We Used to Be Friends

by Amy Spalding

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  March of Senior Year

  KAT

  “I brought you something.”

  James jumps as she approaches her locker.

  “Did I scare you?”

  “How much shit will you give me if I say yes?” She smiles slightly and takes the travel mug from me. “Coffee?”

  “Amazing homemade cocoa,” I say. “Life-changing! I didn’t make it.”

  “You can barely operate a Keurig,” she says. “So, I figured.”

  We’re silent for a few moments. I wordlessly hold the mug for her while she unpacks her bag into her locker. The dumb photo booth picture we took at Eagle Rock Plaza still hangs there, and it’s always a relief to see our smiling faces.

  “Can you hang out later?” I ask. “After T&F?”

  “Uh . . .” She seems to be actually mentally scanning her schedule and not just looking for an excuse. I hope so, at least. We haven’t made plans just us since the day that Disneyland became the saddest place on earth.

  Though I guess that wasn’t technically just us.

  “Yeah, I think so,” she finally says.

  “Yay! Can we, like, drive somewhere? Sometimes I feel so sick of our neighborhood. We could pick something super fun we never get to do.”

  She agrees to that and picks me up after her T&F practice. I settle into this seat I’ve spent so much time in and watch out the window as our neighborhood gives way to greater Burbank, and then Glendale, and finally Los Angeles proper.

  “Do you think you’ll still live here someday?” I ask, even though of course James knows. She has a whole plan. James is ready for adult life, while I’m still doing my best as it comes.

  “I don’t know.” She sighs. I wait for the follow-up, but that’s it.

  “I feel like I’ll totally be back,” I say. “I’m even afraid, like, that someday when I have babies I’ll literally be back in the same neighborhood. And they’ll go to Magnolia Park and I’ll turn into my dad or something.”

  “You talk way too much to turn into your dad,” she says.

  I’m grateful I get a text I can focus on because that seems like a sign I should probably be quiet for a while.

  James parks by the overpriced ice cream place in Silver Lake, and I treat us to ice cream cones since she drove. We walk over to the dog park and watch through the fence as a bunch of little dogs fight over balls and rope toys. James and I are laughing at the same dog drama, and it feels nice and safe. Maybe I can make it even better.

  “So, um, Disney and everything,” I try. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything about Logan.”

  I’m still not even sure if I did something wrong by staying friends with him, but I guess I’m not totally stupid enough to think I’m one hundred percent innocent. I’d hate it if James and Matty were still friends, but it’s not a fair comparison.

  “OK,” she says, staring at a pug dog.

  “I mean, I don’t know what happened,” I say. “Maybe I should hate him. If you tell me to hate him, I can try to hate him.”

  “I just said that it was fine.”

  “I know, but, like, we can talk about it, and I can—”

  “I don’t know how else I can say it’s fine,” she says. “Disney was a stupid idea. This isn’t last year.”

  “It wasn’t a stupid idea.” I have a feeling I’m supposed to apologize for bringing Quinn, but last year was literally us and our boyfriends? Why was I supposed to leave out my girlfriend? “I should have told you and I don’t blame you for calling me out and I’m also sorry if I should have said something about Quinn, but—”

  “I feel like we’re now having a conversation about a conversation,” James says. “A conversation we literally just had.”

  “James, I just want to fix whatever happened! Just tell me and I’ll fix it! I’ll go in and wrestle that pug dog if I have to!”

  “You don’t have to say pug dog,” she says. “It’s not as if there are pug hamsters or something.”

  “OMG but imagine if there were!”

  I can tell she doesn’t want to laugh.

  “Fine. That would be extremely cute.”

  “Duh,” I say, though I regret it. It didn’t seem very long ago that I wasn’t afraid to be myself around James. Now it’s like a whole new person is there judging me and no matter how freaking hard I try, I come up short. And I don’t even know how to try with James! I never used to have to try with her at all. I’ll keep trying, though, because the alternative is way too terrible to consider.

