Just Friends

by Elana Johnson

  I crammed yesterday’s books in my locker and tossed the ones I needed in my backpack, ignoring the murmurs from Drew as she explained what she knew to her boyfriend. I was actually surprised she hadn’t told him yet, but Drew seemed to keep my secrets really well. She hadn’t told Omar about me sneaking over to Jade’s either.

  “We should get to class,” Omar finally said in a normal voice.

  “Mitch,” Drew said. She put her hand on my arm, but I didn’t dare look at her. “It’ll be okay.”

  “Whatever this is, Drew,” I said coldly, “it’s not okay.”

  “Dude—” Omar started, but Drew said, “It’s fine, Omar. Let’s just go.”

  I kept my head buried in my locker until the late bell rang, furious with myself for bring rude to Drew and even angrier that I hadn’t erased that text stream. I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing when I turned, there wouldn’t be anyone staring at me.

  I pressed my locker closed instead of slamming it the way I wanted. Jade couldn’t break up with me, not like that, not without hearing my version of that freaking kiss. I’d find her, make her listen to me. As I stood there, I realized I had no idea what class she had first period on B-days.

  I wanted to cut all my classes again, but I didn’t want to see Mom go super-sonic. I turned around, determined to go to the office and find out what class Jade had, when I saw Holly. I froze, my heart rate spiking again.

  “I am so sorry,” she whispered.

  My insides felt like pudding, and that fissure that I’d been damming for weeks broke. Tears gathered behind my eyes, and I swallowed to keep them from falling. I shrugged, but couldn’t make my voice work. Maybe I would’ve said, “It happens,” because it does.

  Or maybe I would’ve said, “I’ll talk to her. We’ll be all right,” even though I didn’t believe that. Jade had worn some serious fury on her face and conveyed some serious venom in her voice. She was also one of the most stubborn people I knew.

  Or maybe I’d say, “Your wish came true,” in a really mean voice, and push my way past Holly. I was so, so angry with her for screwing this up for me.

  But I couldn’t say anything.

  In French, I ignored Professora Dyer and scrolled through my texts to Holly, looking for the one that said I’m sorry for the kiss.

  I finally found it—that message was conveyed over two texts—and I pressed my forehead to my desk. She’d sent it, not me. She’d sent it the day I’d seen Jade’s “Friends” art collection, skipped school, and spent the day in Holly’s bed.

  We’d switched phones, and she’d sent it.

  It didn’t matter who had sent it. I hadn’t told Jade about the kiss, and I was never planning on telling her. Now she knew about it, and that I’d been lying to her for months.

  I’d never get her back, no matter what I said.

  I amended the thought, because I probably could get Jade back. But I’d have to sacrifice everything I had with Holly to do it.

  29

  During dinner, which I suffered through while hardly anyone spoke, I finally asked to be excused. Mom and Dad knew something was wrong, but neither of them asked.

  “Go ahead,” Dad said, and I got up and cleared my half-full plate before heading upstairs to my room.

  My phone sat on my desk, all the text threads erased. I’d even dragged the Post-It note app into the trash. Outside my window, the winter wind howled, and I wanted nothing more than to be running in it. I decided to do just that, despite the darkness and the fact that my parents would throw a minor freak out when they saw me leaving on a school night.

  I changed into sweats and pulled a stocking cap over my ears. As I reached for the doorknob, a knock sounded on my door. I opened it to find my father standing there. He blinked as he took in my running attire. I’d trained in the winter before, many times. But it was usually on the weekends, and though it was only 6:30, Dad didn’t look happy.

  “I need to run,” I said, and as the words came out, they felt true. I didn’t say, “I’m going to run,” or anything like that. But “I need to run.” I did. I felt uneasy in the house.

  “We need to talk first,” he said.

  “About what?”

  He pointed to my desk. “That folder.”

  I followed his hand to the orange folder housing my somewhat blank college applications and the trade school brochures. “What about it?” I asked, though I was having a hard time calling up my New-Mitch personality.

