Ms. Stephens’s eyes softened. She touched my hand. “You probably aren’t as mad at them as you are at yourself.”
“True. But I hate them, too. And I miss Bridget.”
“Hmmmm,” Ms. Stephens said, tapping her index finger on my essay. “This commentary tells me what you hate. Wouldn’t it be more instructive to write about what you don’t hate? What you believe in?”
“I don’t know what I believe in,” I said.
“Sure you do. You know better now than you did last week. That’s the great thing about crummy experiences.”
I thought for a few moments.
“I know that real friends, even if they aren’t perfect, beat fake friends who think they’re perfect,” I finally said.
I thought some more. “I know real friendship has nothing to do with popularity,” I continued. “I know real friends make you feel good about yourself, not horrible. I know real friendship stands the test of time and doesn’t end when somebody cooler comes along.”
Ms. Stephens cupped her chin in her hand. “Sounds like you have a lot to write about.”
My lips squeezed into a smile. “I’ll take another crack at it,” I said.
She nodded. “Good idea.” She sighed. “I’m starving. Mind if I join you for lunch?”
26
Mom kept the engine idling while I ran up Bridget’s driveway and rang her doorbell.
Her mom answered the door.
“Hi, Mrs. Scott,” I said softly. “Is Bridget home?”
Bridget’s mom tugged lightly on her ear. “She’s not, honey. She’s at Shelley’s right now.”
“Oh.” I fingered my essay nervously.
“I think they’re working on the Oddcast,” Mrs. Scott said. “I can call her on her cell phone if it’s an emergency….”
“No, no. I just wanted to drop something off.”
Mrs. Scott craned her neck and waved at Mom in the car, mouthing a hello. Mom waved back.
“So how’s the romance going?” Bridget’s mom asked, giving me a conspiratorial grin.
The what? Oh…Actually, now that I thought of it, I realized I hadn’t seen Jake since Saturday night.
“Fine, I guess.”
“Maybe your mom and I can go out to lunch one day soon…you know, get caught up.”
“Sure. She’d like that.” I cleared my throat and handed Mrs. Scott the essay. “So…you’ll give this to Bridget?”
She nodded. “And I’ll have her call you.”
“That’s okay,” I said too quickly. “I mean, it’s fine if she wants to, but she doesn’t have to.”
Her mom winked at me. “She’ll call you.”
I was already seated when Bridget walked into the cafeteria the next day.
I sucked in my breath. It was Thursday, four days since she’d spoken to me, and despite her mom’s promise, she hadn’t called me after I’d dropped off the commentary the afternoon before. She had ignored me during the Oddcast that morning, except for a few snippy instructions. Did she hate my commentary? Did she still hate me? Would she always hate me?
I didn’t have the nerve to face her as I picked at my food in the cafeteria, once again sitting by myself. I saw Shelley waving to her from the corner of my eye.
Time dragged by. I sighed, then glumly opened a textbook to study. If I was going to be friendless, I could at least aim for friendless and smart.
As my eyes glazed vacantly at this week’s vocabulary words—indelible, indigenous, indignant—I heard a clink, then saw a pen rolling toward me on the floor from behind. I leaned down to pick it up, then saw Bridget’s eyes lock with mine.
“Dropped my pen,” she said.
I put it in her hand, holding her gaze. “I’m really, really sorry.” It was all I could say.
“Yeah, well, I kinda dropped my pen on purpose. Your commentary was pretty spectabulous.”
A smile flooded my face. Bridget responded by sucking in her cheeks and widening her eyes for her classic piranha imitation. We burst into laughter.
“Come sit with Shelley and me,” Bridget said, still grudgingly, but with twinkly eyes. As I stood up, our heads bumped together, making us laugh even harder. Laughing with Bridget. It was the best feeling in the whole world.
“Reporting live from Crossroads Middle School, this is Talia Farrow with ‘Talia Talk.’”
I cleared my throat and read on, looking into the camcorder and ignoring Mer’s eyes boring into me from her Oddcast seat.
