I watch my finger as I trace the outlines of petals on my duvet. “Is she mad?”
“She’d be less mad if you told her what you told me. But she said that boy is graduating next quarter and isn’t taking any more of her classes.”
“Will she get in trouble for what I did though?” I ask, unsure if pouring punch on someone’s head counts as aggravated assault. Dad’s lack of pressing concern, as a paralegal, comforts me.
He steps into my room and kisses the top of my head. “No te preocupes,” he says. Don’t worry. “She’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” I reply, feeling small.
There’s no chance I’ll fall back asleep now. When Dad leaves, I grab my phone again. Talia thanked me for the notes, and Agatha texted, asking how my roses are doing.
I need to get out of here, but I can’t be with someone who knows me enough to notice how upset I am. So I send two texts, one saying they’re looking perfect! and the other saying Could I pull you away from studying for a bit?
* * *
“I feel so cheated. This is the second time I’ve picked you up, and I still haven’t seen your garden,” Talia complains. Her wet hair is up in a bun, and she smells like Irish Spring bodywash. I tug on the frilly ends of my navy romper decorated with pink tulips as I adjust my seat belt.
“Sorry,” I reply, and leave it at that. I know Mom wouldn’t chew me out in front of a guest if she came home, but the idea of introducing Talia to my parents right now makes my stomach queasy.
“It’s all right.” She shrugs as she drives away from my house. “I’ll see the big reveal at prom, I guess.”
“So what’s the plan for today?” I ask, pretending I’m not the one who invited Talia to hang out. She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, clearly unable to ignore that fact.
“Well, I was originally going to go hiking before I got to studying.”
“I love hiking!” I lie. “Hiking sounds great.”
“Really?” Talia looks at my outfit skeptically.
No. “Yeah! You know how I feel about flowers. I love nature. Can’t get enough of it.”
“Well, I showered already, but I can just shower again tonight, I guess.” Do not think about her showering. “I should turn around so you can pick up a change of clothes though.”
“No!” I yell. Talia jolts. “I mean, uh, we don’t want to waste any more time and miss the prime hiking hours. Wouldn’t want to go when it’s hot out, right?”
She purses her lips. I look away. “Good point. You can just borrow something from me, since my house is on the way.” She turns on the radio, and we hum along to indie pop songs, both of us singing in that awkward talk-speak way you do in elementary school for recitals. Guess we’re not at the Belting Badly And Comfortably stage of friendship yet.
The drive is shorter than I expected. It feels weird to think Talia’s only lived fifteen minutes away all this time. Her house is small, square, and painted a rusty orange that reminds me of half of Sammie’s wardrobe.
“Sorry in advance for my messy room,” she says as we step inside.
“I should be the one saying sorry for imposing,” I reply, and run my eyes over the family photos in the hall. They’re mostly childhood Talia, a few with a man who I assume is her dad.
“Please,” she scoffs. “At least now I have a hiking buddy. Zaq always refuses to come with me. He doesn’t like to get sweaty.”
“What about Wesley?”
“Him too,” she laughs. “They usually ditch me to doodle.”
“I know the feeling,” I reply, thinking of Lindsay and Sammie.
We reach the end of the hall, where the final door is painted off-white with a red T in the center. I don’t mean to hold my breath as she opens the door, but when the room inside is revealed, I exhale deeply.
Like the rest of the house, it’s small, but the belongings scattered about make it look well lived in rather than cluttered. Clothes are strewn across her bed, but yellow sheets and a white comforter peek out from beneath the piles. All but one wall are painted dark green, the last one paler than the rest. The wall across from the door catches my eye first, as it’s covered in photographs with sparse spots where only tape and bits of torn pictures remain. The only things on the palest wall are a few doodles that look fresh compared to the rest of the room, most signed with a Z and a few others signed with a W.
“Like I said, it’s a mess in here,” she laughs with a self-conscious shrug. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“I like it,” I say, hating the breathiness of my voice. “These photos are so cute.” I motion to a shot of Talia, Zaq, and Wesley that looks like it was taken last year during spirit week. They’re all wearing our school colors, red and black, but Zaq also has bright red streaks painted on his cheeks. My eyes drift to a photo sitting on the dresser below it, a faded shot of childhood Talia and another little girl.
“Is that you and Dani?” I ask, fingering the edge of the photo.
“Yeah,” she sighs, eyes lingering on an empty spot on the wall where only a strip of tape remains. “Yeah,” she repeats, louder, eyes focusing. “That was from Noche Buena when I was like, hmm, maybe six?” She points at their matching red dresses. “She’s a year older, but my abuela loved dressing us like twins.”
I’m ready to turn away, scared of overstepping, but then I see a picture that’s still on the wall of her and Dani bordering a third girl who doesn’t look anything like either of them. She’s got dark red hair, much deeper than Lindsay’s, and has both of her pale arms slung around Talia’s and Dani’s shoulders.
“Who’s that?” I ask, but when I look at Talia, she’s frowning. I instantly wish I could take back my curiosity.
She turns away before replying. “She’s an old friend. The one who pierced my nose, actually.” She tosses clothes off her bed, searching for something. “This should fit you,” she says, handing me a graphic tee with the Puerto Rican flag on it and a pair of leggings that look twice the length of my legs. Her wide eyes scan my body but don’t meet my eyes.
“Thanks,” I reply, thoughts racing to catch up with what she just said.
We stare at each other before she jolts with realization. “Oh right, you can change in here. I’ll go change in the bathroom.” She grabs a pair of leggings and a green tank top from her bed before leaving the room without another word.
I wonder if that means anything, her leaving while I stay here to change. Lindsay strips in front of Ags and me regularly, often in spite of my insistence I can leave and give her privacy. Agatha never complains, never seems to mind. But my eyes always feel glued to the carpet to avoid her bare form while Ags still chats like normal.
Sometimes I wonder if I missed out on learning these girl codes when I was younger, just me, Sammie, and my parents. There are all these unspoken rules that I feel I’m still catching up on, always seven steps behind everyone else.