“It’s too much,” I added.
“Megan did hear about the fall festival thing, you know,” Heather said. “She told me her publicist or someone forwarded her a message about it. From a girl in Acadia, who wanted to get Megan’s attention for her friend. Said it reminded her of us, way back when.”
“It wasn’t Megan who donated, though,” I said.
She shrugged. “Maybe. You said it was anonymous.”
“Heather.”
A smile. “Maybe whoever it was is super confident in your fundraising abilities,” she replied. “Maybe it won’t be very much money at all.”
fifty-seven
Brit and I were waiting around before band practice a few days later, sitting on the low wall outside the front of the school. The others weren’t here yet, so Brit scrolled through her phone, and I leafed through the sheet music to “Reach Out.”
And then I remembered what Heather had told us about Megan.
“Hey, you know what Heather said?”
“What?”
“Megan actually got one of our messages. She heard about the fall festival. Said it was from a girl who wrote on behalf of her friend.”
“Huh.”
She didn’t look up from her phone.
I poked her shoulder. “What did you write?”
She made a face. “It was probably one of your messages. You sent her like a million.”
“I never talked about one friend specifically. I only talked about the band in general.”
Brit shook her head. “I didn’t write her.”
“Brit.”
“I don’t know a Megan Pleasant.”
“Brittany Carter.”
She made a face. “It wasn’t much. Just … about you. And band. And how it was important to you, and how you’re important to me, and stupid stuff like that, whatever, can we go inside now?”
“Did you send it through Megan Wants to Hear from You?”
She gave me an odd look. “No, I contacted her agency, who contacted her publicist.”
“Why did that never come up in one single brainstorming session? Why didn’t you have us all do that?”
“I don’t know! I thought I’d give it a try! No one ever answered. I didn’t think it went anywhere. Or that Megan cared about that kind of stuff anyway.”
“Of course she does. Megan loves her fans more than anything.”
“No.” Brit shook her head and turned to me. “No, Sophie. For real. Look at me for a sec, because I just … need you to understand.” I looked over at her. “Megan Pleasant is just a person. A regular person who feels and thinks and sleeps and has diarrhea sometimes, and probably hates some parts of her job, and likes other parts, and in the end, if she’s smart, she loves herself more than anything.”
“She—”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I think it’s … the best thing, actually. We should all love ourselves more than anything. You should put yourself before everything else, because in the end, you’re the only person you’ve got, right? You’re the only one you can really depend on.”
I shook my head. “I’m always gonna put the people I love first. Always.”
“I know that,” she said. “I know. I hate that about you.”
“Opposites,” I murmured.
“You make these, like, declarations and you believe them. God, you talk about Flora, but it’s you who thinks that everyone is as good as you are, everyone’s willing to give as much, and I just … I don’t want you to be disappointed by anyone ever.”
I wouldn’t say I worried about Flora. But I think Brit wouldn’t say she worried about me either. It was probably the same sort of feeling.
Right now she frowned out at the parking lot, and when she spoke, it was gruff: “I don’t want you to be disappointed by me ever.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just knocked my shoulder against hers, and we both watched as Flora and Terrance approached from across the parking lot.
They were still a little ways away when Flora stopped. She gestured Terrance to her, put one hand up and braced herself on Terrance’s shoulder while she adjusted her shoe. She nearly tipped off center—he had to reach out and grab her. Her laugh rang out, a loud delighted peal.
Brit’s gaze lingered on Flora, and the look on her face was one that I had never seen before. It was soft, and fond, and I flashed suddenly on Ravi, looking at Ciara as she held up two ice cream cones, grinning broadly. Those look great, he said, reaching for one. I know, she replied. That’s why they’re both for me.
I almost said “Oh” aloud, but caught myself. Oh.
Maybe I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was. Or maybe I didn’t know the people around me as well as I thought I did. Or maybe—maybe, maybe—the people around me were more than I was capable of imagining, contained more to them than I could fathom. Everyone had little pieces they kept to themselves, the same way I listed my schools, or reread my text messages—I knew that deep down. But somehow, you feel like you’re the only one who’s got undiscovered parts, when it’s your best friends in the whole world in question. You feel like you must be the only one holding something back, when you knew someone as intrinsically as I knew Brit.
