12 Before 13

by Lisa Greenwald

  “Um, you just said you needed time and now you’ve planned it out.” I laugh. “But okay. Let’s backburner this list item since we’re doing two tonight anyway, and we have so much to talk about.”

  “Right, okay. So mac and cheese.” She sits up and folds her hands on her lap. “My mom took me to the store, and I got all the ingredients for what I think would be in a super-secret, best-in-the-world mac and cheese. Plus the fancy cheese from France. Obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  “I think we can master this tonight. Right?” She looks to me for support. “I mean, I’ve done a little cooking before, so I feel like it’ll be easy.”

  “Sure. I mean, I’ve never cooked before. But you seem to know what you’re doing—so I don’t see why not! And we know what we like in a good mac and cheese. I mean, duh.”

  “I love your confidence, Ari.” She makes a smoochy face. “Love it. Oh! And once we’ve mastered it, we can make it for the barbecue!”

  “Genius! So when do we start?” I ask her.

  Kaylan replies, “When my mom goes out with her book club for dinner.” She looks at her phone. “So, in like a half hour. I don’t want her bugging us. But she knows we’re staying up all night, and she’s good with it. I told her I’m totally fine using the stove, and she didn’t really argue.”

  “Nice.” I lean back against her pillows and think about the last line of Zoe’s email.

  Have you heard from Golfy? It’s nagging me.

  I’m staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on Kaylan’s ceiling, debating about telling Kaylan about Golfy’s mysterious disappearance, when she yelps, “OMG. They’re totally right.”

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “Your boobs! The girls are totally right. I just got a good look, and they’re huge, Ar.”

  I pull my hoodie tight across my chest. “Stop, Kay. This is weird.”

  “It’s not weird. It’s a totally normal thing to happen.” She juts her head forward for emphasis. “It just happened really, really fast for you. That’s it. Did it hurt?”

  “No, it didn’t hurt. I’m fine. Okay?” I smile. “Can we talk about something other than my boobs?”

  “Big P?” Kaylan asks. “Did you get it again?”

  I shake my head. “No. You?”

  “Nope. And most of the lunch table girls have gotten it more than once already. Except for Kira and June, who still haven’t gotten it. They’re freaking out a little,” she explains.

  “My camp friends are all super chill about it. Some haven’t gotten it yet. No one really seems too concerned.” I pause. “I feel like the lunch table girls are a little obsessed with periods and boobs. Remember when Cami started bringing it up every day last spring? They’ve been obsessed ever since.”

  “No they’re not.” Kaylan recoils. “It’s normal to talk about this stuff, Ari.”

  “I know that,” I say defensively. “I’m just saying they talk about it a ton, and not everyone does.”

  Kaylan hesitates for a second and then says, “I know you like Alice and the camp girls better than the lunch table girls. It’s so obvious. Just admit it.”

  “That’s not true,” I lie just a tad. “I love you, duh. And Marie is a good friend. And M.W. and Amirah are cool.”

  “Well, it’s clear that you don’t love them as a group.”

  We’re quiet after that, and Kaylan goes back to her magazine and I take my phone out to write back to Zoe and quickly text Alice to see how her reentry to home life is going.

  Ari: How’s life @ home? Miss u, AlKal.

  She doesn’t write back right away, so I go back to staring at Kaylan’s glow-in-the-dark stars.

  When Kaylan and I first came up with the new list, I really didn’t think keeping our friendship strong was going to be very hard. We’d already been through some rocky waters last year, with adjusting to a new school and figuring ourselves out, and the whole debacle when I asked Marie to do the list.

  I figured all the difficult stuff was behind us.

  But maybe we do still need to work on it? Maybe all sets of friends are working on keeping their friendships strong.

  Just because I have my camp friends now, and Kaylan seems to have totally bonded with the lunch table girls while I was away, doesn’t mean that Kaylan and I aren’t still BFFs.

  My phone dings, zapping me out of my thoughts.

  Alice: life @ home is eh. gg now but I miss u soooo much

  “Who’s texting you?” Kaylan leans over to read over my shoulder. “Alice! Again! Ari, be honest. Do you tell Alice more stuff than you tell me?”

