by LK Thompson
“At one point, I figured I’d just leave you alone, but seeing you walk around school by yourself without Taryn, Morgan, or me—has been so depressing. It’s all I can think about. And I cried myself to sleep the other night because it hit me—like really hit me—how severely screwed up our group was. I get it now, Harlow. And, that’s why I wrote you that note. I was compelled to tell you that I think of you constantly and I know I could’ve stopped your accident from happening.”
I confessed, “If I hadn’t been so selfish, I could’ve saved you. I’ve been on my own planet this whole year because I wasn’t working where I told you I was. And…I was dating a guy there. I’ve been secretive and preoccupied. I’ve been a horrible friend, Harlow. This whole thing is my fault.” I stopped briefly to swallow a deep breath, “I’m so sorry.”
A weight lifted from my chest as Harlow stared back at me. The scar on her cheek was pronounced and I urged my eyes to stay on hers. For a brief moment, I was hopeful. But then, she turned to walk back inside without uttering one word.
3/22
Harlow eats in the library. They didn’t switch her lunch period, they just let her eat there instead of the cafeteria.
“What do you think she does in there?” I asked Craig as he chewed his protein bar and shrugged, “She’s probably eating. Applying for colleges. Maybe she has a ton of homework to catch up on. She’s was absent for like, a month.”
Not really buying those excuses, I asked, “I mean, I know she sits with Blake, but do you think she wants more company? Is she only sitting with him because he’s the only one brave enough to ask her? He’s always been mega obsessed with Harlow.”
Craig looked at me sternly “Elle, no.”
“What? You never know how a person really feels. Does anyone ever really want to be alone?”
“Elle. Please,” Craig begged, “You just said she eats with Blake. That means she’s sitting with someone. Leave the poor girl alone.”
I understand what he’s saying, but can’t help wondering. Should I be doing more? I can’t help but think that my job here isn’t done.
4/1
I never think about you.
A text from Mike fell out of the sky like a martian corpse and landed on my phone screen for five full minutes before I could comprehend it. Did he mean to send it to someone else? Finally, another comes through, April Fools!
It’s a joke, so I decide to spare him the embarrassment of not getting an answer. I write back, Good one with a laughing emoji. Playful and polite. And the end of any banter. Because I blocked his number after that.
4/6
Morgan’s committed an unforgivable crime. She has a new friend and for the first time in a decade I feel the urge to talk to her without screaming. I’m intrigued! Who is Sienna Santos?
When I broach the topic with Taryn, she lazily replies, “Some therapy friend.” But I can tell Taryn’s in shock because, well, Morgan hasn’t made a friend since Harlow. I pushed her to elaborate, “Wow, that’s incredible! You don’t care, do you?”
Her face gives away the truth, but she rehearses a dignified response, “It’s fine. I wish my therapy sessions left me with more than just pill prescriptions, but whatever. It’s probably a good thing.”
“I’m so happy for her.” I exclaimed, “I mean, this feels like an actual step in the right direction, don’t you agree?”
“No. But, something tells me I’m not allowed to be pissed about stuff like that anymore more. Right?”
I laughed at Taryn’s honesty, “Yep, you’re right. You can’t care and for what it’s worth, I’m proud of her.”
If Morgan can expand her circle, then we just might have a chance. I’m just gonna do it. I’m going to be friends with all of them. Morgan, Taryn, and even Harlow.
4/7
Getting to the library before Harlow was not an easy feat. First, you can’t just leave class early, so I had to beg Mrs. Blackwell for leniency citing a “bathroom emergency” for a whopping two minute head start on the bell. Then, I had to knock on the library door and wait for someone to let me in because only the south entrance was open and I definitely didn’t have time to make it there in time. And then, when I pulled out my lunch to appear like I was having a casual meal, the librarian tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a sign that read, “NO FOOD PERMITTED”.
Couldn’t she see I was on the brink of a heart attack?!
