Better Off Friends

“It’s a family name,” I said. Which wasn’t a total lie — it


was someone’s family name, just not mine. While I loved that

I had a unique name, it was always a little embarrassing to

admit it was because my dad liked a certain kind of Scotch

whiskey. “It’s Ma- cal-lan.”

“Dude, that’s cool.”

I couldn’t believe he’d just called me dude.

“Yeah, thanks.” I finished the tour at his first class,

English. “Well, here you are.”

He looked at me expectantly, like I was supposed to find

him a desk and tuck him in good night.

“Hi, Macallan!” Mr. Driver greeted me. “I didn’t think I

had you until later today. Oh, wait, you must be Levi.”

“Yes, I’m showing him around. Well” — I turned to Levi —

“I’ve got to catch class. Good luck.”

“Oh, okay,” he stammered. “See ya around?”

6

It was at that moment I realized the look he had was fear.

He was scared. Of course he was. I felt a pang of guilt but

quickly shook it off as I walked to my first class.

I had enough problems as it was.

Emily got down to business the second we were in line at

lunch that day.

“So what’s the deal with the new guy?” she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. He’s okay.”

She examined a slice of pizza. “His hair is so long.”

“He’s from California,” I offered.

“What else do you know about him?” She discarded the

pizza and picked up a chicken sandwich and salad. I followed suit.

I was so thankful that I had a girly-girl friend like Emily.

My dad, as much as he tried, couldn’t really help me out with

things like hair, clothes, and makeup. If left to his own devices, I’d wear jeans, sneakers, and a Green Bay Packers T-shirt

every day, and eat pizza for every meal. And Emily was as

girly as you could get. She was easily one of the prettiest girls in our class, with long, shiny jet-black hair, and dark brown

eyes. She also had the best clothes, and I was so glad we were

the same size so I could borrow them, although she was

already way more developed than I was. At least I would have

someone to go to once I needed a bra. I couldn’t even imagine

how awkward that would be for Dad. For both of us.

“Um . . .” I tried to think about what else I learned about

Levi. Now, too late, I felt I should’ve made more of an effort.

Danielle joined us, her honey-colored curls bouncing along

7

as we walked into the cafeteria. “Is that the new guy?” She

pointed to Levi, who was sitting by himself.

“He’s so skinny,” Emily remarked.

Danielle laughed. “I know, right? But don’t worry, if the

ButterBurgers don’t fatten him up, the cheese curds and

brats will.”

The three of us started walking to our regular table. Levi’s

gaze followed us. We were used to this. Usually people liked

to make little comments like “a blonde, a redhead, and an Asian walked into a . . .” But I always saw us as “the one you want

to sit next to because she’s hilarious, the one you want to

cheat off of in class, and the one all the guys have a crush on.”

I gave Levi a quick smile, hoping to undo some of the rude—

ness from the morning. He returned with a sad wave. I

paused for a second, and in that second, I noticed the look of

gratitude on Levi’s face. He was expecting me to sit with him

or at least invite him over. I hesitated, unsure what to do. I

didn’t want to play babysitter, but I also knew what it was

like to be alone. And scared.

“Guys, I feel bad. Can he sit with us?”

When nobody argued, I approached Levi.

“Hey there — how was your morning?” I asked, trying to

smile and be welcoming for a change.

“It was good.” The tone in his voice indicated that it was

anything but good.

“Do you want to sit with us?” I gestured to our table.

“Thanks.” He exhaled deeply.

Soon the attention turned toward gossip of the I Really Know How You Spent Your Summer Vacation kind.

8

Levi sat next to me and picked at his lunch uncomfortably.

He put his backpack on the table and I noticed a button

pinned onto it.

“That’s not —” I stopped myself. What were the chances it

was what I thought it was? It’d be way too random.

Levi noticed I was looking at the keep calm and blimey on

button on his bag. “Oh, there’s this totally rad BBC show —”

he started to explain.

I could barely contain my excitement. “Buggy and Floyd. I love that show!”

His face lit up. “No way — nobody knows Buggy and Floyd.

This is insane!”

It was insane.

Buggy and Floyd followed the zany antics of Theodore “Buggy” Bugsy and his cousin/roommate Floyd. In pretty

much every episode, Buggy got himself into some ludicrous

trouble that Floyd had to rescue him from. And Floyd was

always complaining about the situation, Buggy, and pretty

much everything about society.

I felt a smile start to spread across my lips. “Yeah, my