  “What?” I gasp. “Noooo.”

  “For real?”

  “For real. And also, it’s not a competition. Chill, Kay. Chill.”

  “Your bad habit is telling me to chill,” Kaylan declares. “Sometimes people can’t chill.”

  “Okay.” I laugh a little even though I don’t think she was trying to be funny. “But I think I need to come up with my own bad habit, just like you need to come up with yours.”

  “Fine.”

  “Did you come up with yours yet?” I ask her.

  “Yes, it’s freaking out all the time.” She bursts out laughing. “I’m trying to break that.”

  I laugh, too, and rest my head on her shoulder. “Good plan.”

  “We’re keeping our friendship strong by talking all of this out, ya know?” Kaylan says softly. “That’s what got us into trouble last year. We didn’t talk stuff out. This time we are. And it’s very important.”

  “I know. For sure.”

  “There’s another bad habit you may want to consider.” Kaylan changes the topic. “I know you have to think of it on your own, but I’m not sure you realize you’re even doing this. . . .”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, what is it? Just tell me.”

  “Now don’t sound so annoyed, Ar.” She pauses. “I don’t think you tell people how you really feel. You’re all chill and relaxed and whatever is happening is fine, but you never actually say what’s on your mind.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “See! Even now, you’re not really saying anything.”

  “Uh-huh.” I crack up and so does Kaylan, and she hits me with one of her pillow shams.

  “Kaylan,” her mom calls up the stairs. “I’m going out now. I have my phone if you need me. Is Ari here yet?”

  “Yes, I am! Hi, Mrs. Terrel,” I yell out.

  “Hi, Ari. Behave, girls. See you later.”

  “Bye, Mom.” Kaylan adds, tapping my knee, “Oh! I forgot to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “My dad is taking Ryan and me on a surprise trip next week! Any guesses?”

  I stop and think for a second. “Um . . . California? I don’t know.” I hesitate and then say, “Are you excited about this? You haven’t talked much about the dad sitch lately.”

  “Well, you and I haven’t talked much lately. Duh. You weren’t here, and letters don’t cut it!” She smiles. “Kidding. Um, I think I’m okay with the dad sitch. I dunno. He’s been making an effort, I think. And he says we’re staying in a fancy hotel, and you know me and hotels . . .”

  “You do love fancy hotels, true.” I sniffle. “Well, that’s great. I’m excited to hear all about it. You better text with updates while you’re away.”

  I kind of can’t believe Kaylan is so cool with this—going away with her dad, especially the week before school starts. It all feels so anti-Kaylan.

  I start to wonder what I’ll do at home without her. Finish my summer reading, I guess. Or maybe Alice will want to come sleep over! I’d text her now and ask but I don’t want to Kaylan to get jealous—I’ll wait until she goes to the bathroom.

  I wonder when Kaylan heard about this mystery trip; if she’s known for a while or if she just found out.

  Kind of seems like a big deal.

  I thought we’d have a little time together at home before school starts, but I guess not. I mean, I’ll survive wit
hout her, but it’s a strange feeling to have something you’re kind of expecting just snatched away at the last minute.

  I look over at her, wondering if I should tell her how I’m feeling, after the whole discussion we just had about telling people how we really feel. Is this a time for TH or PF? I think PF since I wouldn’t want her to feel guilty for leaving.

  It’s not fair make her feel bad about something she had no control over.

  FOURTEEN

  “OKAY, SO HERE’S THE THING,” Kaylan says, talking with her hands when we get down to the kitchen. “I got enough ingredients that we can make two batches. So we each need to do our own version, and then we can compare, and that’s what will really help us master this.”

  I nod, staring at the array of ingredients on the counter. It really seems like Kaylan spent a ton of time mapping this out, and I feel a pinch of guilt that I didn’t do any work for it.

  “We’re not following a recipe, though.” She stares at me, waiting for a nod in agreement. “It has to be our own.”

