“I promise to protect you from their grapes of wrath,” I laugh, relieving her of some of her books and lunch.
“You guys know Talia,” I say awkwardly as we sit at the table. Agatha scoots over to make room for the both of us.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Sammie drawls with a smile.
“Ignore him,” Agatha says.
“We all try to anyway,” I add. Sammie spits a grape at me.
“Did that hurt?” Agatha touches her own nostril, then points to Talia’s nose ring. Agatha’s wanted a septum piercing forever and claims her mom would kill her, but I’ve met her angel of a mom, and we both know it’s her own fear of needles, not any maternal obstacle, that’s keeping her from biting the bullet.
“A lot, actually,” Talia replies, tension leaving her hunched, toned shoulders. How does someone who spends their free time doing math proofs and hanging out with two cartoonists get so toned? She and Wesley have to be on a secret workout plan together. “My friend was the one who pierced it in their bathroom though, so it probably would’ve hurt less with a professional.”
“Badass.” Lindsay nods in approval.
But Talia doesn’t have any friends besides Wesley and Zaq, or at least according to what she said on Saturday. And if either of them had done it for her, wouldn’t she have just come right out and said that?
“Something wicked this way comes,” Sammie mutters as Wesley and Zaq approach.
“I will hurt you,” I whisper. He rolls his eyes and mimes zipping his lips shut.
Lindsay had shown no sign of concern over Wesley’s absence, but her face is suddenly aglow with what looks like relief.
“Where were you?” Talia asks softly. She’s feigning casual, but there’s obvious hurt in her voice. She’s staring more at Zaq than Wesley, but I imagine it’s because she expected Wesley to sit with us and not her today anyway. Zaq keeps his eyes on the table while Wesley apologizes for finishing up a piece for AP drawing. Talia looks unconvinced, but Wesley takes his usual spot beside Lindsay while Zaq crams in on our side beside Talia.
“Are you still in a creative mindset?” Ags asks, hesitantly passing her notebook over to Wesley and Zaq. “Lindsay’s prom campaign is in dire need of a slogan.”
“I think we can help you out here,” Zaq says with a cautious smile. “Wes and I created an online comic strip, and one of the supervillains talks exclusively in rhymes and puns.”
“Sounds super cool,” Sammie mumbles.
Zaq ignores him and immediately starts scribbling down ideas. Ags asks about his septum piercing and studded, two-toned leather jacket, and he laughs like she’s done it a million times. I forget sometimes that they’re already friends from the Black student union, so maybe she has.
“So, when are you going to pierce my nose in a bathroom?” I ask Talia as she takes a bite out of her sandwich, hoping to get more details about this mysterious friend. She smiles tightly as she chews, her expression seeming performative now that I know what an Authentic Talia Smile looks like. Without replying, she looks away, toward Zaq and Agatha’s conversation about the importance of cadence in a good rhyme, so I swallow another bite of empanada and turn away as well.
When the bell rings, we head to government together and she drops the weirdness of the moment. But I’m still left wondering about this mystery friend. I ruefully add it to the growing list of unanswered questions about Talia that I’m too afraid to ask.
Despite the somewhat rocky ending to lunch, Zaq and Talia join us again the next day. Zaq comes by to drop off more slogan ideas for Lindsay’s and, more importantly, Agatha’s approval. Wesley brings up, in as casual a manner as he can, that it’d be cool if they started sitting with us every day.
So it’s no surprise when we’re together again on Wednesday. Talia wraps Agatha into an enthusiastic conversation about the importance of geometry in fashion while Zaq argues with Lindsay and Sammie over some new video game’s graphics. Wesley and I chat about King Lear since he’s considering creating a comic adaptation of it, and we actually start talking when we walk to chem together. And though Lucas constantly watches us from across the room, shooting me those sparkling smiles whenever our eyes meet, he doesn’t further our earlier conversation.
Despite that, everything starts to feel like it’s falling into place. Two groups become one, I get to spend more time with Talia, my ex-boyfriend seems jealous, and Sammie and Wesley—by the miracles of the universe and/or Zaquariah Field’s constant interference—get along, even as prom approaches at an unreal speed. All the beautiful high school clichés senior year promised me, falling perfectly into place. Or so I hope.
SEVEN
I came over to Agatha’s after school to work on homework, but two hours in all I’ve done is organize her collection of fabric swatches in rainbow order. In my defense, it’s impossible not to get distracted in her room.
I’ve never been particularly crafty outside of the occasional floral arrangement and corsage, but being in Ags’s room is like visiting a craft supply store. I suddenly want to pick up needlepointing and beading and quilting, all at once.
Everything about her room—the bright orange walls and white shag carpeting, animal print–patched bedding and faux diamond chandelier, the vaguely opaque tubs stacked in each available corner that hold everything from scaled swimsuit fabric to fiery red tulle—feels brimming with life and creativity.
“In your professional opinion, how realistic does this look?” Ags holds up a rose made of neon green satin so shiny that it looks wet, her highlighter-yellow acrylics a stark contrast of color.
“Well,” I start, taking the rose from her. “I mean, technically a real rose wouldn’t be a bunched-up ball like this.” I’m careful not to completely unravel the fabric as I pick at the folds. “If you really want to be accurate, you’d have to cut and sew together dozens of petals.”
She pouts and sticks out her cupped hands. I suppress a laugh as I place the rose back in her possession.
“If it’s any consolation, I doubt your future costume design professor will care about your seventeen-year-old friend’s scientific accuracy assessment,” I tell her. She turns to pin the rose back on the neckline of the simple makeshift gown draped against her dress form. For her eighteenth birthday back in February her parents got her a custom, plus-size dress form with her exact measurements to make the sewing process a little easier.