Just Friends

by Dyan Sheldon

  Always happy to be told she’s right, Tilda comes back through the doors. “All I can say is, thank God you realized before we got all the way home.” An event that has happened more than once, and not always because it was Jena who changed her mind.

  Despite the fact that they haven’t made it all the way home before Jena caught her mistake, there is still a problem.

  Jena scans the directory near the door. “Can you remember which shop it was in?”

  Tilda groans. They’ve been here so long and been in so many stores – often more than once and all of them selling very similar things – that by now they’ve melded into one giant, fluorescent-lighted emporium, identifiable only by the colour of their bags. “Oh God, can’t you?”

  “I’m pretty sure it was upstairs,” decides Jena.

  They go upstairs. First they try the store Jena thinks is the right one, then they try the one Tilda is pretty sure is where they saw the green dress.

  After four attempts, they decide they should be searching downstairs after all.

  The green dress is in the last store they try. Jena grabs it from the rack with a cry of glee. “Oh, yes! This is so the right dress. Come on, I better try it on again.”

  Jena leads the way, going over all the reasons why the green dress is so much better than the blue, and Tilda follows, busy with her phone again as her finger flies over the screen. As the changing room comes into view, Jena comes to another sudden stop. She blinks, unable to believe her eyes. “Oh my God,” she says. “There’s Josh.”

  It is Josh, standing a few metres from the entrance and surrounded by Ladies’ Leisurewear, staring into the distance as if he’s waiting for a bus. Except for a small boy scuffing after his mother, tears in his eyes, Josh is the only male in sight.

  “Jesus Christ,” says Tilda. “What the hell is he doing here?” And then, in case Jena still needs some convincing, adds, “Didn’t I tell you he’s weird?”

  Josh hates clothes shopping; he’d rather play hockey, and he’d rather break his hands and never be able to pick up a guitar again than play hockey. Not only is shopping boring and stressful, but because of his height (or lack of it) hassled shoppers often think he is a clear path and walk right into him. One Christmas he was actually knocked to the ground in the mall; he was lucky the only thing that was broken were his glasses. Online shopping may literally have saved his life.

  The reason Josh is loitering outside the women’s changing room of this particular store at this particular time on this particular day is a long story, but the short version is that Carver’s youngest sister, Talita, was promised a shopping trip today and Carver was the only family member who could take her. Carver was desperate. “You have to come, man,” insisted Carver. “I’d rather work for Shell than go by myself. You’re like my brother. We have to share the pain.” But, in the end, it was Talita’s pain Josh chose to share. She didn’t want to go by herself either. “You know what Carver’s like,” said Talita. “Anything you look at, he has to tell you how bad the company that made it is. It takes all the fun out. If you come, too, he’ll talk to you and leave me alone.”

  That there is no sign of either Carver or Talita at the moment is because Carver has gone to the men’s room (possibly the one at the end of the universe) and Talita is in the changing room, trying things on very slowly. Josh wishes one or both of them would hurry up. This isn’t somewhere you would think to look for a teenage boy. He feels like the only duck on the lake on the first day of hunting season. Shoppers and saleswomen keep glancing at him. Suspiciously. Giving him odd looks; wondering what he’s up to; guessing it’s nothing good. His only consolation is that there’s no chance of running into anyone he knows.

  And then, of course, he does. Or they run into him.

  He hears someone laugh near by. It’s a familiar laugh, one he’s been hearing since grade school, often aimed at him or his friends – and one that makes his heart drop down to the soles of his shoes. Maybe Tilda doesn’t see him. Maybe she isn’t with Jena. Maybe she’ll walk right by. He doesn’t want to look over; he wants the floor to open like a giant jaw and swallow him whole. But the floor doesn’t and he does.

  Tilda does see him, she is with Jena and they are moving towards him like a tank – a tank bedecked with balloons.

  “Josh!” cries Jena. “What are you doing here?”

  This may be the first time that Tilda Kopel has ever made actual eye contact with him; as if she’s making eye contact with a tree. And she doesn’t speak to him, of course. “He can’t be waiting for his girlfriend,” she says to Jena.