“A confession: I didn’t want to do a commentary for the Oddcast.
“At least, I didn’t think I did.
“I guess my best friend knew better, because she talked me into it.
“My mom is on a local TV show, and I thought the last thing I wanted to do was follow in her footsteps. There’s nothing like having a spotlight shone on your goofiest, most embarrassing moments to make you want to sign up for the Witness Protection Program. I’ve been so overexposed that I feel like handing out shades as a public service so people won’t be blinded by the glare when they look at me. A commentary of my own? I’d rather have my tonsils yanked out.
“So when my BFF practically dragged me over to meet Ms. Stephens on the first day of school to tell her what a great Oddcaster I’d be, I felt like a lobster selected from a tank for somebody’s dinner. With friends like those…well, you know the rest.
“Why am I telling you this now? Because my BFF was right. I really do love writing, and even though I’ve only been at it a few weeks now, I’ve had a blast so far with ‘Talia Talk.’
“Since my BFF was being a good friend to me without me even realizing it, it got me thinking about whether what I think I want in a friend is what I really want in a friend. I think I know better now than I did last week what I really want. A good friend knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. A good friend gives you a little shove now and then (or, okay, a full-fledged dropkick) to push you past your comfort zone. A good friend helps you be brave, but loves you even if you chicken out. A good friend makes you laugh at anything and everything—including yourself.
“It wasn’t hard to come up with this list. All I had to do was think of my BFF. Harder was coming up with my next list. Once I knew what kind of friend I want to have, it was time to decide what kind of friend I want to be. After some trial and error, here’s what I’ve decided: I want to be a friend who is loyal. If I have something to grouse about, I’ll grouse to my friend, not about her.
“I want to be a friend who is honest. Saying what’s on your mind—(as long as it’s not snarky)—should make you closer to your BFF. If it doesn’t, maybe you have the wrong friend.
“I want to be a friend who is trustworthy. No lies allowed, not even mini-lies like fibs. A mini-lie is a maxi-betrayal.
“I want to be a friend who is flexible. Good friendships bend in strong winds; shallow friendships snap like twigs. BFFs stand the test of time.
“I want to be a friend who is dependable. When my BFF needs me, I want to be there for her.
“It’s funny…everything I want to be as a friend is everything I already have in a friend.
“And I’ll never take that for granted again.
“Signing off for now, this is Talia Farrow for the Crossroads Oddcast.”
Bridget smiled. “Cut.”
27
“Bombs away!”
Shelley and I exchanged smiles and braced for the impact, knowing Bridget was about to charge us from behind.
“Ker-PLOW!”
Bridget skated into our interlocked hands, knocking them loose, grabbing one of Shelley’s and one of mine.
Shelley wobbled for a minute before regaining her balance. “Bridget!” she moaned. “You know I’m a lousy skater.”
“The skating rink is no place for sissies,” Bridget reasoned.
“I should’ve worn a crash helmet,” Shelley said.
The three of us skated hand in hand, gliding in unison and singing along to the song blaring over th
e loudspeakers.
“Why’d you have to go and make things so complicated?” Bridget sang exuberantly, raising our hands skyward. Shelley wobbled again. Her left knee buckled as her right leg splayed out in front of her.
Plunk. She was down.
“Officers, we have a man down eastbound on Skate-away Boulevard,” Bridget monotoned, pretending to talk into a walkie-talkie. “Victim is responsive but shows no signs of basic coordination. Recommend we suspend her skating permit indefinitely.”
“Ow!” Shelley wailed as Bridget and I each grabbed a hand and helped her to her feet. But as soon as she was vertical again, a freckle-faced little kid came barreling into the back of her knees.
“Wha…whoa!” Shelley screamed, spinning her arms like propellers as the clueless freckle-faced kid plowed ahead without looking back.
Plunk. She was down again.
“Shelley, you don’t need a crash helmet,” I said, helping her up again. “You need body armor.”