  “When are you planning to complete those applications? Only a handful of them even have writing on them. And they’re dated in October.” He moved past me and picked up the folder. A tri-fold for one of the career schools fell out, but neither of us moved to pick it up.

  “What’s your plan?” he asked. “Have you started the entrance essays? Are you still talking to recruiters?”

  I stared at him, eye to eye. I maybe had an inch of height on him, maybe not. “I don’t have a plan,” I said. “I haven’t started any essays or talked to any recruiters since the season ended.”

  “Don’t have a plan,” he repeated as if the words didn’t make sense in that order. “Are you seriously considering not going to college?” He fingered the brochures, staring at them like they were printed in Japanese.

  “I’m seriously considering all my options, Dad. College isn’t for everyone, you know.”

  Mom appeared at the top of the stairs, and I knew she’d been eavesdropping. She collected the dropped brochure and stood beside Dad. They stared at me, waiting.

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” I finally said. “I’d really like to go running before it gets too late.”

  “No,” Mom said. “It’s too dark already, and there’s a storm blowing in.”

  “Mom, come on,” I said. “Just thirty minutes. We’ll talk when I get home, I swear.”

  “You want to learn how to fix cars?” she asked without looking at the flier, which meant both of my parents had been in my room, going through my stuff. They did it periodically, so I couldn’t be too surprised. I knew they’d flip when they found out I wasn’t sure about college. I guess I’d just been hoping we could text it out.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I like stuff like that.”

  “Stuff like that doesn’t pay a lot of bills,” Dad said.

  “You don’t know that,” I said. “Lots of people aren’t doctors, and they pay their bills just fine.” I thought of Jade and her huge house—and Dr. Montgomery who worked with my dad at St. Mary’s. Mrs. Isaacson worked at Sears, and she couldn’t help Holly pay for track fees.

  “You don’t know that,” Dad countered.

  I sighed. I couldn’t have this conversation right now. I didn’t want to have it ever. “I’m leaving,” I said. “We’ll talk when I get home.”

  They protested, but I stepped past them and flew downstairs. I needed to run. Now. I couldn’t believe I’d left, against their wishes. I really was a different guy these days.

  My feet took me to Jade’s. I thought for sure if I could see her face to face, we could work this out. If she’d just listen to me, she’d hear the emotion in my voice. If she’d look me in the eye, she’d see how much I was hurting. She’d see the truth, and know that I didn’t kiss Holly.

  My muscles protested when I stopped them after only a mile. I stood on the sidewalk outside Jade’s house, simultaneously sweating from the run and chilled from the wind.

  After striding to the front door and ringing the bell, I braced myself to see Jade’s deep eyes—hopefully not filled with tears this time.

  She answered the door and took a step back at the sight of me standing on the porch.

  I swiped the stocking cap from my head. “Jade. Please, just listen. I did not kiss Holly—she kissed me.” My voice sounded alien, almost frightened and definitely too high. “I swear, Jade. I loved seeing your art, and I want to read every one of your poems. I want to drink hot chocolate with you, and… I—well, I like you.” The last word cracked, and I swallowed
hard. What must I look like to her? Babbling, broken, desperate? That was how I felt.

  She stared at me, her jaw set and her arms folded. She said nothing before retreating into the house and closing the door.

  I ran for almost an hour, the wind pushing against my muscles and giving me something tangible to focus on. When the rain started to fall, I turned around. I’d gone pretty far, which meant I was soaked from head to toe when I returned.

  I cooled down in the garage, feeling like it was really late at night, and surely my parents would already be in bed. I finally entered the house, and found them waiting at the kitchen table.

  “Drew,” Mom said, and the TV in the living room switched off. My sister started upstairs, casting me a baleful look over her shoulder as she went. That glance only meant one thing: She’d told Mom and Dad about Jade’s public hallway breakup. I wondered what else she’d told them.

  “Mitch, come sit down,” Mom said, her voice low and kind, but definitely not a tone I could argue with. I wasn’t used to having so many secrets locked inside, so many lies to keep track of.