  Jena doesn’t exactly laugh, but she doesn’t exactly not laugh, either. She does blush.

  To her, Josh says, “I’m here with Carver and his little sister. She has birthday money to spend.”

  “Oh, that’s nice,” says Jena.

  “Are they invisible?” mutters Tilda.

  “Only Carver’s invisible,” Josh tells Jena. “Talita’s inside trying stuff on.”

  “That’s where we’re going.” Jena holds up the green dress, and the two bags she’s holding in the same hand. “What do you think? It’s for the dance.”

  Tilda mumbles something else, but this time too softly for him to catch what it is.

  He’s tempted to ask What dance? – but since he really wants them to go away, or at least for Tilda to go away – what he says is, “It’s nice.”

  “I hope so.” She sways slightly. “I mean, it is for Valentine’s. I know you think I’m a big sap, but I think romance rules – and this is going to be the most romantic night I’ve ever had.” Tilda shuffles beside her, and Jena says, “Hey, do you think you could do me a favour? Could you look after my bags while I try the dress on?” All of her smiles are good, but this one’s very good. “I’ll only be, like, five minutes. Promise. And since you’re standing here anyway…”

  When he returns to find Josh surrounded by Jena and Tilda’s shopping bags, Carver looks from the bags to Josh. “Do I take it Jena Capistrano’s in the building?”

  Josh jerks his head towards the changing room. “She’s in there.”

  Carver sighs. “Dude,” he says, “you never learn.”

  The Resurrection of Hope

  “This time I really mean it.” This time Jena really looks as if she really means it. No tears. No sparks. No drama. No woman of passion throwing emotions around like confetti. Today her voice has all the feeling of a block of ice. “No way am I ever going to have anything to do with Simon Copeland again – so long as I live. It is done. Over. If I never see him again it’ll be way too soon.”

  Josh shakes his head as though trying to clear it. “It’s the damndest thing, Jen, but I’m having this déjà vu moment. It’s like I feel as if you’ve said this before.”

  Jena, however, is not in a laughing mood right now. She is really serious. “You have heard it before. I know that, Josh. But you have my word as the daughter of a general in the United States Army that you will never hear it again.” She makes an X in the air over her chest. “Cross my heart and hope to grow a beard. I don’t care if Simon crawls over broken glass to apologize, we are once and for ever through. Dead as the dinosaurs. Deader.”

  “You’re upset,” says Josh, even as, vampire-like, Hope climbs out of its coffin and snuggles up beside him. Tapping its toes. Waiting. “When you calm down—”

  “I am calm.” She is; she could only be calmer if she’d been turned to stone. “I know I can be a little superficial sometimes…” Something Simon has pointed out to her; and he should know. “But Simon’s not so awesomely good-looking or popular that he can get away with being such a jerk for ever. Everything comes to an end sooner or later.” This party-size bottle of soda is empty. “Tilda’s not going to like it. You know, ’cause she wanted us to double for the prom in the Spring. But that’s the way it goes. Cookies crumble.”

  Josh would like to ignore Hope and its tapping toes – it’s played him false before – but nonetheless hears himself s
ay, “Is this for real? You’re not going to change your mind five minutes from now? You really mean it this time?”

  “Totally. The only word I want to hear from Simon Copeland is goodbye. When you hear what he did you’ll get it.”

  This last fight introduced a new and deeper dimension to their disagreements. Simon went into nuclear meltdown because Jena was talking to another boy.

  “Talking?” Maybe Simon got a head injury in one of his games that’s gone undiagnosed. “You talk to me all the time.”

  But Simon isn’t jealous of Josh. Josh threatens him about as much as a cotton ball. Simon is, however, jealous of Lucas Adamani. Lucas Adamani is of the same species as Simon. He’s good-looking, is part of Tilda’s crowd and is captain of the Parsons Falls varsity football team.

  A bunch of them were hanging out at Starbucks, and Jena wound up sitting next to Lucas. Simon said that she ignored him completely and gave all her attention to Lucas. Simon said that she and Lucas were flirting. He’d never been so embarrassed in his life.

