kind of friends you could call at three in the morning or one in the afternoon. The kind of friends who, when you showed up to their houses unannounced, their parents were happy to see you and sent you right up to their rooms. The kind of friends who didn’t even finish each other’s sentences, because a lot of times we didn’t even need to talk—we could tell what the others were thinking just by looking at each other.

  But all that is gone now.

  And I want it back.

  I want it back so much it hurts.

  And I’m not going to give up.

  I slide my key card into the door and walk into the room, a smile pasted on my face. It’s not even fake. I know it sounds super cheesy, but I’m just so happy to see the two of them here, together, in the same room that I can’t help myself.

  Lyla’s sitting on one of the beds, looking a little stunned. Quinn’s standing by the dresser, unpacking her stuff. Her bag is sitting on the other bed.

  I glance around the room until my eyes land on the cot in the corner. Well. Apparently these two got here and grabbed the beds, leaving me with the cot. I try to muster up the energy to be mad at them for not waiting for me so we could decide about the beds together. But I can’t. I’m just so happy that the three of us are all together that the anger flows out of my body in one swoosh.

  “I guess I’m taking the cot,�
� I say happily. I drop my stuff onto it, and the cot creaks in protest. The mattress is paper-thin and sagging in the middle. Hmm. Good energy, I remind myself. Good energy, good energy, good energy.

  Quinn and Lyla are staring at me expectantly, like they’re waiting for me to complain. Either that, or they know I put us all in the same room. It wouldn’t be that hard to figure out. I mean, obviously they know they requested to room with other people.

  Quinn, for instance, wrote down Celia Grant and Paige Whitman. Those are her friends now, which is ridiculous if you ask me. Those two are the biggest jerks, like, in the school. Everyone knows it. Not to mention they’re total pill heads. There was a rumor going around not that long ago about Celia and Paige wandering all over Hartford one night looking to buy Valium. I mean, it was never substantiated, but still. If Quinn can be friends with those two, why can’t she be friends with me and Lyla again?

  They’re still looking at me.

  “I think we could all benefit from spending some time together,” I say, hoping my tone sounds light and upbeat. I’m trying to go for an unpressured way of speaking, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize they sound kind of stiff, the kind of thing you’d say if you were a married couple having problems, not three best friends trying to reconnect on their senior trip. “I know that our misunderstanding got out of hand, but with graduation coming up, I think it might really be time to move past it.”

  Also a weird thing to say. How can we just move past it? The three of us haven’t talked in years. I should have planned this out better. I’m obviously horrible at talking off-the-cuff.

  Should I plan out what I’m going to say to Liam if I decide to tell him how I feel? I thought it would be better if the moment was natural, but now I’m starting to think that might be a complete disaster.

  Lyla gives a bitter little laugh. “That’s what you think it was? A misunderstanding?”

  Well, yeah. Kind of. Not to discount Lyla’s feelings or anything, but what happened between the three of us wasn’t that big of a deal. It was serious, but not serious enough to end our friendship.

  “I know your feelings are still probably really hurt, Lyla,” I say. “But Quinn and I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Don’t speak for me,” Quinn says.

  I frown. What the hell is wrong with her? Why would she dispute what I just said, that the two of us never meant to hurt Lyla? What a dumb thing to contradict.

  “So you did mean to hurt me?” Lyla says. Sigh.

  “Whatever,” Quinn says, shaking her head. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t even care about this. It takes up, like, this amount of space in my mind.” She holds her fingers up the tiniest bit apart, to show just how little she thinks of it. I want to say something like, Ah, but you do think about it a little, but before I can, Quinn turns and walks out of the room!

  Then the door opens back up and she pokes her head in. She looks right at me, her eyes boring into my soul. “Keep your hands off my stuff, Aven,” she says. “I know you like to borrow people’s things.”

  She gives me this really fake smile before disappearing back through the door. Wow. I cannot believe she said that. I mean, talk about a low blow. Just because one time I had to go into her gym locker to borrow some clothes. It was the day we had to run the mile, and I didn’t have any gym clothes, and if I hadn’t taken hers I would have had to run the mile on makeup day. And I hate running the mile on makeup day, because then you have to do it after school with, like, the boys’ track team. It’s humiliating to plod around the track running a ten-minute mile while they all run in the sixes.

  And besides, I put Quinn’s clothes right back in her locker. It’s not my fault I didn’t realize I’d gotten orange Gatorade on her shorts. I needed a drink after I was done running because I’d forgotten to hydrate properly and I started feeling all dizzy.

  For a second, I feel like I’m going to cry.

  I turn to look at Lyla.

  “Lyla,” I plead. “Can we just—”

  She holds her hand up, stopping me. “No. Let’s make this easy. I didn’t want to forgive you then, and I still don’t want to forgive you now. So save whatever dumb thing you’re about to say.”