The whole time, I was pouring sweat and cursing the heather gray tube top I’d worn while praising my black Adidas zip up for at least covering my armpit stains even if my boob sweat couldn’t be saved. I grabbed a book from the stacks behind me and flipped pages like an actress on a movie set.
Based on my stalking research, Harlow sits at the same table every day and now I was sitting there. A roadblock she wasn’t expecting—would she even approach me? Or have me removed by way of a cranky teacher? I could hear her nearing and looked up to see her face contorted at the sight of me. She said, “Oh. Are you studying for something? I can sit over there, I guess.”
I spoke nonchalantly, “What? Do you own this table or something? It was empty.”
Harlow spun away from me.
My delivery needed work. I called out, “Harlow! I’m kidding. I heard this is where you’ve been eating lunch. I came to sit with you. You know, like, on purpose.”
Still unimpressed, she asked, “You do know that Ellie and Blake sit here too. I mean, we usually eat in here together.”
“And you think I can’t sit with Ellie Rossi?” I nagged, “Is that what you’re trying to say? Well, tough shit. If Ellie’s a friend of yours, she’s cool in my eyes.”
Her expression softened finally and I asked, “So can I sit with you?”
Harlow shrugged, “It’s a free country. You can do what you want.”
“Great!” I unwrapped my sandwich and took a huge bite, “Besides I don’t think we’re allowed to eat in here unless it’s with you. I got in trouble before. You’re basically saving me from starvation.”
It was small, but I saw her lips turn up at the ends. The scar on her cheek made the smirk more pronounced than she probably wanted it to be, but I noticed.
The instant the period ended, I texted Craig, Mind if I sit with Harlow for the next couple days?
Wait, your stalking problem actually worked? As opposed to landing you in jail?
I laughed and texted, an enthusiastic, Yep!
Well, congrats. And no, I don’t mind. I think it’s good.
4/9
Riding your bike after you get your license feels a little funny, but the sun was burning bright and invited me into it’s warmth. Plus, parking at the boardwalk can be a real pain—especially in a mini-van. The boardwalk is a town hub on warm days, swarming with bodies of all types, ages ranging from single to triple digits. My plan was to lap it twice and grab a smoothie on my way back.
Walking past the Cheesesteak stand, I searched for Mike’s friend, Derek, but only saw pimply young faces, cluelessly jotting down orders and bumping into one another. It was April—beach town hiring season. Decent service usually starts mid-May.
With the coast clear, I continued past the games and watched a herd of familiar faces loiter near the deserted Balloon Popping game. Senior boys, playful and picking over a shared bucket of fries between them. Craig’s there, his eyes smiling and for a second, he’s mister cool. An untouchable senior boy that I’d kill to have notice me. Sandy brown hair, dark eyes, and unapologetically perfect build. He was tall and athletic. When he laughed, his dimples were noticeable, even from a distance. I couldn’t refrain from crouching to sit on a wooden step near the Tilt-a-Whirl, where nobody would notice me. I watched, my heart buzzing.
Say what you will about stalking, but it gives me clarity.
Vicki Bozzi appeared, straightening her posture ten degrees as she approached Craig’s group of friends. Out of everyone standing with him, Craig is the one who waves and smiled. He waves her in and says something—I can’t fi
gure out what. Her mouth is moving, too. Craig registered something and dug his hand into his pocket to retrieve a stick of gum for her. His friends, who were loud and raucous moments earlier, stood quietly and watched Vicki as if she were a zoo animal. Lost from her exhibit and out of place. Vicki, surely proud of herself offered a meek goodbye to signal her departure.
To see a person through the lens of someone else is an astounding reminder. You lose what you don’t hold tight.
4/10
I have a plethora of saved texts. Exchanges with Mike, Crystal, Roy, Taryn, Morgan, and Craig. Some to Harlow. Even funny jokes from Dad. A library of the year’s memories trapped in my phone like a time capsule. I’ve been nervous to read them, though. To see if in hindsight, I’d made even greater mistakes than I thought.