  “I got it. I’m ready to rock this,” I announce, although that kind of feels like a lie. I’m still feeling all weird about how she’s leaving for a week right before school starts, and the bizarre stuff at home feels a little unsettling too. And where is Golfy? I don’t even know. I mean, none of this stuff is huge, but each little thing feels like a wiggly worm on my brain. “After we compare our two batches, we’ll take the best of each and combine them.”

  “Okay, so you work over here.” She guides me to the kitchen island and then walks back over to the counter by the stove. “And I’ll work over here.”

  “Okay.”

  “And let’s not try and look at what the other one is doing, so we can really make this our own, and then compare, and then we can take the best parts of yours and the best parts of mine. Sound good?”

  “Yes, sounds good.”

  Kaylan puts on some music, her famous Summer Jams playlist. Our favorite song comes on and I change the lyrics.

  I sing into one of the mixing spoons, “Mac and cheese ooh na na.” I spin around and put the spoon under Kaylan’s mouth like I’m passing her the mic. She sings, “Half of my heart is in mac and cheese.” I join in, “Mac and cheese. Ooh na na.”

  We crack up, singing the rest of the song. “I’m going to put this in the dishwasher and take a new spoon,” I announce. “I mean, since we were just singing into it.”

  Kaylan’s still laughing, but soon she catches her breath. “Okay, good idea.”

  We keep singing quietly and get to work. We both know to boil the water first for the pasta, but after that I’m completely lost. In front of me, I have bags of shredded cheese, and half of the fancy cheese Kaylan ordered from France. I also have breadcrumbs and milk, a hunk of Velveeta, and Cheez-Its.

  I’m tempted to turn around and see what Kaylan’s doing, but I know I can’t. But then I remember—this is mac and cheese. There’s really no way to ruin it. Even the worst mac and cheese (school cafeteria, camp, the rehab where my grandfather was after he broke his hip) was edible. It’s cheese and pasta—how could it even be bad?

  After the pasta is boiled, I drain it in a colander, then I pour it into a bowl, then I start shaking in the shredded cheese and pulling off globs of the mozzarella and the fancy cheese. I mix it all together. Then I dump in a handful of bread crumbs and a handful of Cheez-Its. I add a bunch of mini Velveeta cubes on the top, in the shape of a heart, just to make it look prettier.

  I arrange it all in a glass casserole dish Kaylan left out for me.

  I stare at it for a few minutes. Looks pretty beautiful, I think.

  “Done! Can I turn around?”

  “You’re done?” Kaylan asks. “How is that possible?”

  “Um.” I crack up. “I’m a fast cook?”

  I finally turn around and notice Kaylan arranging hers artfully in another glass casserole dish and checking to see the oven temperature.

  She stares at my dish, and then at me, and then back at my dish, trying not to laugh. “You didn’t bake it.”

  Then she does fully start laughing, and I can’t help but laugh, too. Through my chuckles I say, “I know. Does it need to be baked? Not all mac and cheese is baked.” I catch my breath and shrug. “And the cheese is all melting together anyway from the hot pasta.”

  She puts a finger over her lips, deep in thought, still laughing a little. “Well, I guess not. But I’m baking mine. Should we taste yours after mine goes in the oven?”

  “Yeah, of course.” I grab two forks from the drawer right next to the oven and hand one to Kaylan. “I kind of wanted to present it nicely on plates or something, but I guess we don’t need to.”

  “Yeah, I feel like you’re not the fancy presentation type of gal, ya know?” she says, digging in with a fork. “This mac and cheese is so you—just throw everything in and go with it, and hope for the best.”

  At first I think that’s a compliment, but then I wonder. Maybe some things should have a fancy presentation. Maybe some things do need to be really thought out in advance, and not just figured out as we go along. Maybe go-with-the-flow isn’t always good.

  We both take a bite at the same time, and then stare at each other.

  “Wow,” Kaylan says, looking into the dish and then back at me. “Wow, wow.”

  After my bite, I’m not sure if she means wow good or wow bad. People have different taste buds, so it’s hard to say for sure what she’s thinking.