  To calm the trembling of my heart, I took my time removing as much of my wet clothing as possible before I squelched to the kitchen table. I settled heavily in my seat and covered my face with my hands. I didn’t want to speak, but already I felt the words gathering inside my mouth. I was afraid of them, afraid of what I might say that I couldn’t take back.

  “We heard about you and Jade,” Dad started, and I squeezed my eyes shut as if that might erase his words. Like it might block out the image of her standing in Senior Row, her face lined with fury and splotched with tears. Or that she’d say something after I stood on her porch and told her I liked her. Instead, I heard only the silence she’d left me with.

  “She thinks I kissed Holly,” I said, surprising even myself. “But I didn’t. I mean, I did.” I lowered my hands. “She kissed me, and I didn’t tell Jade.”

  Mom put her hand on mine. “There will be lots of girls.”

  “Not helping,” I said.

  A second or two of silence meant we were done talking about my ex-girlfriend. It hurt to even think of her like that, and suddenly my remaining wet clothes felt like bags of cement tied to my body.

  “What about the applications?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” I said, looking at him and sliding my hand out from under my mom’s. He watched me the same way I’d seen him look at Drew when he was worried.

  “So no college,” he said, tossing the folder onto the table where it slid a few inches before coming to rest.

  “I didn’t say that,” I said, my frustration rising to the surface. “I’m not you, okay?”

  “Mitch—” Mom started, but I cut her off.

  “Don’t, Mom,” I said. “I don’t have my life planned out. I don’t know where—or if—I’ll go to college. I like to run, and I’m really fast. I’m good at math. I study hard in everything else. Isn’t that enough for now?”

  Dad looked shocked I’d said so much, and Mom was glancing back and forth between him and me.

  Before they could answer, I blurted out, “I like to work with my hands. I’m really good at making things, and next semester I’m taking auto repair. Maybe I’ll do that. Maybe I won’t. I don’t know. Right now, I don’t have to know.” I stood up, almost out of patience for the day, especially for their drawn faces. “If that’s not good enough for you, I’m sorry. I’m going to shower, and then I have homework.”

  I left them sitting at the kitchen table in my finest New-Mitch move.

  30

  I called Jade four times before I got in the shower. I was forced to leave four messages. I texted her over and over and over that night before bed, which meant I didn’t really do my homework, as I’d claimed. I thought about sneaking out the window and running to her backyard, texting her, or throwing rocks at her bedroom window, or whatever else it would take to get her to come out and talk to me.

  I didn’t dare. The weather was bad, and I’d already run ten miles. Mom and Dad were breathing down my neck. I couldn’t sneak out tonight.

  I called again. No answer. I hung up without leaving a message, beyond frustrated at how Jade ignored me so completely. Stubborn, stubborn girl, I thought. I crawled into bed with something weighing me down from the inside out.

  When I walked into show choir practice early the next morning, I realized how much I hated show choir. I looked around at the eight couples chattering and Charity looking around anxiously while she waited for me to come sit next to her. More than anything, I didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to sing, dance, act like everything in the world was oh, so right. Because it wasn’t.

  I can’t quit now. The holiday extravaganza was next week. Responsible Mitch would never do such a thing. But as Mr. Sellers came out of his office and clapped his hands to get our attention, I knew I would be quitting.

  I leaned over to Charity. “I’m going to quit show choir,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “What?” she hissed.

  “I hate this,” I said as I stood up and got into position for Winter Wonderland. I’d slid on the freaking black ice on the way to school this morning, ramming into the curb and losing my hubcap. There was nothing wonderful about winter in Kansas.

  “You can’t quit,” she said.

  “I can,” I said as I put my hands on her waist. “I’m going to.”

  “But you’re really good,” she said.

  “Yeah, well.”

  “You’ll have to find a replacement,” she said. “Mr. Sellers will freak if you just quit and leave me without a partner.”

