“Thanks, I, er, I feel the same.”
The lunch bell rings an hour early to give everyone a chance to get his or her cheeseburgers, which are sold by an outside vendor. With the cafeteria closed today, Kali should be on the field with the rest of the school.
After I stuff my things into my locker, I remove the iris I stored there. Irises say, “Your friendship means so much.” Things might not be the same between us anymore, but I want Kali to know I will always be there for her.
I head into the cluster of students buying cheeseburgers in the parking lot from one of two Cowboy Cheeseburgers food trucks, each shaped like a cowboy hat with a brown awning for the brim.
Something’s different today. The sea doesn’t part when I walk through it. Either people are too excited about Cheeseburger Monday, or they’re getting used to me.
Cassandra’s soprano catches my attention. From somewhere nearby, she’s singing “Cheeseburger in Paradise.” Craning my neck, I spot her, sitting thirty feet away. As she sings her last note, she stretches her arm toward Kali, sporting her Twice Loved Vans, and munching a cheeseburger. Who bought her that?
Stunned, I think back to the drive home from Meyer. Court had said, Cass is just a friend, you know. I mean, obviously. At the time, I thought he meant, of course he wouldn’t have a girlfriend if he liked me. He meant something else. Something obvious to everyone but the love witch. If falling in love had a smell, Mother never mentioned it. It occurs to me that we can detect heartache, a crush, admiration, and a hundred other love-related scents, so why not falling in love? Perhaps the note of a heart in free fall is too fleeting to notice.
Cassandra pulls out a pickle from her burger, and Kali opens her own bun to receive it. Her expression is happy, relaxed, the way I will always remember her.
A group of passing girls yell, “We voted for you, Kali!”
I blink, wondering how and when Kali developed such a following. Though her surge in popularity cheers me, I can’t help feeling a little like bread crust—left behind. She nods at them. “Cool.”
Catching sight of me, she waves me over with her burger. I brighten by a factor of at least sixteen.
She hands Cassandra her burger, then climbs to her feet and meets me halfway. Her expression is even, almost wry, though my inability to pinpoint her exact mood without my nose unsettles me. She neatly rolled her sweats to midcalf. Her hair looks different, no longer in braids, but neatly tucked into a bun. “There’s gonna be a lot of heartburn here today,” she drops casually, as if nothing was ever amiss.
I grin. “Thanks for coming by yesterday.”
She nods. “Your aunt’s a trip. Almost fell over my slippers when I saw her. Thought she was your mom.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“She told me what happened with Alice. Too bad about poor Layla, but it was for a good cause.”
“Right.” Guilt starts to creep in, but I push it away, feeling Kali’s eyes upon me. “I meant what I said on your voicemail. You were amazing.”
“Thanks. My mom didn’t think so. Made me see a shrink on Saturday and our pastor on Sunday.”
So that’s why Kali didn’t stay for lunch yesterday. No, the world does not revolve around Planet Mim. “I’m sorry. How is she now?”
“We’re still working on it.”
“And . . . how are you?”
“Good. It felt like I had all this lint clogging up my trap, and now it’s cleaned out. Doesn’t mean I won’t catch more lint, but for now I’m running smoothly.” She pops her neck from side to side.
I hand her the iris. “I should’ve trusted you to handle your own business.”
“Thanks.” She takes the flower and puts its frilly petals to her nose. “But that wasn’t why I got mad.” She frowns into the yellow center of the bulb, her lips a tight rosebud. Then her dark eyes probe mine. “Look, why do you think I like hanging out with you?”
“Lifetime all-you-can-eat salad?”
She gives an emphatic shake of her head.
“You’re trying to steal my dance moves?”
Her eyes flick to the sky. “Definitely no. When I got suspended back in eighth grade, Dad gave me a choice—take that weeding job with your mom or highway cleanup. It was a close call, believe me.”
I remember that day Kali’s father brought her to us. She barely spoke a word and smelled so blue and lost.
“It was the best thing I ever did.” She opens a hand large as a catcher’s mitt, moving it gracefully to accentuate her points. I feel a rush of love for her. “You and your mother are true to yourselves, even if it means not getting paid, or spending half of your day up to your ears in dirt, just like those earthworms. Made me think I could be an earthworm, too. My poetry started flying after that.”
I swallow hard. Kali had never told me that before.
“I needed you to stand up to Vicky, so I could stand up. I needed to see you wouldn’t cave.”