“You think you’re so tough. Brooklyn girl from New Lots Avenue. You don’t know anything.”
“I know you’ve been badmouthing my whole family.”
“It’s not badmouthing if it’s true.”
“It’s not! Larry’s smart. You know that. And my dad? Come on! He’d never do that to you.”
Shelly didn’t bother denying it. With the Rat Pack gone, there wasn’t anybody left to perform for. She squeezed her hands, then squeezed her forearms. She left pale marks against the pink.
“Why’d you even want to live with me?” Julia pushed. “You told Lainee Hestia my house is a pigsty. You’re just flexing. I’m not one of your Maple Street followers.”
She put her head between her knees and talked from there, soft this time, like the real Shelly. “You said we were like family. Best friends forever.”
“We were. And then you fucked me over. Every time I tried to hang out with the Rat Pack you made it a shit show. You said those things about Larry. You know how hard I’ve been working to make him normal. How could you do that?”
She ran her fingers through her hair. Seemed alarmed that there wasn’t much. “It was a joke. You Wildes’ve never been able to take a joke.”
“You hurt him. He trusted you.”
Shelly let out a breath. Felt for her hair again. Her hands seemed lost. “She’s gonna be so mad,” she mumbled.
“What?”
Head bowed, hands reaching, Shelly kept feeling for her hair. It was all patchwork—some cut close to the scalp, some farther away. “I wasn’t asking just to flex. I told you it was bad. I shouldn’t’ve needed proof. You were supposed to be my friend. You said you believed me.”
Julia looked ahead. The Rat Pack had slowed down but was still running. Everything felt foreign and unsettled, like this whole town was on Mars. “I believed you. I mean, you’re sensitive. You have a lot of feelings. I always believed your feelings.”
“Then why didn’t you help me?”
“I mean, I get it. Your mom and the red wine and Ella’s annoying. Everything at your house is about nice clothes and Harvard. You can’t eat with a plate on your stomach and even if you could, the sofas are like rocks. I get it. But my house is hard, too. They put on a show when you were around. It’s not like, if you moved in with me, your life would suddenly get better.”
“How do you know?”
“My parents can’t handle things. My mom goes to la-la land. She shuts off like a robot. You saw her drive away this morning. If I ask her about it tonight, she’ll fuck me over. Won’t even say she’s sorry. She’ll just pretend it never happened. My dad’s a phony. I push him. Like I don’t do what he tells me or I climb all over the couch with dirty shoes. And I’m not allowed, but he doesn’t say anything. He gets so mad he grits his teeth. He curses and walks away. Sometimes he yells. I can tell he wants to hit me. But he doesn’t. I can’t explain, but it makes me feel sorry for him… I didn’t ask either of them because it’s impossible. They’d never let you live with us. Even asking, my mom would tell your mom, and then it’d be a big thing. I’d get in trouble for stirring the pot. I’m always the one who gets in trouble. Your mom protects you. Nobody has my back.”
Shelly pulled strands of her short hair, like she was trying to make it stretch. “I get in trouble.”
“I never see anybody raise their voice at you, Shells. Your mom treats you like a glass princess. You don’t even have to take care of Ella. I don’t get why you’d want to leave that to live with me.”
Shelly burst into tears. “You’re wrong. She’ll kill me for this. She loves my hair.”
Julia touched her shoulder and she collapsed, crumpling into her arms. Alarmed, wondering if this was a trick, Julia held her. But then Shelly was sobbing. The sound of her old friend’s pain was too much, so Julia hugged back, sticky with grime, keeping her bleeding hand at a distance, so as not to stain.
“It was too long before. This is better,” she crooned.
“I see myself doing these bitchy things,” Shelly said, her voice muffled by Julia’s shoulder. “I can’t stop. It’s like a… a monster inside me that I can’t control.”
Julia breathed Shelly in—that strange smell of someone who’s nothing like your family. They eat different foods and they use different detergents. She felt herself crying, too. She’d missed this. You turn twelve, and suddenly it’s not cool to hug. The best you can get is sitting extra close during carpool or sharing a blanket while playing Deathcraft.
“Why didn’t you do a tampon?” Julia asked. “You know the Markles and your sister are gonna tell everybody.”