Giving Ailey a squeeze, Audra said, “I’ll walk Kyle out.”
Snuffling, Ailey nodded. I silently got up to leave. When I was at the door, Ailey called out, “Scarred or worshipped, isn’t that what you always said, Kyle? Welcome to being scarred.”
Out on Audra’s stoop, it took us a few clicks to know where to begin. The lingering deadness of Ailey’s voice had wafted outside with us.
Finally, I said, “Three days, Audy. You knew for three days.”
“I know.”
“That means even at the sleepover.”
“I tried to point you in the right direction. I tried to say it had to be two different people.”
“Which isn’t the same thing as telling me you knew it was Ailey.”
Audra shrugged like I could be mad all I wanted; she didn’t care. But I knew she did, because right up until a few minutes ago, we’d been best friends. Fighting—knock-down-drag-out-style, maybe—but still best friends.
“I know, but it’s not that simple. Ailey was lined up to do six different shoots with me between then and New Year’s. The pics with multiple girls in them get twenty percent more likes than the ones with just me. She’s a natural at it.
“I asked her if she made the video when those Mr. E. pics surfaced the day after she took them. She told me she didn’t make it, just reposted it. I figured whoever made the video put the DRM on it, not Ailey. I didn’t know that she was the only reason it was still online. It wasn’t like the video could do you more damage at that point. And after we got in that fight in your kitchen, I couldn’t tell you that I knew. I just couldn’t.”
“A fight is a fight, Audra. It’s not friendship-ending.”
Unlike this. I knew Audra thought not telling me about being the B&P chick was as much my fault as it was hers. I knew she thought that didn’t make her a bad friend. And I suppose I could see her logic. But Audra not telling me about Ailey? That was unforgivable.
“Friendship?” Audra scoffed. “Is that what we have? All I kept thinking for the last few months was that if you knew anything about me—the real me—you’d disapprove.”
“So why bother giving me the chance to prove you wrong.” I fought to keep my voice level. “Am I such a monster that my friends won’t be honest around me? Am I that scary?”
“Scary?” Audra laughed. “It’s not that we’re afraid of you, silly. It’s that we’re afraid of disappointing you.
“You know, Kylie, I’ve wanted to tell you something for the longest time, but I always worried you’d take it the wrong way. All this pressure you put on yourself to do the right thing all the time? Like if you don’t get a perfect grade in life it’s all for nothing? That’s not real. There is no one right way. I think the closest you can be to getting it perfect is enjoying yourself and being happy fifty-one percent of the time.”
“Are you happy, Audra?”
“Oh, hell no,” she snorted. “Clearly. But I’m working on it.”
I realized then that I had felt more connected to Audra in the last three years than I had to Ailey in the entire nine I’d been best friends with her. But I thought about what AnyLies had said: Was Audra there for me no matter what? No. And about what Mac had said on Christmas: If the Virus struck, what would I be left with? Would I have good people around to be stuck in the dark with? When it came to Audra, it was more like who shouldn’t I be alone in the dark with? But I guess my mom nailed it after all. As far as friendships went, you did reap what you sowed.
Maybe I’d taken down the video, but before my life would feel “like”-worthy there was one major aspect I needed to fix. Assuming I still could.
“I’m sorry you didn’t think you could talk to me,” I said, as tears welled up. “I didn’t mean to be a bad friend. I would have supported you as much as I could.”
We hugged good-bye.
“I know, betch. But that’s the problem. ‘As much as you could’ wouldn’t have been enough.”
There was only one place I wanted to be. I couldn’t get there fast enough. I almost pinged an Elite. Instead I ran down Fifth Avenue, dodging baby carriages and post-holiday shoppers.
Ten minutes later, my heart was pounding as much from my run as from where I was standing. During the entire last week, I hadn’t wished I could make time go backwards as much as I did right then. I knew now that there weren’t any good or bad guys in real life. Not really. It was all just life. And none of us were perfect at it. As it turned out, even the worshipped were scarred. Everyone was. And never ever again did I want to contribute to the scarring process, which meant there were a few things I needed to make right, and one more urgently than all the others.
Swallowing my nerves, I knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Mom was at her desk with her back to me. Her closet-sized office was a mess. Spreadsheets, e-mails, and website mock-ups filled her holoscreen. Her desk was piled high with to-go coffee cups. Clearly, her “deadline” didn’t need the air quotes after all. This also solved the mystery of where all the plates in the house had gone. A dirty stack of them teetered next to her desk.
“There’s the girl I’ve been looking for,” she said, still typing. “I received an e-mail from Dr. Graff this afternoon. Something about was I aware you used an off-grounds pass this morning? Know anything about that?”
“Probably. Maybe. Yes. But can it wait till we’re all together?”
Too busy to argue, she sighed. “I guess.”
“Where are the guys?”
“Some kind of sport thing…hockey, basketball. I forget.”
It was my cue to leave. Instead I picked the empty paper cups off her desk and tossed them in the wastebasket.
“Mmm, that’s okay, honey. I’ll get those later.”
While she tried to regain her focus and quietly read her last few sentences out loud, I perused her shelf of old cell phones. How fast would she stop working if I told her about Audra and Ailey? I picked up one of the clunkier phones. She called them design “artifacts.” She swore they’d all been top-of-the-line when she first bought them and that someday they’d be worth money, the same way old turn-of-the-century, like, electric cars were. Mom being Mom, the cord was taped to the back of it.
I sat on the floor. The phone lit up when I plugged it in. All the pics on the phone were old. Like before-I-was-born old. I snorted at one of her and Dad grinning ear to ear, decked out for Halloween as an old-skool book (Dad) and an even older-skool e-reader kind of thing (Mom). Mom glanced over, probably ready to say, Can you do that somewhere else, but whatever expression I was wearing stopped her. She pushed her glasses up on her forehead. Her fingers hovered over her holokeyboard. Her gray eyes softened.
“Screw it.”