  “Flirting! Can you believe it? That’s what Simon thinks of me! That right in front of him I’d flirt with someone else? Have we met? We were talking. That’s all we were doing.” Which is what she said to Simon. Talking. T-a-l-k-i-n-g. “Which, in case he hadn’t noticed, is what people do. It’s what separates them from other animals.” That and shopping and weapons of mass destruction. “Simon said that talking isn’t the only thing people do.” He said it in a sneering, leering way. “For God’s sake, I’ve known Lucas longer than I’ve known Simon Copeland. He’s been friends with Tilda since before she had her nose job. So, you know, I have talked to him before.”

  Though not, perhaps, when Simon was around.

  “And then he said that if I like talking to Lucas so much I can go to the freakin’ Valentine’s dance with him.” Jena reminded him that Lucas has a girlfriend. And Simon said that was a real coincidence, since Jena used to have a boyfriend. “I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I swear, if we’d been standing on a bridge I would’ve pushed him off.”

  Josh has always been careful not to say anything even vaguely negative about Simon, but now – with Simon finally about to have the door slammed behind him – he breaks his own rule. “He has always been kind of controlling.”

  And immediately remembers why he had the rule in the first place.

  “Controlling?” She shakes her head. “Simon’s not controlling, Josh. He’s behaving like a pig-headed, jealous idiot, but that’s because he cares about me so much. Not because he always has to run the show.”

  You could’ve fooled me.

  “I just meant—” He breaks off. He meant that Simon always has to have things his way. Fortunately, she’s not really in conversational mode.

  “Not that I’m going to be swayed by that,” Jena steams on. “I’ve had all I’m going to take of his moodiness and his temper and him putting me last.”

  Josh believes her. The blindfold of love has been torn from her eyes, and at last she sees Simon for what he is: a handsome, athletic and charming waste of time. A demanding bully in the clothing of a prince.

  “So?” says Josh. The dance is two days away. “What happens now?” He laughs so she’ll know he’s joking. “Assuming you’re not going to the Valentine’s hoedown with Lucas and his girlfriend.”

  This time she manages a small but bitter smile. “It would serve Simon right if I did. But I’m not doing that, am I?” She shrugs. What can you do? “Cinderella, there’s no way you’re going to the ball.” She sighs. “Why couldn’t I fall for someone reliable and considerate?”

  “Don’t ask me,” says Josh.

  “Some romantic evening,” says Jena. “Sitting at home watching The Great Escape with my dad for the nine hundredth time.”

  “There’s no need for anything that drastic,” says Josh. “You still have me.”

  To Do or Not to Do

  “Enough is enough,” Josh tells himself. He’s flip-flopped, vacillated and waffled for longer than it takes to hand-build a guitar. He has to be the greatest procrastinator since Hamlet. No, yes, maybe. Should I? Shouldn’t I? What if? If only… But no more. Jena is through with Simon, and Josh is through with indecision and fear. His self stares back at him from the mirror, looking not nearly as confident as Josh would like, and behind his self he can see Charley Patton stretched out on the bed like a draught excluder, watching him with his inscrutable gold eyes. “I mean it,” says Josh. “This time I’m going to tell her.” Saying the words out loud makes them true. He really does mean it; he really is going to do it. Charley Patton yawns.

  To strengthen his commitment, Josh tells Carver.

  Carver looks as if he’s been listening to an oil executive explaining the win-win benefits of Arctic drilling. “Solemn? You’re really going to do it? No more shilly-shallying?”

  Josh nods. “I shilly-shally no more. It’s risky. But I’ve given it a lot of thought, and, logically, there’s not a better time than St Valentine’s Day. Love is in the air and everything. The mood of the moment will be in my favour.”

  “Valentine’s being the best window for this doesn’t sound like logic to me,” says Carver. “It sounds like a superstition. Lucky number. Lucky shirt.” He points a tortilla chip at Josh. “Remember when Talita was really little and she carried that toy rabbit with her everywhere because she thought it was good luck? And then she got it caught in the spokes of my mom’s bike and nearly killed them both. That’s what comes of relying on luck.”

