“I won’t, I promise.”
“Hit the showers and go get some rest.”
But rest will have to wait. I race across town to Alan’s, then my house, then Whole Foods. I’m seventeen minutes late punching in.
Joni’s stationed at the register across from me. She shakes her head all mock disappointedly and taps her watch.
“Sorry,” I mouth across the aisle.
She smiles and goes right on scanning and packing.
Two hours and countless times of asking “Did you bring your own bags today?” later, Joni turns off her light and comes over to my station.
“Break time?” she asks.
“Yeah, let me finish up here, and I’ll meet you in the break room.”
She shakes her head. “Meet me out front.”
“Why?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, skipping off before I can say anything else. I smile. You can’t say Joni doesn’t keep things interesting.
I find her a few minutes later, sitting on the curb outside the exit. I lower myself down next to her—it feels good to sit down—and hand her an aluminum hot/cold bag.
“What’s this?”
“Pizza.” I open my own bag and pull out a slice.
“You’re feeding me?” she asks.
I take a huge pepperoni-filled bite. “You always feed me.”
Joni looks at the bag. “Is it pepperoni? I actually don’t eat meat…”
“I know.” How did I know that? I don’t think she ever told me. Must have figured it out from being around her, I guess. “Yours has broccoli and shit on it.”
“You know, I don’t usually eat shit,” she says, grinning. “But the broccoli part is good. Thanks, Ryden,” she says through a mouthful of veggies and cheese. “That was very…maternal of you.”
I almost choke on my food.
Joni looks at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” I swallow slowly, making sure it goes down the correct pipe this time. “So why did you want to meet out here?”
She points straight ahead, past the trees, to the horizon. “Sunset. Pretty, no?”
I look down at my sneakers. “Yeah.” Pretty, sure, yeah, whatever. Also, say, the number one most clichéd romantic thing in the world.
Joni nudges me with her shoulder. “Oh, don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m not hitting on you. I just didn’t want to stay inside all day. We only have so much summer left. We’ll be back at school next week.”
“Yeah. Senior year.”
“Woooo! Seniors! Kings of the school! Paaaaar-tay!” She waves her hands over her head. I know her well enough to know she’s being sarcastic.
I laugh, and she calms down, giving me an eye-rolling grin.
“I found out the recruiter from UCLA is coming to watch me play in a few weeks, and he’s bringing a contract with him.”
“Really? That’s awesome!”
“Yeah. I’ve been working pretty much my whole life for this.”
Joni starts talking about what she thinks she might want to do after high school. I catch the gist of it—she’s still trying to decide between college, traveling the world, or going to work at her family’s doggie day care business. But what I’m thinking about is everything I’m not telling her. I still like the idea of keeping her separate from all the shit. She’s kind of my salvation that way. But I’m also starting to feel bad about lying to her, or omitting the truth, or whatever.
Somehow, this weirdo girl has become my best friend.
But then I look at her, really look at her, her face lit up and glowing in the pink-orange-purple light from the sunset, her nose ring shimmering, her hair falling in her eyes, and I don’t want to ruin it. She doesn’t even like kids. Why should I take her down with my sad story?
Besides, Meg and I were actually together together, and she clearly had all sorts of stuff she didn’t tell me. And we were happy. Mostly.
I think back to Meg’s journal from this morning.
But I’m not lying. I’m just not giving him the whole truth. Once he knows, it’s going to change everything. Is it really that bad if I’m selfish for a little while longer?
If Meg can keep a secret from me, I can keep a secret from Joni. It’s not hurting anyone. If anything, it’s making our friendship better.
? ? ?
I pull into the driveway and walk up to my house. It’s a quiet, warm night, and Mom has the windows and screen door open. She’s talking to someone. At first I think she’s on the phone, but as I get closer to the front door, I know she’s talking to Hope because she’s got that you’re such a cutie face sweet munchkin baby voice going on.
“Who’s the most ticklish baby in the world?” Mom says. “Hope is!” She makes tickly noises and, I think it’s safe to assume, tickles Hope’s belly or feet. “Hope is the most ticklish baby in the world!” More tickle noises, and then—
A laugh. A gurgling little baby giggle. Hope’s happy.