  Dad’s standing in the kitchen when I walk out of my room on Friday night on my way to a party at a junior’s. I mean, free beers are free beers. I did my best to get James to join us, but I guess I’m not that surprised she wasn’t interested. Hopefully I at least seem like a caring friend who won’t ever screw up again.

  “Do you have a date?” I ask him, because he’s wearing a shirt I think is new, and he smells like aftershave.

  “Diane’s friends are having some thing,” he says. “I’ll have to make conversation with a bunch of people in the South Bay.”

  “OMG, be nice, Dad,” I say, because Dad’s often said he doesn’t understand why anyone would live so close to the ocean.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he says. “You going out with Quinn?”

  “Well, we’re going to a party. It’s always, like, the same people, but hopefully it won’t suck. If it does, we’ll just go get tacos or something.”

  “Always a good backup plan.” He pats my shoulder. “Be safe. Don’t drink and drive.”

  “We’re just walking,” I say. “We’ll be careful. Haven’t you noticed that Quinn’s, like, a very smart and careful person?”

  “She’s a lot better than that joker you went out with before,” he says. “That’s for sure.”

  “Dad, can’t you like her not just in comparison to Matty?”

  The doorbell rings, and Dad gets it. “Come on in, Quinn.”

  She walks in and grins at me. Her hair looks extra tall and swoopy, and she’s wearing a black leather jacket over her flannel, like an old-timey heartthrob. I clench my hands into tiny fists so that I don’t accidentally start running my fingers through her hair in front of my dad.

  “Have fun, girls,” Dad says. “Quinn, you’re careful when you’re out with my daughter, right?”

  “Dad.”

  “Yes, sir, of course,” Quinn says, like my dad’s not being weird when he super clearly is.

  I grab her hand and say good night to Dad before dragging Quinn outside. “Hi.”

  “Hey.” She leans in and kisses me, slow and hot and intense. She can just do that, out of nowhere. My breath feels gone.

  “My dad’s about to leave.” I slip my hands around her waist, under her jacket, over her warm soft flannel. “We could sneak back in.”

  “Is it really sneaking if you have a key?” she asks me, but I know that it’s a yes. We hide out around the back and wait until Dad’s Subaru leaves the driveway, turns left on Clark, and disappears into the night. Of course, I have a key and this is my freaking home, but I feel myself heating up over the idea of sneaking in with Quinn. It’s like we’re getting away with something, when in truth I always feel like we are. How can it (mostly) be so (mostly) perfect?

  It’s a rush to get to my room, to manage to not pull each other’s clothes off before they can be safely discarded on my bedroom floor. But then it’s slow, as Quinn holds me and practically dares me with just a look to take my time. And I know I seriously just yelled at Dad for comparing her to Matty, but considering that I’ve only had sex with two people, sometimes it’s impossible for me not to. And it was good with Matty, like, good.

  I didn’t know how incredible it could feel to just be seen though.

  (It’s pretty incredible to have someone’s lips and fingertips all over you, too, of course.)

  This is the first time we haven’t had to hurry off immediately—I could barely care less about some junior’s par
ty, and if we hadn’t told Gretchen and Raina we’d be there, I wouldn’t worry about it at all—and so I stay under my covers with Quinn, our clothes still all piled on my floor.

  “Did you have sex with that math camp girl?” I ask Quinn.

  “It was coding camp,” she says. “And, no. Why are you just asking me now?”

  “I dunno. I guess I didn’t care if you had, I was just curious. I’m curious about, like, every single thing about you.”

  Sometimes Quinn makes a face like I unexpectedly shot her with a confetti cannon and even though it’s pretty and fun it’s way too much all at once. Like right now.

  “Am I overdoing something or—”

  “No,” she says quickly. “I like that you say everything.”

  I wonder what she’d think if she knew how much I don’t say. I mean, I say all the Quinn things. I just keep plenty more to myself.

  “Do you think we’re too serious or something?” I ask, and then it’s a regretted question because it makes us sound like an illness, and also, what if she says yes?