  “So you think I shouldn’t go for it?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Carver is feeling some compassion fatigue; if he’d been Horatio he would have been tempted to kill Hamlet himself. “You know I don’t think she’s going to take the chance of being dropped by Tilda to date you. But I still think you should do it. You have to get some closure on this or you’ll drive yourself crazy.” And everybody else. “Only, if you ask me, what you need are My Little Pony girl and God in your favour, not the mood of the moment.”

  “I’m kind of surprised you’re not being even more negative,” says Josh. “I thought you frown on things like girlfriends and relationships for anyone who doesn’t have an advanced degree.”

  “Not for everyone. Mainly for me. And it’s not like I don’t have feelings. But you know…” He smiles. Ruefully. “Girls think I’m peculiar—”

  “Don’t be modest,” says Josh. “Everybody thinks you’re peculiar.”

  “You didn’t let me finish my sentence. They think I’m peculiar. I figure I’ll need at least two sets of letters after my name to attract anyone. But girls like you.”

  They do? How come Josh never noticed that?

  “Not all girls,” says Carver. “Just the ones who are into funky musicians.”

  Two opinions are better than one, especially when the one is not as enthusiastic as you might have wanted.

  The next person Josh tells is Sal.

  “You’re going to tell her how you feel?” Sal sounds as if a better idea might be to tell her how someone else feels. Preferably someone she doesn’t know and will never meet.

  “I thought you were all for love and taking a chance.”

  “Yeah.” Sal shrugs. “I was. But now I’m not so sure…”

  “I’m not going straight in the deep end,” says Josh. “I thought I’d ask her out first and if she doesn’t drop dead on the spot I’ll take it from there.”

  Sal shakes his head. “I don’t want to be discouraging, but … you know … I have to say that, if I’m really honest, I don’t think you should do it.” He sighs. “Not unless you’re prepared to get hit by the juggernaut of rejection and end up as roadkill on the highway of love.”

  “How come? What happened to boldly going? Having an adventure?”

  “Yeah, well, that was before I went boldly myself,” says Sal. If he were a porcupine he’d have rolled himself into a ball by now. “I’m speaking from experience here. Unhappy experience. Been there. Done that.
And I think if she hasn’t given you some really clear message – you know, like asking you out or tattooing your name on her arm – then I think you should keep your mouth shut. Once you say it, you can’t take it back.”

  Josh stopped absorbing anything Sal was saying after “speaking from experience”. “You? You asked somebody out?” He couldn’t mean Murray Schneider because Murray Schneider would have said yes. “Who?”

  Sal looks at him as if he’s forgotten his lines. “Well, who do you think? Marilyn Monroe?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I didn’t know you were interested in anybody.”

  Apparently Josh makes everybody sigh like that.

  “You know, you’re becoming the walking definition of ‘self-absorbed’. Wake up, man, and smell the hormones,” says Sal. “It’s pretty obvious. You can’t be that oblivious.”

  Oh, but he can.

  “So who is it?”

  “It’s not exactly a big mystery.” Or only to Josh. “It’s Ramona.” The “of course” is unspoken but understood. “She’s… You know. She’s awesome.”

  “You asked out Ramona?” The “Minamoto?” is also unspoken but understood. “But – you’re just friends.” She said they were just friends.

  “Yeah, well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? We are just friends. But that’s not my choice.”

  For some reason he feels almost betrayed. Why doesn’t anybody ever tell him anything? “I knew you were seeing more of each other. Because of the play…” And for some other reason he feels irrationally (and uncharitably) glad that she turned Sal down.

  “Are you so surprised because it’s Ramona, or are you so surprised because it’s me?” asks Sal.

  “Well, I…” He has no idea.

  “It can’t be because it’s Ramona,” says Sal. “She’s unquestionably attractive.” He gives Josh another why-can’t-you-learn-your-lines? look. “Except to you, I guess.”

  “Hang on,” says Josh. “Is that why you joined the drama club? Because of Mo?”