“Don’t be humble,” she laughs again, snort echoing over my phone’s speaker. “Lindsay and Sammie know everyone, and Agatha dresses … well, like that.” She pauses, and my stomach flips. “And you have your whole I Only Wear Flowers And I Don’t Care thing.”
“I didn’t realize wearing floral print made me so edgy,” I say, picturing myself batting down the butterflies in my stomach. “In fact, I don’t even know why I’m on the phone with you right now. I’ve got cigarettes to be smoking in a garden while wearing shoplifted Urban Outfitters floral jellies.”
“Ha-ha.” She rolls her eyes and continues typing. “Tease all you want, but you know it’s true. You’re one of those people everyone will actually remember after graduating and going off into the ‘real world.’”
It feels weird, knowing someone thinks this—something I’ve only ever thought true of my friends, but never of me. “Lindsay and Sammie, certainly. And definitely Ags for her style. But I think I’ll be in the back of that mental snapshot alongside Wesley.”
“Come on, you were on my radar years before we’d ever spoken in government.”
My heart stops beating. “What?”
She covers her face, smiling. Each second without further explanation feels like torture, even while seeing her so giddy. “You remember freshman-year orientation, right?”
I nod, at a loss for words.
“I saw you with Lindsay and Sammie, though I knew none of your names at the time.” I remember Agatha missing orientation because of a sore throat. That day was the first time Lindsay and Sammie ever really spoke outside of the casual conversations Agatha and I had instigated over that summer. Because of Ags’s absence and my parents’ insistence on coming to orientation with me, Sammie and Linds discovered a shared love of sarcasm, bloody video games that made me nauseous, and flirting.
“You had on a graphic T-shirt of a raven surrounded by cherry blossoms that reminded me of Edgar Allan Poe. We’d spent half the school year working on it in English because my teacher kept saying we’d need to know about it in high school,” Talia says. “Turns out, I did need to know, because I spent thirty minutes trying to come up with something clever to say to you about it, but forgot everything we’d learned.”
I fight the urge to find that shirt from the back of my closet and put it on. “Why didn’t you just say hi?”
“Talking to people has never been my strong suit, as you’ve probably realized.” This time I’m the one who laughs. “I’d just lost Dani and Tori a few weeks before and was desperate for someone to talk to, but I couldn’t talk myself into saying anything.”
“So essentially, I’m a constant reminder of a shitty moment from when you were fourteen?” I ask, joking to distract myself from the mental image of Talia watching me wistfully across a crowded auditorium years ago. To distract myself from the fact that she still remembers the shirt I was wearing down to the cherry blossoms.
“More like a personified life lesson that good things come to those who overcome their fears. All this time, we could’ve been friends.”
I think of the months of casual conversation after Lindsay’s party, regret blooming in my chest over where we could’ve been by now if I’d only tried to befriend Talia sooner.
But then she chuckles to herself, typing furiously on her laptop again. “Better late than never though.”
I hum in agreement, cutting off the regret, and sink back into bed, losing myself in talking to the girl who makes everything else—every fear and worry weighing on my chest—feel a million miles away.
THIRTEEN
During the ride to school the next morning, I’m flipping through songs on my phone when Dad taps me on my shoulder, forcing me to pull out one of my headphones and feign ignorance when he says, “?Qué ha estado pasando con Samuel?”
“Nothing is happening with Sammie,” I lie, wrapping my headphones around my phone and resting it in my lap. I’m wearing my lily pad romper today, the one Lindsay always insists I’m too old for because of the cartoon frogs. I’m in a slightly better mood after spending last night talking to Talia.
He exhales loudly through his nose. I pretended to oversleep this morning so I could avoid Sammie giving me a ride, but he left before I could even text him a bullshit excuse, leaving Dad as my only option. “You know I don’t mind driving you to school, but I’d like your honesty in exchange,” he scolds as he pulls into the drop-off roundabout.
“I told you, nothing is happening with Sammie,” I repeat, tossing my phone in my backpack. “It’s just pointless teenage drama.”
“Isn’t it always?” he jokes. My gut twists. I hardly mumble a goodbye.
I don’t bother meeting my friends in the student parking lot, too worried about running into Sammie and having to deal with that awkwardness. It’s weird fighting with Sammie like this, if I can even call it that, and being around our other friends in this state will only make it weirder.
I’m entering my locker combination when Agatha walks over, leaning against the metal with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.
“Morning,” I say, grabbing my chemistry notebook and flipping through it like I’m looking for something.
“Don’t give me that.”
I look around myself with wide, exaggerated eyes. “Is it not morning? I must have really slept in today.”
“Is that why Sammie didn’t give you a ride?” she asks, ever the gossip.
“Why don’t you ask Sammie why he didn’t give me a ride?” I reply in a fake cheery voice, slamming my locker shut.
“I tried, but he was too busy teasing Wesley about the purple sweater he wore today to notice,” she says, finally opening her locker. She peels off her own striped sweater, revealing a black body-con dress, tight around her wide hips, that stands out against her bright pink sneakers. Only Agatha could pull off this look on a Wednesday morning.
“Sounds like Sammie,” I reply.
“I think he’s just mad that he tried on the same sweater last month at the mall but couldn’t find one that suited him,” she laughs, and some of my tension melts away.
“That definitely sounds like Sammie.” First bell rings, and I think I’m in the clear with Agatha, but she hooks her arm around mine as I turn to head for homeroom, slowing me down.
“I’m only going to say this once, because you know I hate being sappy. But you know you can talk to me, right? About whatever it is that’s making you wig out on everyone right now.” She gives me one of her million-dollar smiles, white teeth bright against lipstick that matches her shoes.
“I know,” I say, feeling less confident about the words than I expected to be.
The minutes in homeroom tick by slowly, painfully, but I manage to survive it without another fight with Sammie, so I consider it a small victory.
Wesley, in his admittedly lovely purple sweater, and I hardly speak on our way to chemistry, the memory of yesterday heavy between us. I’m so focused on maintaining our silence without acting abrasive that I don’t notice Lucas approach our desk.
“Hey, Cho.” Lucas nods to Wesley like I’m invisible.