“What I need,” Shelley groused while dusting off the back of her pants, “is a break.” She nodded toward the concession stand.
“I’m not sure we can trust you with refreshments,” Bridget deadpanned. “You have to coordinate the tongue, jaw and throat muscles. It’s pretty tricky.”
“It’s okay; I’m really good with my tongue muscle,” Shelley said, sticking her tongue out at Bridget.
We laughed and followed her off the rink. Our skates clunked on the thin, faded carpet of the concession area. We ordered Cokes and French fries, then sat at a plastic table.
“I’m glad you two are friends again,” Shelley said, nibbling a wilted fry. “It was exhausting listening to Bridget tell me how evil you were.”
“Being evil isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be,” I hissed, scrunching up my face menacingly and making claws of my hands.
We giggled and slurped from our straws.
“Seriously, your commentary was really nice,” Shelley said. “Everybody was talking about it on the school bus.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Everybody?”
Shelley giggled and nodded. “Yeah. Meredith was fuming, telling her friends that she’d tried to reach out to you and you just weren’t ready to be helped.”
“Awwww,” Bridget said. “She’s too kind for her own good.”
“Then she got all snotty and said she didn’t even like the sweater you gave her for her birthday,” Shelley continued.
I dropped my jaw in mock horror. “Didn’t like the sweater! Oooh, how can I ever make it up to her?”
We laughed and munched on more greasy fries. “Didn’t you get her something off her registry?” Shelley said.
“Of course I did. Those were the rules.” We laughed lightly. “But I guess a girl’s entitled to change her mind.”
“I heard she’s crushing on Chase Stewart,” Shelley said. “Were they dancing together at her party?”
I tossed a hand in the air. “Like I would have noticed. I was too busy speed-dialing my mom’s cell phone. And then, my mom was like two hours late picking me up….”
I huffed at the memory.
“So how’s it going with her and Jakey?” Bridget asked, curling her lips into a gooey-sweet smile.
I shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since they picked me up from Meredith’s party. I was kinda awful to him.”
“What did you do?” Shelley asked, leaning in closer.
“I didn’t really do anything…. It’s just…he was trying to make small talk—he’s really funny—and I was kinda quiet and bratty, you know? I feel bad. He’s a nice guy.”
“Why don’t you get him a gift to make it up to him?” Bridget said. “Maybe something off Meredith’s registry? I hear she has exquisite taste.”
We laughed, but I felt a little stab in my stomach. “He might be at the house now,” I said. “Mom probably cooked him dinner or something…although, come to think of it, I haven’t heard her talking to him on the phone in a few days.” I shrugged. “But he’s probably there. I’ll be extra nice when I see him.”
“Kaia Jacobs’s mom is dating a guy who owns a jewelry store,” Shelley said conspiratorially. “That’s why she’s got such cute earrings all the time. I could see some definite advantages to having a mom who dates.”
“Mrs. Farrow’s boyfriend is a sportscaster,” Bridget said. “Unless Talia has to write an essay about Tiger Woods, there’s probably not much in it for her.”
I knew she was teasing, but my stomach felt even heavier. I fingered my straw nervously. “I just want my mom to be happy….”
“Wow. Deep,” Shelley said.
I blushed. “Not deep. Just true. Mom really lights up around Jake, you know? I’ve never seen that side of her before. Well, maybe when my dad was still alive, but I don’t remember that very well.”
“My mom lights up around butter-pecan ice cream,” Shelley said.
I propped my elbow on the table and slumped forward, dropping my chin in my hand. “I like it when my mom lights up,” I said.
It was like Ms. Stephens had said: crummy experiences help you know what you believe in.
I popped the last fry from my box into my mouth. “Mmmmmm,” I said. “Greasy French fries are way underrated.”
Mom was already in her pajamas when Mrs. Scott dropped me off from the skating rink.
“I made popcorn,” she said, kissing my cheek as I walked in the front door. “You pick the movie.” Mom nodded toward the DVDs piled on a bookshelf next to our TV.
