by Amy Spalding
I shrug. “Attending to her legions of fans. And you don’t even like her, so does it matter?”
Mom raises an eyebrow. “Everything all right, James? It’s strange not seeing you two joined at the hip.”
As if on cue, Kat appears with her dad and Diane. I’m glad that Mom can’t keep talking about Kat’s absence while Kat’s there, but I’m also relieved there are already a million photos on my parents’ phones of me alone. It feels possible I’ll never want to look at myself standing arm in arm with Kat again.
“Are you going to the official grad night thing tonight?” Kat asks me. Magnolia Park throws a late-night party each year for all graduating seniors, though throughout the course of the evening, people tend to head off for smaller celebrations.
“Maybe,” I say, because the feeling of being all but ignored by Kat last night is fresh in my head. “Are you?”
“Of course. Then Brandi’s. You should come.”
“Like I should have come last night?” I ask. “I don’t really think that ultimately mattered, did it?”
“Oh my god, I was”—she mouths—“so drunk last night.”
“I noticed.”
“Are you mad?” Kat hugs her arm around my neck. “I’m sorry I’m such a freaking disaster when there’s vodka around.”
“Kat, we saw your picture in the paper,” Mom tells her, and it kills me that this is what makes my mother finally respect my best friend. Not the years and years of her being the person who was there for everything I needed. “That must have been so exciting.”
“The Burbank Leader,” I say. “Does that still count?”
Everyone stops and stares at me, even Kat, who I’m pretty sure said the exact same thing when it was initially announced. Why are her words suddenly so bad when they’re out of my mouth?
“Charlie, you must be so proud of this one, huh?” Mom asks.
Kat pretends to look modest while her dad confirms his pride level.
“I never see you around with James anymore,” Mom says. For so many different reasons—not even including that I just spotted Logan out of the corner of my eye—I hold my breath. “I’d love to have you over for dinner at the new house.”
“What new house?” Kat asks. Shit.
Mom cocks her head in confusion, as a cold chill seizes me even underneath the warm sunshine. Why did I think I could outrun this forever?
“Well, James of course told you about the place I got with Todd in Toluca Lake,” Mom says. “I guess it’s not new new anymore.”
Kat drops her arm and steps away from me. I don’t know why this is different, but it feels final.
“Sure, of course,” Kat says. “It sounds amazing, and I’m so sorry I haven’t been over yet. Senior year’s intense, you know?”
She lies so well.
“Did you guys get enough pictures?” Kat asks in her tiny sweet voice. “Quinn’s parents apparently need me, too.”
I don’t stick around for an awkward conversation with anyone. But on my way to Logan, I get tackled by Hannah and then Tobi. We take a million photos as well and agree to walk together to grad night later. What if I just try to forget Kat exists for a while? It worked with Logan.
Well, until he started popping up all the time.
“Congrats,” he says. “I got you something.”
I roll my eyes for effect but smile as he places a tiny ceramic bear figurine in my hands. “What the hell?”
“I’m embarrassed for you, McCall. It’s obviously an Oski. Your new mascot up at your slightly inferior UC school.”
I squeeze the bear tight in my hands. “How did you even find the time to get this since this morning?”
“Well, between you and me, it’s not an official Oski. It’s just a weird-looking bear. Does the job, though, yeah?”
He looks so proud of himself, and I’m humiliated at how weak that makes me. Why does smugness make Logan so sexy? It’s ridiculous. I’m relieved that I don’t drink, because I have a flashback of the drunken and desperate texts Matty used to send to Kat, and I can see how with the help of alcohol, I might be doing the same thing.
To Logan, that is. Or maybe I’d have drunken and desperate things to say to my best friend, too. But it’s the other way around, sort of, because I’m still out at my celebratory—and mercifully peaceful—dinner with Mom and Dad when my phone starts buzzing.
“James, come on,” Mom says. “You’ll be off to school any day now. You can put your phone away for one meal.”
There’s no point in arguing, so I shove it into my pocket, where it almost immediately buzzes four more times. I’m sure it’s not Kat. Why would it be Kat? She’s already made her point. I’m sure at this point she didn’t hear what I said about her at Jon Kessler’s party—not that it was a big deal. It wasn’t a deal at all. People can act so thrown by the truth that everyone’s already thinking.
“We know this has been a tough year for you,” Dad says, with a look to Mom.
“Is that necessary, Jamie?” she asks with a dismissive sigh. I guess it’s easy to be over it when you’re the one who set it all in motion.
“I just want James to know how proud I am at how maturely she’s gotten through it.”
I choke back a laugh, even though I want to cry. My list of the ways Kat wronged me feels so right and morally sound. So why do her texts feel like bullets in a well-aimed revolver?
“You should have invited Logan with us to dinner.” Mom turns to face me and somehow not look at Dad at the same time. “I haven’t seen any of him lately, either.”
“James and Logan broke up,” Dad says. Before last year, he wouldn’t have known anything before Mom did, and I wonder if, given everything, he likes that.
“Honey . . .” Mom reaches across the table, over the bread basket, to touch my arm. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It was last year.” I pull my arm away and take a piece of bread. “I’m fine.”