Sitting on the front steps, waiting for Ev’s carpool ride from dance to drop her off, I took a deep breath and started by scanning old texts with Harlow. Without Taryn or Morgan, Harlow and I had very positive exchanges. We were funny! And caring! Why couldn’t it be different? I typed honestly, Miss you on weekends, Harley. I wish we could be more than library buddies.
Instantly, my phone buzzed back, Same. But, I don’t trust your friends. Sorry.
I know that if I never spoke to Taryn or Morgan again, she’d accept me. If I dropped them though, I’d be no better off. There’s love there. Still, after all these years. Harlow’s afraid for good reason. She’s afraid that I’m going to lure her back into a scenario where Taryn might show up. Or I might bring her name up in conversation. But I won’t. I’ll never be a shitty friend again.
Understood. Just know they don’t care if we hang. I already yelled at them for how they treated you and they know they’ll lose me too if they try to control me. I have your back, Harlow. Promise.
Roy texted me about sampling a new chicken avocado sandwich thing and I’m happy because it’s not only my singular plan for the evening, but a great one at that. Our friendship has persisted through my stupidity with Mike. Even through my quitting Jimmy’s.
4/13
I asked Craig to meet me again.
“Wanna go for a walk?” I asked.
“Sure. Everything okay?” Craig pulled his hood over his head to shelter himself from the breeze and I inhaled deeply, eager to make my point before we’d reached the beach. “I need to know I’m not ruining your senior year.”
Craig looked at me and shook his head, “Okay. You’re not.”
“Thing is—you may not even know it yet. Because you’re still being so nice and wonderful, but I need to know that I haven’t ruined your last year of high school.”
Craig looked a bit annoyed, “Elle, I think you’re awesome, but don’t give yourself too much credit here. Before you, I had a typical football player reputation because I dated around, a lot. If I don’t hook up with five extra girls because I’m hanging out with you—it might not be a bad thing. You can’t ruin my year. Don’t worry.”
It’s a hit to the ego as much as a relief. I exhaled, “Thank you so much for saying that, really. You have no idea how shitty I’ve been feeling. Because I get how lucky I am, Craig, trust me. I know how people see you. You’re hot. Like, a total threat to mankind. And I ran into Annabelle Gray at school and she looked kinda irritable, so I wasn’t sure if she hated me. You could have anyone and everyone probably can’t believe you’re wasting your time on me.”
Craig cut me off, “Okay, but do you see how everyone sees you?”
I was thrown back by the question and say, “Of course.” Then,“Wait. What do you mean?”
“My mom asked me if you were a model, Elle. She’s never said that about anyone else before. And she’s a tough critic. When it comes down to it, people joke with you about being a ditz or a slut because it’d be really convenient for them. I just don’t get why you go along with it. You’re smarter and funnier than any other girl I know. You should show people that you’re more than an airhead with good looks. You’re the whole package.”
I turned to hit him in the arm. “Jeez!” I yelled, “You don’t have to call me names, Craig!”
“Trust me, I don’t, but that’s your reputation.” He explained, “You’re Elle Moser, resident ditz. Change their minds. I dare you.”
“All this self-work might kill me, Craig.” I agreed.
Right then, Ellie Rossi passed us. She wore a faint grin as she looked at me from across the street, and I waved my arms over my head and shouted, “Hey Ellie!”
She lifted her hand to wave and Craig burst out laughing, turning to wrap his arms around me. “Well, looks like you did it. You wormed your way into Harlow’s circle, didn’t you? You know I’ve seen you drive by my house before, right? Your stalking is not undercover. Whatsoever!”
I’m so taken by surprise at Craig touching me, that I almost fell to the ground, bringing him with me. My heart skipped at the gesture and for the first time in a long time, I feel settled. Craig doesn’t think I’m a pretty face or a body to make his. He thinks I’m the total package.
Things might actually be falling into place.
4/14
Sitting with Harlow in the library today, it’s occurred to me that I may never sit with Craig again. Being with Ellie, Harlow, and Blake is the one part of my day that feels so right.