  I dig in for another bite. I can’t say it’s the worst.

  She puts her fork down. “So, want some pointers?” She takes a seat on the stool at the kitchen island and checks the timer on her phone.

  I nod and sit down on the stool next to her, still eating from the casserole dish. I honestly don’t think it’s so terrible. Sometimes I do get a bite with an entire soggy Cheez-It, which is less than ideal. But still edible.

  “The Cheez-Its were really meant to be a topping,” Kaylan tells me. “And the Velveeta needed to be melted more. No one wants to eat a big hunk of Velveeta. And then of course, I’d recommend you bake it in the oven. But other than that, really good first try.”

  “Thanks.” I stand up and take a bow. “I’m pleased with it.”

  “Also, maybe a little less milk next time. It was a little soggy.”

  “Got it.”

  Kaylan takes another bite. “But the cheeses are all really well mixed together. That part is amazing.”

  I bow again. “Thank you, darling.”

  The timer goes off, telling us it’s time to take Kaylan’s mac and cheese out of the oven. She then resets it for the amount of time it needs to cool.

  The casserole dish rests on the counter, and we wait for it to cool down. It looks like ooey-gooey cheesy perfection. Even without taking a bite, I can tell that hers will be better than mine.

  “By the way, we’re saving all the camp talk for when we’re staying up waiting for the sunrise, okay? I feel like there’s so much you haven’t told me, and I need to know all the details.”

  “I’ll tell you anything and everything.” I readjust myself on the stool. As I say that, I realize I’m lying again, just the tiniest bit, because I don’t want to tell her about the weirdness at home. Not that there’s really anything to tell yet, though. “Camp is my favorite thing to talk about.”

  “Okay, it’s cool now.” Kaylan looks into her beautiful casserole dish. “Let’s eat.”

  After we’ve both taken a few bites, I tell her, “I think you can JHH now. This is mastered.”

  “You mean it? For real?” she asks, but I know she’s just fishing for compliments. This is good. Like restaurant-quality good. Like she literally became a chef overnight and didn’t tell me good.

  “For real. You basically did everything differently than I did, and it turned out so much better.” I dip my fork in for another bite.

  Kaylan sits back on the stool and thinks for a second. “That’s so funny that you say that, because I
think we pretty much do everything in life different, and that’s why we’re BFFs. We balance each other out, and we have different ideas and processes and stuff. And we can see that our own method isn’t always the best.” She pauses. “Ya know?”

  I reply, “Yeah, totally. But we’re always changing the way we do stuff. Like after today, I probably won’t just throw a bunch of cheese into a bowl with cooked pasta and expect it to be mac and cheese.”

  “Good point.” She wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Learn from mistakes. It’s the only way.”

  “I agree.”

  We eat as much as we possibly can and then we’re so stuffed that we have to unbutton our jeans and go lie down on the couch.

  “I’ve never been so full in my whole life,” I mumble to Kaylan with my eyes closed.

  “Me neither. But the weird part is—I still want to eat more mac and cheese.”

  “Not me. I can’t think about food.” I groan. “For at least another hour. Maybe forty-five minutes.”

  After that, we sink deep into our food coma. And I’m not sure when it happens, but we end up falling asleep.

  “Ari! Wake up!” I feel Kaylan shaking me. I glance at the clock above the fireplace and realize almost two hours have passed. “Come on! Now! We’re going to miss the sunset.”

  I hop up from the couch. We slip on our flip-flops and run outside to Kaylan’s front porch.

  “You have to admit I have an amazing view of the sunset.” We’re sitting side by side on Adirondack chairs, watching the sky turn a pinky purple. “I mean, this is literally the best view. Why do I not watch the sunset every night?”

  “You should, Kay.” I smile and lean back. “But not all sunsets are this good. I mean, this one just happens to be perfect and magical. Look at those colors!”

  “I know. When the sky turns pink, it honestly feels like a miracle. Like God is up there painting on a canvas for us.” She pauses, trying to take a picture with her phone. “Sunsets never look as good in pictures. Our eyes can do so much better than a camera.”