  “No,” she says, quickly again. “We just don’t know what’s going to happen next year. And you think I’m your experienced hero, when in reality I may be a college reject who up until last summer was too nervous to make it under a girl’s shirt.”

  “You are my experienced hero,” I say.

  “Kat,” she says, but I hear her tone shift, and then I put my knowledge of her most ticklish spots to good use.

  We eventually walk over to the party and find a group of our friends in the backyard, sipping out of red Solo cups. I think I still just want to be alone with Quinn, but I also like being in a group with her, feeling how much bigger my life seems now that she’s a part of it.

  And I’m sure that all the parts that maybe are still somehow unsteady will right themselves perfectly once we know about Oberlin and can start thinking for real about next year.

  Sofia and Mariana find me and pull me away, though, to another spot in the yard, and even though Matty isn’t there, it sort of feels like last year in this moment. I still like everyone in this circle, of course, but it’s sort of funny how I don’t necessarily miss how things were then, when they were my daily group. Mariana’s so funny and Sofia’s pure sweetness, but it’s like I can already see all our separate paths after high school.

  “Did you hear Matty’s hooking up with Ashby Grant?” Mariana asks.

  “Mar!” Sofia grabs my arm. “I’m sorry if that’s how you had to find out.”

  “It’s super fine,” I say, for real. “It would be the grossest if he was still, like, hung up on me.”

  “I’m pretty sure he still is,” Mariana says. “Sorry to be the bearer of the grossest news.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever. It’s been months and it was his fault anyway. He can pine away for me until we’re all old and withered.”

  “Do you miss him, though?” Sofia asks. “I really thought you guys were true love, meant to be, all of it.”

  “I really, really don’t,” I say, and thanks to the beer I don’t really have any filter to keep me from giggling at her crestfallen expression. “What? We weren’t going to last forever, trust me. I know that now. And in retrospect there were some gross things about Matty that I just seriously don’t miss, like him being way more of a stoner than I wanted to admit. Also that natural crystal deodorant was not strong enough.”

  “So, are you just totally gay now?” Sofia asks, and I see Mariana try to subtly punch her arm. “What? I can ask that, right?”

  “You can ask it,” I say. “But, like, I don’t really know how to answer it. I mean, like, I can; I identify as bi. I like girls and boys and people who identify as both or neither, you know? But also right now I like Quinn and that’s all that matters.”

  “Is it because Quinn’s like a boy?” Mariana asks.

  I glance across the yard at Quinn, who’s deep in discussion with a bunch of boys right now. I get what Mariana’s asking, and I guess I think about it for a second, despite that I know it’s of course not why I like her. Quinn does have tall hair like a boyband member and wear baseball shirts and boy jeans, and sometimes cashiers and baristas mistakenly call her young man, but also, Quinn isn’t a boy.

  “It’s totally not because of that,” I say. “It’s just because she’s her. She’s like the best person I know.”

  They let out a collective awww! “You have everything totally figured out,” Sofia says, and now I feel like such a fraud and a liar that my heart speeds up. I take a couple deep breaths, but it’s like my heart has a mind of its own. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but also it feels truer than medical science could ever explain.

  “I guess,” I say, and throw my hands up like I’m the wacky neighbor in an old-fashioned sitcom, for dramatic effect. They laugh, so it works, but the lie tastes gross in my mouth.

  Or it’s this beer. I hope it’s this beer.

  Luke texts me the next week about an amazing internship he’s been offered, and even though I don’t understand the details, I know it’s a big deal.

  I make a face at my phone. Why didn’t I think about that?

  I text frantically.

  Oh, no. Everyone keeps acting like it’s fine, but of course I knew deep down it probably isn’t. People like Sofia and Mariana might see me in the best possible light, but Luke, one of the people who knows me best, isn’t fooled at all.

  I just want to have a good life and be a good person, I reply, and regret it immediately. It’s what a little kid would say, not someone nearly ready to go off to school. Luke just sends back the shrugging emoji guy, which sort of feels like he thinks I’m like a little kid, too.