Today, Ellie watched me and said, “That ultra thick eyeliner you’re sporting has you looking super bitchy today. Nice job. I assume you’re trying to ward off any potential new friendships this year—AGAIN.”
My jaw was on the floor at the audacity. I laughed, and fought back, “Excuse me?! Maybe if you hadn’t stolen my nickname in the fourth grade, I’d come off a little more relatable. You think it’s easy forcing people to call you by your full name all the time?!”
Through laughter, I demanded, “Call me by my full name! Say it, say it!”
I grabbed Ellie’s arm as we howled laughter, the librarian shushing us. I like Ellie. I can’t believe she’s been here, in this school, all along.
5/4
It was a high five heard round the world.
Me, Morgan, and Taryn approached Harlow, Ellie, and Blake. It was a Wild West movie and this was a showdown. Sweat beads dripped from our brows and eyes darted in every direction. But mine remained on Harlow. My friend.
Ellie Rossi glared at Taryn, but raised her left arm high in the air. An invitation for me to raise mine. My insides fluttered with excitement and I jumped to slam my palm into hers. I squealed, “Hey Harley! Hey Ellie!”
Forbidden friends, breaking down old walls. It’s magic for me. A new drug that I accept easily.
5/8
He’s gonna go to your house. I heard Mike telling Marta. Just a heads up. And for the record. Mike doesn’t like being blocked.
Shit.
Roy’s being a friend to me, but I’m nervous. Of course Mike wouldn’t just fade away without a fight. What have I done? I don’t want to ask Roy a favor—it’s the last thing I wanna do, but I have no choice.
Can you talk to him for me? Tell him my parents will call the cops. Tell him I’m seventeen. Tell him anything, but he can’t come here.
Yep. Consider it done.
5/10
Mom ran through the house like a deranged madman screaming, “Hair ties! Eleanor! HAIR TIES?! Where are they?! What the hell happened to the new pack of hair ties? I JUST BOUGHT THEM!”
Everly sat on my bed, staring into the mirror at her hair, slicked down, sprayed back and pinned. A perfect ballerina. It was an hour before her recital and mom had lost her mind.
“WHO MOVED MY FLATIRON?! EVERLY DID YOU EAT?! WHERE’S YOUR FATHER?!”
I texted Dad to hurry home before Mom did something she’d regret like the time she threw his dress shirt at him while he was in the shower with the water still running. With minutes to spare, Dad slipped through the door, adjusting his tie, already dressed for the big show, “I’m here, I’m here. Everly! I’m here!” He tripped over his feet. From the floor, he called, “Everly! I’m
not late!”
We sprang into action. It was showtime. This was Everly’s biggest show of the year at the new studio and our adrenaline was spiking, even mine. As we jammed ourselves into Dad’s Hyundai, I couldn’t suppress a giggle. My family was crazy, but I loved it. Nothing could come between us.
In the crowded auditorium, Dad and I chose two seats directly in the middle while Mom scurried to sit as close to the stage as possible. There would be three acts before Ev’s and no phones allowed. I was prepared to weep my anxiety away, a plastic pack of tissues clutched in my palms, eyes set on the stage. Then, I saw a glint of hair pass by me. So blonde it was almost white. Nobody had hair that color. Nobody besides Crystal.
Leaning against the foot of the stage and appearing five inches shorter than I was used to seeing her, she wore gray ballerina flats, black slacks and a long sleeved top, buttoned up to her neck. No orange wig. No red lipstick. No rhinestone string bikini. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was definitely her. But it looked nothing like the version of her I knew. A clip board tight against her chest, she looked around nervously. I slipped from my row, whispering to Dad, “Be right back. Save my seat,” and ran to her.
I whispered, “Crystal! What’re you doing here?”
Crystal’s eyes bulged at the sight of me, “Shit, Elle! I’m working. Like an apprentice thing. You should get in your seat, we’re starting in three minutes on the dot.”
I smiled, “Wow, I can’t believe I didn’t know!”
She smiled proudly, “I wanted to surprise you. Your sister’s really good, by the way. You’re gonna be proud.”
