“I’m not interested in that anyway. I’m sure the story’s tedious.”
“Then what?” I don’t mean to be rude, but seriously, we barely live on the same planet.
She shakes back her super-vibrant dyed red hair. “Since you want me to lay it out, well, you’re way short on female friends. Most of mine’ve killed too many brain cells, so I’m in the market for someone with whom I can use polysyllabic words.”
“I’m flattered. I think. And, yeah, I have time for a frap.” The tiny café that serves as a substitute for Starbucks is two blocks from the salon.
“Sweet. Can I ride on the handlebars of your bike?”
“No. You can run along behind me like a spaniel.” See, I can be sarcastic, too.
Lila grins. “I could seriously get to like the new you.”
“I’m still me. Same princess. Same nice. Just…” Something has changed, but I can’t put my finger on it.
“With an angry breakup edge?” she offers.
“That works.” Anger is the wrong word, though, because I don’t permit that feeling anymore. The cost is too high when I unleash.
I wasn’t kidding when I said she could run after me. Conversation over, I swing onto my bike and head for the coffee shop, which is cunningly named Coffee Shop. There was a sign that said ANDREA’S above it at one point, but she sold the place, and the new owners took that part down. They just never mustered up the ambition to dub it anything clever. The pastries are pretty good, however, and the décor is cute, belying the uber-utilitarian name.
By the time Lila arrives, I’m already settled and sipping a latte. I smile at her as she pushes through the door, jingling the bell. She places her order, then joins me; the barista will bring her drink when it’s ready. There are a few other people in here, mostly artsy types. They like the ambiance better than the fried meat grease and dull roar over at DQ. A couple of them double-take at the sight of me hanging with Lila, as we’re not really from the same social strata.
“So why don’t you tell me what this is about,” I say, sipping my drink.
“I can’t put anything past you, huh?”
“Unlikely.” After I say it, I realize that’s Shane’s word, and a goofy-happy feeling sweeps over me. It’s absurd, but it makes me feel like he and I have a thing.
She cuts her eyes to both sides, as if there are spies from JFK nearby. “Sophomore year, I broke up with Dylan Smith.”
“Rings a bell.” Now that she’s mentioned it, I remember. “He’s such a tool. You were spirit squad, weren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
After the breakup, she hung a sharp left away from the beautiful people, swapping her dance routines and pom-poms for thick eyeliner, lots of black, and a bad attitude. Dylan went around with his crew talking about what a druggie whore she’d become without him. Personally, I thought she was better off, especially given the way he treated people he saw as lesser beings.
“At first, my old friends were all, ‘OMG, are you insane? He’s so hot, you two are the power couple.’” She shrugs. “They didn’t care that he was a controlling asshole. When I refused to ‘see reason,’ they just cut me off. I had like a month where I just didn’t talk to anyone.”
I wait, guessing there’s a reason she’s telling me this. The waitress brings Lila’s frozen mocha, which delays the story for a few seconds. Then she carries on as if there’d been no interruption.
“So in the middle of this, I get a Post-it on my locker. I don’t even remember what it said now.”
Oh. “I do. I said I loved your black corset top.” It wasn’t something I’d be brave enough to wear, but it looked stunning on Lila.