And yet.
She looked over at me. “Should we head in?”
fifty-eight
My phone buzzed that night. I had been in the middle of a text conversation with August about a new book I picked up at Bygones. It was by the same author as the previous one—Summer Burn—and I told August I was going to text it to him line by line.
But when I checked my phone, though, it wasn’t August with another— PLEASE STOP
(don’t stop)
Instead, it was a series of texts from a different number: Have been growing it for a while Finally went in for a cut and just had to make them pause halfway Then three pictures popped up—the back view of longish hair, thick and wet, combed straight. Then the side view, cut short on top. Then Ravi’s face, his hair close-cropped in the front but hanging down on his shoulders. He was grinning, wide and silly, throwing up a peace sign.
Business in the front, party in the back, the next message read.
A burst of sound punched from me, equal parts laughter and sob.
Amazing, I replied.
fifty-nine
I went to August’s house the next day. We sat in the kitchen with the remainder of a cobbler that Heather’s mom had made, eating it right out of the tin.
“Decent crust-to-fruit ratio,” I said. “People never put enough crust on top, and that’s the best part.”
“What’s a good percentage of crust?”
“At least fifty.”
“Fifty percent crust? It’s just cake, then. Upside-down cake with jam on it.”
“Crust is not cake.”
“Upside-down toast.”
“Crust is not bread!”
“I’m sorry, is this your crust seminar?”
“Yes. I’m writing a dissertation on it. I’m about to get my crust PhD.”
“Doctor Kemper,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds good.”
I smiled.
“Maybe I’ll get one.” I speared a blueberry with my fork. “A PhD. My sister wanted to go to grad school. She was studying biology. Wanted to do research and stuff.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm.” I squished the blueberry, watched the juice run out, and then I just said it, the thing I felt all the time, all the way down to my bones, to the marrow of them: “I wish she were here.”
She is, people would say. She’s smiling down at you. She’ll be with you every step of the way.
Yes, I always wanted to reply. Yes, maybe. But that is nowhere near the same. It is in exactly no way the same as actually being.
August didn’t say any of those things, though. He just nodded and scooted a bit of crust my way.
I took one last bite, set my fork down.
“Full?” he said.
“Cobbler full. We should eat something real.”
I stood, went over to the pantry.
“I think there’s leftover chili?” he said.
“How about I make us some mac and cheese?” I pulled a box out of the cabinet and presented it with a flourish. “The stove kind.”
“The good stuff,” August said.
“Yup.” I started shaking the box like a maraca, dancing toward him. “Because I care,” I said with a grin. “So, so, so, so much.”
He grabbed me by the waist when I was close enough, grinning back, and we kissed until Shepherd’s barking heralded the opening of the front door.
“We’re home!”
“Mama said we’d come in the front door to give you fair warning!” Cadence called jubilantly.
We split apart, August smiling up at me as Cadence rounded the corner into the kitchen.
sixty
Sophie:
I SAW ONE!!!!!!
Ciara:
NO WAY
Sophie:
At the gas station! FULL MULLET!
Ciara:
JLKSDFKLJSDFLKJ:SDFKLSDFKL
Sophie:
It was amazing. I feel like a new person Ciara:
You should. That’s a life changing haircut Sophie: Mom didn’t super appreciate it though Like she did but I don’t think she really ~~~got~~~ it Like this is a BIG DEAL
I wanted to take a pic to send you but she said no Ciara:
Probably okay. Don’t want to offend Mr. Mullet Or Ms. Mullet?
Whatever their identity, a righteous mullet Sophie:
Yes def
I wish you were here though Ciara:
Me too. Christmas break!!!!!
Sophie:
FA LA LA LA LA
Ciara:
Sophie:
OKAY ENOUGH TREES I REGRET IT