  I wanted to crawl back to bed and sleep until the sun melted winter from the earth. “So let him freak.” I twisted out of her grip, collected my homeworkless backpack, and looked Mr. Sellers in the eye. “I quit.” I walked out before he could protest.

  Jade didn’t call. She didn’t text. She wasn’t in English lit that day, and I really needed to see her to soothe myself after listening to Charity Williams sob through lunch. Her friends sent death glares my way the whole period, but I’d kept my head down.

  The hours without her bled into days, which blurred into a week. She wouldn’t return my calls or texts, and when she finally showed up in English lit, she moved across the room to the seat behind Ivy.

  I exhaled and went over to her. “I’m sorry, and I need to explain.” I felt Ivy watching me, but I ignored her and willed Jade to look at me.

  Miraculously, she did. Her eyes were as dark and beautiful as I remembered. It hurt to look at her and feel like I could never touch her again. “Look, it happened the morning of Homecoming, and I would’ve ruined it for everyone if I had told you. Drew would’ve killed me. After that, it was just so easy being with you. At your house, when you showed me your artwork, something changed between us…” I stopped, glancing at Ivy, who was hanging on every word.

  “I was going to tell you that night, and then you started talking about Durango—who I hate, by the way. And then too much time had gone by, and I couldn’t say anything, and it was nothing, I swear. Jade, please.” I hated myself for groveling, but if that was what it took, I’d do it. I’d done all kinds of things I never would’ve considered to be with Jade. I’d filled out college applications. I’d blown off Omar’s concerns and Lance’s claims that she wasn’t the girl for me. I’d never seriously considered Drew’s claims of her jealousy, though I could see now that Jade had isolated me completely. I didn’t hang out with my friends. I didn’t walk to class with Ivy. I was with Jade or I was by myself—and I was a different guy. New-Mitch said things I didn’t. He did things I’d never thought of.

  He ignored Holly when she needed a friend the most. Something inside me broke. It felt like it could’ve been my heart.

  “She likes you,” Jade said, and I didn’t need her to define who “she” was. Holly.

  “I don’t—”

  “At first, I just thought her texts about you were
sweet. You know, what a best friend would say to a girl to convince her to go out with a guy.” She pressed her lips together like she was trying not to cry.

  “But she just kept saying it. ‘He’s so great. You’re so lucky. Mitch is amazing.’” Her voice pitched up as she mocked Holly. My fingers curled into fists.

  She made eye contact again. “I trusted you. I was suspicious of her, but I didn’t believe you’d do anything to hurt me.”

  “I didn’t, Jade,” I said. “I swear.”

  She continued as if I hadn’t even spoken. “I suspected she liked you, and I was right.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But I still didn’t kiss her. I don’t like Holly that way. We’re just friends.”

  Jade blinked and shook her head. “No, Mitch, you’re not.”

  The bell rang and Jade dropped that curtain of silky black hair between us, effectively ending the conversation. Ivy looked at me like I might go Hulk and smash the classroom to bits. I wanted to. Instead, I huffed and returned to my seat, my mind ringing with Jade’s unspoken accusation: You’re not “just friends” because you like Holly the way she likes you.

  Could she be right?

  “Omar can’t take me,” Drew insisted after school. I knew she was lying. I didn’t want her pity, or her company in the car. “He’s looking for a job.”

  I exercised great control to keep from scoffing. I’d never known Omar to be interested in working.

  “Whatever,” I muttered. She followed me to the car, though I tried to leave her behind by walking as fast as I could. I knew Drew felt bad for me, and she had given up time with her boyfriend so I wouldn’t be alone. I appreciated it, even if she did watch me nervously. By the time we pulled into the driveway, my nerves were frayed.

  Holly’s words haunted me. Sometimes you don’t know if you like something until you try it.

  At the time, she’d been talking about show choir—and maybe Lance—but I started applying it to everything in my life—especially Holly. Maybe I’d like being with her as more than friends. Maybe I should just kiss her the way she’d kissed me—maybe I’d like it the second time around.