I glanced anxiously around the room. “Just the two of us?”
Mom’s eyebrows knitted together. “I invited Brad Pitt, but he couldn’t make it.”
She pinched my cheek lightly.
“Um…,” I said as Mom plopped on the couch, putting her bunny-slippered feet on the coffee table and positioning the popcorn bowl on her lap.
“ ‘Um’ what?” Mom asked. “Are you in the mood for scary, funny or sappy?”
I sat next to her and looked her in the eye. “Where’s Jake?”
Mom’s hand froze as a piece of popcorn was halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean?” she asked cautiously. “Where should he be?”
“It’s a Friday night and I’ve been at the skating rink for two hours,” I said. “This would have been the perfect time for you to fix him a nice meal.” I rolled my eyes. “Do I have to tell you everything?”
Mom smiled, but her eyes were sad. “Well, gee, as much as I appreciate you coordinating my social calendar…”
“I mean it, Mom. I haven’t seen Jake all week, and I haven’t even heard you talking to him on the phone. Now, here it is the weekend…”
Mom took her feet off the coffee table, put the popcorn bowl by her side and took my hands in hers. “Jake’s a great guy,” she said in barely a whisper. “But I don’t think we’re ready for a relationship right now.”
I swallowed hard. “You broke up with him?”
Mom tossed her head, trying to look nonchalant. “It’s not like we were a couple or anything. We’d just gone out for pizza a couple of times.”
My back stiffened. “It’s because of me. It’s because I was such a brat the other night.”
Mom stroked my cheek. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t think you and I are ready to bring somebody new into our lives right now. Either of us.”
My eyes darted as my mind raced. “We are ready!” I insisted. “Jake’s fantastic! You’re fantastic together! I don’t necessarily mean that you have to elope this weekend or anything, but…Mom, you dumped him?”
Tears sprang into my eyes.
“Oh, Talia,” Mom said, folding me into a hug. “I promise, it’s not nearly as dramatic as you make it sound. Jake and I are still good friends. We work together, remember? He’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You’re not supposed to let your stupid kid screw up your romance!” I sputtered through tears. “Who cares what I think? And by the way, in case I wasn’t clear, I think he’s great! I throw one little
fit and he’s out the door? Geez! Even baseball players get more than one strike!”
Mom squeezed me tighter. “You’re giving yourself way too much credit,” she said. “I do actually get a vote on whether I want to be in a relationship, you know.”
“You’re not voting for you,” I said sadly. “You’re voting for me.”
Mom kissed my hair. “Honey, I have to vote for both of us. What affects one of us affects us both. We’re a family. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I pulled away and stared at her through hot tears.
“Do you like him?” I demanded.
“Oh, Talia…”
“Do you like him?” I repeated evenly. “Do you like Jake or not?”
“Of course I like him.”
“Then call him.” I hopped to my feet, grabbed the phone and put it in her hand. “Call him and tell him your bratty daughter has come to her senses. Let him pick out a movie tonight. I’m going to spend the rest of the night instant-messaging my friends in my room, so you won’t hear a peep out of me. I’ll be invisible. I’ll even spend the night at Grandma’s if you want.”
“Talia!” Mom said. “Will you please take it down a notch?”
“Please call him, Mom,” I beseeched her. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”
Mom’s eyes softened. “What if it’s not right, honey? And not because you did anything wrong, but because I really like our life just the way it is, and I really loved your dad, and I’m not sure anyone could ever take his place, and if there’s even a chance that that’s true, how unfair would it be to poor Jake to—”
“I loved Dad too,” I interrupted, looking deep into her eyes. “But we can make room for somebody new in our lives. Dad would want us to.” I paused, then gazed down at the phone. “Won’t you please call him, Mom?”
Mom shook her head quickly. “I’m sure he’s not sitting by his phone on a Friday night waiting for me to call,” she said. “Besides, Talia, I’m still not sure—”
“Mom,” I said, “I’m sure.”
Talia Talk Page 11