  I feel like I’ve been slapped. And then, a split second later, I realize how stupid I’ve been. How could I have thought that the three of us would be able to be friends again just by being roommates on this dumb trip? The fight between us was so bad—whether I think it was justified or not—that just staying in the same room isn’t going to make everything magically better.

  Suddenly, I’m mad.

  Mostly at myself.

  But also at Lyla.

  “Forget it,” I say to Lyla. “Just forget it. I was stupid to think that maybe you’d changed even a little bit.”

  “Me?” she asks incredulously. “I’m the one who has to change?”

  Is she serious? Of course she’s the one who has to change! Quinn and I didn’t even do anything wrong! All we were doing was being there for her, trying to help her. And she just completely went off on us and didn’t even try to listen to our side of the story.

  Who does that? Our friendship was so deep, and she just turned around and in the blink of an eye, totally made it seem like it meant nothing to her. Because if it had, wouldn’t she have at least tried to talk to us, to listen to us, to try to understand? But she didn’t. She just decided she was right because it was easier. It was easier to blame us than to face what was really going on and try to work through it.

  “You don’t get it, Lyla,” I say. “You really don’t. In fact, you’re just as selfish as you used to be.”

  There’s nothing left to say.

  So I follow Quinn’s lead, and turn and walk out.

  Except unlike Quinn, I slam the door behind me.

  And I don’t come back.

  Whatever. I don’t even care about Quinn and Lyla. I was a good friend to both of them, and if they think I’m going to let them ruin my vacation, well then, they have another thing coming.

  Although now that I’m standing outside in the hallway, I’m not exactly sure what it is I’m supposed to do. So I text Liam.

  Meet me in the lobby?

  Thank God I wore my Florida outfit on the plane—a long-sleeved T-shirt and shorts, with my bathing suit underneath it. At the time I thought it might have been a little ridiculous, but now I’m thankful I don’t have to spend another minute in that room.

  I head for the elevator, jamming the button for the lobby angrily.

  Those two! I can’t believe I ever thought that the three of us could be friends again. The two of them are obviously completely unhinged. I mean, who talks like that to people they used to be friends with?

  Good riddance to the both of them! They are not the kind of friends I want! Of course, our fight must have been really hard on Lyla, with what was going on at the time. I mean, her parents were getting divorced. And it must have been pretty upsetting for the two of them to think they were rooming with their friends on this trip and then realize I’d abused my power so that the three of us would end up together. I’d probably be mad, too.

  So maybe when everyone’s had a chance to just calm down a little bit, then—

  “Aven! There you are!”

  I’m in the lobby now, and Izzy’s there for some reason, calling my name. She’s changed into a cute aqua sundress and strappy tan sandals, her hair in a ponytail.

  “Oh,” I say, confused. “Sorry, were we supposed to meet down here? Did Liam invite you? I thought you had something to do with your dance team.”

  “I did. I do. I just thought maybe you’d have texted me or something. You know, after what I told you.” She raises one eyebrow. Seriously, just one. Izzy can do that. It’s, like, one of her talents.

  “Oh,” I say, uncomfortable. “Sorry, I thought you’d kind of moved on.”

  “Moved on from Liam cheating on me?” She shakes her head like she can’t believe how ridiculous that i
s. Which it kind of is. I guess what I meant was that I was hoping she’d move on from it. But obviously I can’t say that. “I really don’t think so.”

  “Okay,” I say. I’m not sure what she wants me to do.

  “Anyway,” she says, looking over her shoulder to where the dance team is in a loose huddle by the door. “The dance team is going for lunch. It’s, like, part of our dancing.”

  I don’t know what she’s talking about. How can going to lunch be part of their dancing? “How is going to lunch part of your dancing?”

  “It helps us foster a sense of trust with each other, which helps when we do our lifts.”

  I hope they have a really long lunch, then. The dance team performs during halftime at most of the basketball games, and at the last game they threw Raven Marsden up into some kind of throw and almost didn’t catch her on the way down. Also, one time their pyramid leaned to the side and then just collapsed. I really don’t think they should be doing moves like that unless they can guarantee the safety of all the students involved. The last thing the school needs is someone bashing their head open all over the gym floor in front of everyone. You just know it would end up on YouTube, too. Hmm. I wonder if this is something I should bring up with the Student Action Committee.

  “Anyway, I have to go,” Izzy says. “But I really need you to do something for me.”

  She glances around like she’s afraid someone’s going to hear us. Which makes me nervous. Anytime someone’s asking you to do something for them and then looking around like they don’t want anyone else to hear, it can’t be good. No one cares about eavesdropping over something benign like, Oh, can you pass me the pepper? or Can you help me with my calculus?

  “What?” I ask warily.