Just Friends: YA Contemporary Romance

  13

  Wednesday night, I rode in the back of Omar’s car as he drove us to youth group. Despite his pumping stereo, I couldn’t get the piano music Holly had been pounding through out of my head.

  “She sounded pissed,” I said real loud to be heard over the Omar’s music.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Holly,” Drew answered from the front seat. She turned and looked at me. “Have you talked to her?”

  “No.” I looked away from the sympathy in my sister’s eyes. She loved Holly like I did, but she didn’t need her the way I did. Drew might even be happy me and Holly weren’t getting along, because it meant she could spend evening hours alone with Omar. I was riding with them, but I wouldn’t be monitoring them all night, no matter what my dad had said.

  I wasn’t Drew’s guardian, and though I felt extremely overprotective of her, I just didn’t have it in me to fight with Omar anymore. He sensed it the way a shark smells blood in the water, and he held her fingers loosely in his as he drove. If I hadn’t been there, I’m sure a full-on make-out session would’ve transpired.

  “Maybe you should talk to her,” Drew said, drawing my attention back to her.

  “Maybe she should talk to me,” I countered. “She’s the one who was rude.”

  “Two sides,” Omar practically yelled. It was something my mom said all the time. She was constantly lecturing me and Drew—and Omar and Lance, and anyone else who came through our house—about fairness and judging others.

  “There are two sides to every story,” she said. “Yours is just how you see it.”

  Whenever Drew and I got in an argument and one of us went to Mom to complain, she’d simply say, “Two sides.” We stopped going to her for back-up and learned to work it out between us.

  “Oh, jeez,” I said at the same time Drew rolled her eyes. She caught my eye and giggled, and then I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

  “What?” Omar asked, turning the radio down.

  “Nothing,” Drew said sweetly before adding, “Mom,” under her breath.

  Friday morning I sat at my desk, trying to get Ivy’s geometry homework done. I leaned away from the worksheet as music drifted in the open window. I imagined the beating Holly’s piano keys were enduring. She crescendoed up even though the notes were becoming lower and lower. The torture went on and on. Finally, the last chord resonated, something that faded into what could’ve been a shriek carried on the wind.

  At least it sounded like the piece was getting better, though I had no idea how her mom could stand the noise. I could feel the anger and frustration through the wood and plaster. Or maybe that was just my own anger and frustration.

  The piano pounding meant Holly was upset about something. I didn’t know what, because she still wouldn’t talk to me—even though I’d tried in AP history—and we hadn’t exchanged phones.

  Thoroughly flustered, I rushed through the last of Ivy’s problems, hoping I’d done them right. The deal was her homework would be done, not that that it would be done well. I knew I could never get away with that reasoning though, and Ivy would probably make me do her homework for an additional two weeks.

  I didn’t care. I chucked the page into her folder—all while keeping my gaze away from my own orange folder. The one that kept the college applications Coach Braeburn had given me out of sight. Every time I thought about looking at one, maybe filling it out, a buzzing sound filled my head and I felt the itch to run.

  Just like I had every day this week, I pushed the college applications from my mind and left my bedroom. Out of sight, out of mind, my dad always said. I just didn’t know his advice could aid my procrastination. He usually meant that if I didn’t watch a certain movie, or listen to a particular musician, then I wouldn’t have that stuff in my head. He preached to me and Drew about filling our time with uplifting media, and encouraged us to help our friends do the same.

  Downstairs, while I waited for Drew to finish in the bathroom, I checked my phone. Nothing from Jade. If anything, we were moving backward. I’d apologized after English lit, but I wanted an explanation. She, apparently, didn’t feel like she needed to offer one, though she had said she was sorry too.

  So we were on speaking terms—they just happened to be the few minutes before English lit and not much else. I exhaled as I considered texting her… what? Wicked thoughts raced through my head.

  “We baking tomorrow?”

  I jumped at my dad’s voice, shoving my phone in my pocket even though the inappropriate things I was thinking hadn’t made it into real words on my phone.

  “Yep,” I said. “Bagels or something?”

  Dad shoved an apple in his briefcase. “You always want bagels in the fall.” He slid me a smile. “But sure. I’ll get the ingredients on my way home from work.”

  “Be sure to get asiago cheese, okay?” I headed toward the stairs, having just heard Drew’s bedroom door close—she was finally out of the shower.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m off early this morning. Have a good day.” He didn’t move to leave. “Mitch?”

  I stopped and looked at him. “Yeah?”

  “We haven’t seen Jade all week.”

  “Yeah, well.” I sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “Invite her tonight,” he said. “Or for bagels tomorrow morning.”