“Is that why you seemed relieved that you didn’t get into UCLA?” she asks.
“No. And I wasn’t relieved.” I shove most of the piece of bread in my mouth, which ends conversation for a short while at least. And without conversation, you can eat more quickly, so before too long we’re saying goodnight to Mom and getting into Dad’s car.
I pray the four texts I felt come in are actually from Hannah, coordinating getting to the party tonight. But they aren’t.
I don’t know what to do or say. More so than usual. So I don’t do or say anything. What does it matter at this point?
I go home, change from my graduation dress to jeans and a shimmery blue top Kat picked out for me last year, and head off for Tobi’s. I wish I had a non-Kat-related shirt to wear, but that’s practically impossible. Kat’s objectively good at shopping, and even better at telling me what to wear. There’s no getting away from her; her influence bleeds into everything.
“I’ll be out late,” I tell Dad on my way to the front door.
“Well, I assumed so.” He smiles at me. “I really am proud of you, James. Not just for this year, but I know how hard you’ve worked all through high school.”
“I had this whole plan,” I say with a shrug. “And who even knows what parts of it still make sense.”
I expect Dad to assure me, but he just laughs.
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
This probably shouldn’t be a revelation, but it’s really strange that parents are human, too.
“Maybe you should talk to someone after all,” he says. “I’ve been—and it’s been helping me a lot.”
Normally I’d immediately push back against even the implied threat of therapy, but maybe it would be good to sort through this year—this life, even—with someone else. My head’s felt so heavy, my thoughts so protected, and I think I might be exhausted from all of it. And this is me headed out the door to a party.
“OK, I’ll talk to someone,” I say. “Don’t look proud of me. Just look normal. Promise?”
Da
d makes a very solemn face and nods. “I’ll make some calls. Have a fun night, kiddo.”
That seems unlikely, but if he can fake normalcy, I can fake a smile before waving good-bye.
I meet up with Hannah and Tobi, and we walk back to school. Grad night is, like all school events except prom, held in the gym.
“This is going to be dorky as hell,” Hannah says as we survey the crowd and the streamer-filled room. “Or maybe it’s just me that’s a little bit over all the stereotypical high school stuff.”
“We literally just graduated,” I say. “You are hardly the only one over stereotypical high school stuff.”
“You two are party poopers,” Tobi says. “Literally.”
“Literally?” we ask at the same time. No one wants to dwell on the implications of that statement, so we head off to check out the snack table instead.
I spot Gabriel on my walk over, and even though I’m not dangerous insulation and he doesn’t need to wear a mask, suddenly all I can hear in my head is that communication is key.
“Hey,” I greet him.
“Hey, James,” he says.
“Brett Bolton’s party? Logan and I had . . . literally just broken up. Not that . . .” I find myself smiling. “Not that there’s anything wrong about anything that happened, but if it came across like I blew you off—I’m sorry.”
“Girls blow me off all of the time,” he says with a smile. “It’s fine.”
“No, but . . . I could have been clearer.”
Gabriel grins. If my heart had only gotten the message that Logan and I were over, I feel how I could have fallen for him and had a very different year.
“You owed me nothing,” he says. “And I know where I rank next to Sidana.”
I laugh. “Don’t believe his hype. You rank fine.”
As I walk away it feels like a chapter has finally been closed, and I breathe a literal sigh of relief. Until I reach the snack table.
“Hey!” Quinn’s pouring punch into tiny cups as I walk up. From her tone I can tell she has no idea about Kat’s texts to me. About anything at all. “I think K was looking for you. Can I get you some punch? From what I hear, it tastes like liquid Skittles, so take that as you will.”
“I’ll pass,” I say.
“This is why you’re the smart one,” she says, because no matter how hard I try, I can’t fully hate Quinn. It would be so much easier if she were horrible.
“Hey.” Kat walks up with her hands on her hips. She’s changed into a hot pink flowered dress and I’m struck for a moment by how beautiful she is. Something has changed within Kat this year where it’s as if I can see the adult she’s going to become. Is that part of what’s gone wrong? Has she turned into yet another person who I don’t know?
“I’m not hearing the most positive reviews on the punch,” Quinn tells her, holding out one of the tiny cups. Kat shoots her a little smile before accepting it and walking toward one of the corners of the gym.
I take a deep breath and follow her.
“Seriously,” she says, clutching her little cup of red liquid. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on,” I say, like an idiot. How can things be so clear in my head and so wrong out of my mouth?
“James, like, even one thing,” she says, and I hear the tears in her voice. “College, your mom, someone named Todd?”
“My mom left my dad,” I say. “Are you happy?”
“Of course I’m not happy! When did it happen? Are you doing OK? Is your dad?”
“I told you one thing,” I say. “Like you asked. So please don’t follow it up with a thousand questions.”
“I’m seriously . . .” She sniffles. “I’m so confused. My questions are because I care about you and your family.”
“Please don’t make this about you right now, OK?”
“I’m not.” Her voice breaks on not. “But, like, James, I know that you didn’t get dumped by Logan. I wasn’t going to say anything because I know how hard breakups are, but . . . like, hearing all of this now . . . this whole year really feels like a lie.”