  We actually used to fight all the time, even though I looked up to him so much and always thought he could solve any problem, like a grown-up. But then Mom died and it didn’t feel like there was room in our family for any of that anymore.

  The doorbell rings, and I’m thrilled for a distraction. Any distraction, like, even if it’s some shady character up to no good. But when I open the door, it’s no shady character. It’s Quinn, wearing an Oberlin baseball cap and a huge grin.

  “You got in!” I shriek, and I throw my arms around her before she can answer. “Heck yeah.”

  She laughs and leans in to kiss me. The Oberlin brim smacks me and it’s like a little high five. “If anything deserves a hell yeah . . .”

  I punch her shoulder like we’re athletes who just won the big game. I feel like we did just win the big game. “See? I told you.”

  “K, this is a big deal,” she says as the corners of her mouth turn down. Oh, no. “There was no guarantee I was getting in. I’m a hopeful computer science major struggling with calculus, an advanced math class, and it’s like you can’t even see it.”

  “No, I know,” I say quickly.

  “You don’t! You’re always like, of course you’ll get in, Quinn, and there was no of course! It was really scary for me and you refused to see it. You couldn’t see that I’m a person standing here, not some perfect girlfriend you conjured up.”

  “But you are perfect,” I say, which makes her eyebrows furrow. “Quinn, to me you are. Why is that bad?”

  “I’m real,” she says.

  “Duh, what else would you be? Of course you’re real!”

  “Things are hard for me, and I don’t succeed at everything,” she says, and it makes no sense to me, because I can’t think of a way Quinn hasn’t drastically improved everything. I think back to the night we met, how confidently she took charge of the kitchen, how I felt taking the first bite of the lasagna she made for me. Technically I didn’t even know Quinn was going to be an option for me until months later, but I also think I fell in love with her that night, this amazing girl who just knew exactly what I needed.

  “But, like, you are succeeding.”

  “I give up,” she says, and turns around.

  “Quinn!” I call, but she doesn’t turn around. I start to race after her but her mo
vement is so determined. And out of nowhere, even though I’m still not sure what I did wrong, I feel like Matty on my lawn begging me to take him back. And of course I never want to feel like Matty, so instead of dragging Quinn back to me, I watch her walk away.

  “Hey, kid.”

  I look up from my physics homework, though I’m only pretending to pay attention to it. My eyes are blurred with tears, and my brain can picture only the back of Quinn getting farther and farther away from me. The incredible shrinking Quinn Morgan.

  “Diane’s, uh, over for dinner,” he says. “Thought you might want to come out and eat with us.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was coming over?” I close my textbook and notebook and jump up from the bed. I turn to glare at Dad for the lack of warning, but he’s already headed back toward the kitchen. My mirror confirms I look like I’ve been crying big horrible tears for a couple hours, and I wonder if dusting on a bunch of powder will actually hide anything or only make me look like a sad, powdered sugar donut hole. I change my jeans and sweater for a dress, carefully fluff my hair, and walk down the hallway in as carefree a manner as I can muster.

  “Hi, Kat,” Diane greets me. She’s standing at the counter drinking a glass of wine while Dad is serving salmon with veggies. I can’t remember the last time that he made this dish, but I’m positive Mom was still alive. It’s one of the only meals he’s good at that doesn’t involve delivery.

  “Hi,” I say, and smile the biggest smile I can manage. “Dad, do you need help? Can I do something?”

  He mumbles something that sounds a lot like set the table, so I gather plates and silverware and our one set of cloth napkins. Diane quietly joins me and helps me line everything up perfectly.

  “Everything OK?” she asks me, and I’m prepared to lie but a stupid tear betrays me and courses a track down my cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, before I go full beast. Dad’s girlfriend shouldn’t have to see or hear my snot.

  “Don’t be.” Diane takes everything from me and finishes setting the table while I try my best to stop crying.

  “I had this . . . I don’t know. It wasn’t a fight, exactly? My girlfriend’s really mad at me, and I don’t know what I did or said. I texted her that I was sorry but she hasn’t responded, and I just . . . I wish I knew the right thing to say so I could just fix it and—”