“Good. What about make new friends?”
“Yes. I’ll probably try that, too.”
Sammie leans her head on my shoulder. “Good.”
I lean over her and reach for my bag. “I’ve got something for you.”
“It’s my birthday present!” Sammie starts to wiggle and clap her hands before I can even get to it. “Gimme, gimme!”
“Oh my God. How did you know?” I say, laughing.
“Leos are psychic. You know that.”
“Well, I didn’t before, but now I do.” I pull it out of my bag and hand it to her. “It’s not quite a scavenger hunt. I hope it’ll do.”
There are two boxes. Sammie surprises me by unwrapping them slowly, with care, despite her initial excitement. Inside the first one is a beaded gold headband and a book called The Art of the Braid, which makes Sammie smile. “I love them both,” she says.
“Our braiding sessions will never end.”
Inside the second box is the real present. “Oh, Viviana,” she whispers. “Where did you get these?”
It’s a mosaic of our friendship, sixteen photos from when we were kids all the way through this last year, hung on four lines with clothespins, in one large frame, all artistic, the way Sammie likes. My mom let me copy the framed Instagram photos she had on her dresser, the ones of Sammie and me, as we were before this last year happened. “These are the photos that matter,” I say. “It’s a record of us. For your new room.”
She clutches it tight to her chest and starts to cry. “This is perfect. The absolute best present I’ve ever gotten from anyone, ever.”
“I can’t believe you’re really leaving.”
Sammie shakes her head, like she doesn’t want to talk about it. She wraps the frame I made in some bubble wrap and slides it into an open cardboard box. “The O’Briens were eating fondue last night,” she whispers.
“No way,” I say. I get it. She’s changing the subject because it’s too hard to talk about the future, about what’s coming next. There are so many unknowns, and so many possibilities. Sometimes there are things you can say, and talking makes it better. But sometimes, there are no words.
“Yup,” she continues. “They were all sitting around the dining room table, dipping strawberries in a fountain of chocolate.”
“How civilized of them.”
“Right?” she says, laughing now through her tears. “Oh, and Mrs. Woodley’s moving out!”
“What?”
“He was there! The muscular gym rat guy, her new lover.”
“You’re lying to me.”
“I’m not!” She lifts her fingers. “Scout’s honor. I saw them last night. He was helping her move.”
“Are you sure he’s not her son or nephew or something?”
“I’m one hundred percent sure. They were making out.”
“I don’t know if I believe you.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you. Really. Not after everything you’ve been through.”
I grab her and hug her tight. “I’m really happy for Mrs. Woodley.”
She squeezes me back. “So am I.”
*
When I arrive at work the next day, it’s raining again. It’s still hot and humid, and it’s nothing like the storms of a few weeks ago, so while the pool isn’t empty, it’s not packed, either. Sammie’s in Morton Grove, registering for her new school, and I’m alone today, which doesn’t suck as bad as it used to.
I find Evan sitting at the front desk. He’s on break and deep in conversation with Professor Cox, who’s perched on the counter, spouting off philosophies about the world. “You want to know life’s incredible hoax?”
“Yes, Professor Cox,” Evan says with a laugh. “I most certainly do.”
“All of this—” Professor Cox sweeps his hands through the air. “Is an illusion. Don’t take it too seriously. If you do, you’ll just set yourself up for heartbreak. A lifetime of heartbreak.”
I take a seat next to Evan at my post. He doesn’t say anything, but he does nod at me and then he gives me a smile that seems genuine. Professor Cox is going on and on about “silence and light and connections made in the shadows of our beings.” Most of it doesn’t make sense. Some of it does.
Evan listens and nods and asks for definitions and clarifications while I check in visitors and sell bags of Cheetos to little kids.
“I told my parents about my major.”
I nearly slam the money drawer on my own hand. “What?”
“It’s why I wasn’t here last weekend. I told them.”
“Good for you, my lad,” Professor Cox says.
I shut the drawer. “How’d they take it?”
Evan looks at me and laughs. “They freaked out. Well, my dad did. He lost his temper and threatened to stop paying for my college.”
“It’s to be expected,” Professor Cox says. “You cannot live your life for them.”
“My dad started slurring his speech and we had to take him to the ER. Turns out he didn’t have another stroke, but he came close.”
“Oh my God,” I say.