I stare at her. Even though I want this conversation to be over, I also wish I magically had the words to make all of this sound fine. If Kat’s the one who’s made everything so hard this year, why do I have to feel like the bad guy? Why is it possible that I could be the bad guy?
“I’m seriously in shock,” she says. “Did you not think I’d care about any of this?”
“Uh . . .” I have no idea how to finish the thought. It’s so clear how little space I take up in Kat’s world anymore.
“I don’t know why this was a secret from me. Why freaking all of this stuff was a secret from me.”
“It wasn’t a secret from you,” I say. “It wasn’t a secret at all. I just didn’t want to talk about it. Not everyone wants to discuss every single thing to death, you know.”
Her mouth falls open. “Why aren’t you telling me anything?”
“What’s there to know?” I ask. “My mom left my dad. Logan and I broke up. I’m going to Berkeley.”
“Right, but, like . . . if I hadn’t seen your mom at graduation and she hadn’t said anything . . . I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Berkeley.”
“I never said for sure that I was going to Michigan,” I say. “You just assumed that and ran with it because it suited your visions of this perfect college life. Me still at your beck and call only two hours away.”
“That’s not what I wanted. Why would you assume, like, a super crappy thing about me?”
“You could have asked me what was going on in my life,” I say. “When’s the last time you did that? You make everything about yourself.”
It’s hard to explain, but it’s as if saying it aloud makes it true.
“This is grad night,” Kat says, as if I’ve interrupted something sacred in a school gymnasium. “Do we have to do this here?”
“We definitely don’t,” I say. “I think we’re pretty much finished.”
I find Hannah and Tobi and fake that I’m having a good time for a while. It’s incredible how I can act like a girl who still has a best friend. The punch does taste like liquid Skittles, and Tobi does manage to hunt down Miguel Carter—even if it’s technically no longer before graduating and even if talking to someone doesn’t necessarily count as seducing. But eventually something clicks in me and I can’t fake it anymore. I act as if I’m only heading off to the bathroom, but I walk past it down the main corridor and then out the front door.
At first I start walking home, but I don’t really feel like being there. I can’t think of anywhere I actually want to be. And yet my feet take me down to Catalina Street, right to Logan’s door.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I say when he opens the front door.
“What doesn’t?”
I step into his doorway and kiss him.
CHAPTER FOUR
November of Senior Year
KAT
“OK, like, I for sure don’t think you’re stupid, but . . .” I laugh and shake my head. “I literally don’t know another way to explain this.”
Quinn dramatically sighs and smashes her face into her calculus book. “I hate this class so much. I feel stupider than I did at the start of the year, solely because of it.”
“I don’t think a career in calculus is in your future,” I tell her. “Sorry, I know that destroys all kinds of your dreams and stuff.”
“Wait, is that your pep talk?” She laughs so hard that my bed, which we’re studying on, shakes. “You’re a terrible tutor.”
“Firstly, I am not your tutor, you goober,” I say.
“Secondly?”
“It’s really not fair that people assume if you get good grades that you understand how to explain something to someone else. That’s, like, a whole other skill set!”
“Poor baby.” Quinn closes her book and rolls over onto her side next to me. “I’ll patiently wait while you finish your homewo
rk, while my future gets bleaker and bleaker.”
“Oh, shut up.” I laugh and close my textbook. “I can do this later. What do you want to do now?”
Quinn is completely still for a moment, maybe the longest I’ve ever seen her go without moving or saying something.
And then she kisses me.
It’s over almost as soon as it starts, and immediately I find I don’t know what to do with my body or my face or most especially my lips.
“OK,” Quinn says. “That’s . . . not how I hoped that would go.”
“I just didn’t expect you to—I’m not—you’re—” I cover my face with my hands, as if that’s ever been a cure for not knowing the right thing to say.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and I feel her standing up from the bed while my face is still covered. “I’ll go.”
“What about your calculus?” Oh my god, I’m such a dork.
“Hey, you said it. Calculus is not in my future.” She shoves her books into her backpack and slings it over one shoulder before walking out of my room.
“You don’t have to go,” I say, following after her.
“Kat, I feel . . .” She shoves her hands through her hair. “Epically stupid right now.”
“Please don’t feel stupid,” I say. “I mean, obviously except about calculus.”
“You’re hilarious.” She sighs and looks away. “Look. I know you used to go out with Matty Evans—everyone knows that. But . . .”
“But what?”
“I felt something.” Quinn shrugs. “I thought you might, too.”
She leaves, and this time I don’t stop her. My head’s buzzing, and there’s no way I’m going to manage finishing my homework right now.
James texts back almost right away.
It takes her longer to respond this time.
She’s already sitting inside Simply Coffee when I get there, which doesn’t surprise me considering she’s a tall athlete whose sport is literally trying to get places faster than her opponents. (I’m pretty sure that’s what track-and-field is, at least.)
“Let me buy your drink,” I tell her. “Usual?”
She nods, and I dash up to the counter to get her nonfat latte and my iced dirty chai. Everything feels like it’s swirling around in my brain, and I wish there was a way to take a snapshot of all of it to show James. A GIF, at least.
