It Started with Goodbye

“You think I’m an artist?” I lowered my eyes and glanced at her from beneath my lashes.

“Are you kidding?” Her voice rose. “This is amazing. I could never design anything. I’m computer deficient. I’m lucky I can send an email.”

“You have, in fact, successfully sent at least one email. I can prove that.” Our laughter finally felt easy. The paralyzing tension that had existed between us for years, an invisible barrier of jealousy and assumptions that had pushed us farther and farther away from each other, had finally started to dissipate.

As if she noticed the calm in the room at the same time I did, Tilly looked at me again and offered another smile. One that looked like the kind Abby wore and the kind I hoped I’d see again from Ashlyn. I smiled back and offered her my hand.

“Truce?”

She shook it firmly, and this time I wasn’t caught off guard by her strength. “Truce.”

“Great. Because I think I’m going to need your help with something.”

“You helped me.” Tilly smiled. “What can I do?”

“I need to get out of the house, and I think it will be easier, and more fun, if you come with me. There will be amazing music involved.” Tilly raised an eyebrow. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”




Dear Tate,

Please send pictures of you as the hunchback. I’d like that for my new locker, please.

How’s it going with Tilly? Has she told Belén yet? Have you?

So my roommate lives in The Plains, and was telling me about this music thing there next weekend. I thought if you could get away, maybe we could meet up there? She’s giving me a ride, and I won’t know anyone else going. No big deal if you can’t. Just thought I’d check.

I miss you,

Ash

The holy grail of best friend valedictions had just landed in my inbox. I wanted to weep with joy, if I did that sort of thing, or jump up and down on my bed with happiness.

Over the course of my summer of imprisonment, I’d decided something: Ash hadn’t done anything wrong either. Sure, she’d gotten in way too deep with a criminal, but I was willing to forgive her. I believed her when she said she didn’t know Chase was going to steal. I believed she didn’t intend to involve me. Once the emotions had faded and I was left with facts, I realized our long, solid friendship was all the proof I needed. I was sure we both would be able to let it go and move on. But before that part could happen, we’d need to talk. Really talk. The last time we’d spoken in person was in the police car, and two months was a long time to let hurt fester. The talking probably wouldn’t be pretty, but I’d learned a lot about myself this summer. I knew I would be okay, no matter what Ash said back to me.

I’d already planned to find a way to get to Sol Jam, but now? Of course I would find a way to meet her. I had a lot to tell my best friend.

I’ll be there.

I miss you too,

Tate





Chapter 15


When I’d brought up going to Sol Jam to Tilly, she’d been wary.

“I don’t lie, Tatum. She’ll know.”

“Oh, please.” Her eyes widened at my brashness. “You’ve been lying to her for months.”

I told her about working on the article about the Frisson with Abby, and how I wanted to be there for the last hurrah before she put the article together. “I only made it to one band practice and Abby’s been to a lot now. This could be really great for my business too.”

Tilly, thankfully, understood where I was coming from, though we both agreed that we didn’t want to lie anymore. We spent the next several days trying to think of a way to persuade Belén that the concert was a good idea. I even wrote up a list of reasons she should give her permission: I’d be supporting local artists and therefore bettering our community; I would have a great experience to start off my no-doubt illustrious career with the school paper; Tilly would be there to make sure I followed any and all rules for the outing; etc. When I read the list back to myself, though, I wasn’t convinced my reasons would be good enough, and lost my nerve.

As it turned out, neither of us needed to have worried. The morning before the concert, Belén pulled out a burgundy marker—her assigned color—and wrote “Belén—work trip” across Friday, Saturday, and Sunday on the family calendar.

“I have a last-minute conference in Philadelphia this weekend,” she announced, as Tilly and I eyed each other over plates of scrambled eggs. “One of the other partners at the firm is having emergency surgery, so I need to step in and present.”

“That sounds like a nice change of pace, Mama,” Tilly said brightly.

Belén poured coffee into a silver travel mug. “It’s more annoying than anything, having to shift gears, but I suppose it will be nice to get out of the office for a little while. Now, while I’m gone, obviously, my mother will be in charge. The rules remain the same.” She turned her gaze to me as if to make a point. “And, because I won’t be able to do it myself, I expect the weekend chores to be completed in my absence.” Who did she want to do them? Me? Tilly? Blanche? All of us? “Tatum, I’ll leave you a list.”

Just me. I should have figured. Perhaps I could use this to my advantage. “If I get everything done, would you be okay if Tilly and I went out for a little while? We would give Blanche the mileage and take our phones and check in when we’re on our way back.” I pleaded with my eyes and hoped she would reconsider her ban on fun, just for this one night.

“Please, Mama,” Tilly added. “I think we both deserve a little time off from all our hard work.”

Belén checked her watch. It was time for her to leave for the office. I knew from years of observing her hurrying out the door that if she waited long enough to think about a valid reason to deny our request, she would get stuck in the Northern Virginia traffic that was almost as oppressive as the heat. She chose the lesser of the two evils. “Fine. But make sure you tell my mother all the important details, and if she has any reservations, she can veto the plan. Understood?”

“Understood,” I said quickly, so she wouldn’t change her mind.

“And only if the chores are done,” Belén called over her shoulder. “Have a nice weekend, girls.” Hearing my stepmother wish us goodbye collectively for the second time in recent days was still unnerving. But I could definitely get used to it.

I saluted the door as it closed behind her. When I heard the dull thud of the garage door closing and the hum of Belén’s car engine fade into the distance, I whooped out loud. Victory!

“Does that freak you out when she says that?” I asked Tilly. “Calling us ‘girls,’ I mean.”

Tilly laughed softly. “A little bit. We’ve never really been that. Until now, that is.”

I whooped again. Two victories.




I waited until the episode of The Golden Girls Blanche was watching had ended before dumping our plan to go to Sol Jam on her. She listened patiently to my heartfelt plea for her cooperation.

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