  “Maybe,” I said, though I would not be asking her for breakfast tomorrow. The Saturday morning ritual of baking with my dad was a secret only Holly and Lance knew about—and only because he’d caught me listening to my dad’s old 70s music with my hands embedded in bread dough one weekend last year. He’d looked shocked, then wistful, then angry before he made a joke of it.

  Holly had known since the first weekend she moved in. I hadn’t even told Omar of my Saturday morning activities; no way I was telling Jade—yet.

  A group of people surrounded my locker before school. With Omar there, and Holly, and Lance, and Drew, it looked like an intervention. They huddled together, Drew talking a mile a minute. Whatever she was saying, I knew I wouldn’t like. Then, behind Holly’s tall body, sort of flirting with joining the circle, I spotted Jade. My heart sped, even though I felt like running from the sight of all five of them.

  It was strange, having a girl I was dating join my core group of friends. Almost as strange as having my sister there. I skated my eyes past Lance, Holly, and Omar, gave a quick glare to Drew—who ignored me—and focused on Jade.

  “Hey,” I said, reaching for her hand. “What do you have first period?”

  “TA for Mrs. Nordstrom.”

  “Wow,” I said, dialing my combination with my free hand while my friends stood there and watched. “You endure her twice in one day?”

  She giggled, and I wanted to make her do it again. “She’s not that bad.”

  “Sure, okay.” The warning bell rang, and Jade dropped my hand.

  “She is strict about being late. I’ll see you later.”

  “Wait. You want to come to dinner tonight at my house?”

  “Definitely.” She grinned and hurried off into the stream of students.

  I watched her go, annoyed at the scoff I’d heard behind me. I couldn’t tell if it was Drew or Holly, but it was definitely feminine. When I glanced at my friends, I found the crowd thinned to one: Omar. Drew and Lance were almost at the corner, and Holly was nowhere to be found.

  “What?” I asked Omar.

  “You asked her out again.”

  “Not out,” I said. “To my house, for my family dinner. I used to invite you to do the same thing all the time.”

  Omar had never looked so serious. “We didn’t make out after.”

  “Did you want to?” I slammed my locker shut. “Who cares? She’s my girlfriend. I can ask her out any time I want. It’s not like we have a after-three-dates-we-have-to-go-out-with-other-people rule.”

  Omar cleared his throat and focused on the floor. The noise in the hall settled into near-silence.

  “What is your deal?”
I asked. “You can still come to dinner too, you know. It’s not an exclusive invitation.”

  He nodded, his head bobbing and bobbing. “That’s not it.”

  “Then what is it?” I asked. “Do you not like Jade?”

  His eyes shot up and met mine. They looked like liquid tar, full of fire. “Yes, that.”

  I took a step back as if his words had stolen the oxygen between us. “You don’t like her? Why not?”

  He shook his head now, his hair flopping from side to side. The seconds ticked by, each one bringing me dangerously close to invoking the wrath of Mr. Thompson.

  “Look, I can’t be late,” I said, stepping around Omar. With every rushed footstep, though, I wondered what negative attributes my friends saw in her that I couldn’t.

  I slid through the door just as the tardy bell rang, earning me a glare from Mr. Thompson, but no rebuke. He began the lecture before I made it to my seat. Holly kept her eyes trained on her desk, refusing to straighten until I’d passed. I dutifully got out my notebook, but I didn’t take notes.

  Instead, I wrote a message to Holly, old-school style with a pencil and everything. I wanted to know which piece she was practicing, and what had happened with Scott. I invited her for bagels in the morning, claiming Lance would be there too.

  I folded the paper in half a bunch of times and flipped the wad over her shoulder. She startled, and she quickly reached for it and shoved in it her pocket. She still didn’t look at me as she hustled out of the classroom seconds before the bell even rang.

  Drew had texted me all through first period. She had home ec, so it made sense that she could sneak off behind her sewing machine or into the tiny kitchen and send dozens of messages. I couldn’t read them as I navigated to metal shop. I could only appreciate the fact that we had unlimited texting.

  Lance wouldn’t look at me before class, and he gave me the same silent treatment as Holly. I wanted to talk to him, but not when all he had to say was how Jade wasn’t my type and that he didn’t like her.

  So I measured and cut, welded and sparked, effectively silencing every thought of my friends and how they hated my girlfriend.

  14

  I didn’t join Ivy for lunch in the cafeteria. Drew’s messages increased the temperature of my blood until I wanted to throw my phone in the toilet—or maybe jam it down her throat. I’d deleted the whole stream, but the words still swam in my mind.

  I don’t know what you see in Jade.

  She’s not very nice.

  She doesn’t run.

  Please, please ask her to Homecoming so I can go with Omar.

  The last one made no sense grouped with the others. It was almost like Drew realized that if I wasn’t dating Jade, I likely wouldn’t go to Homecoming. Which meant she wouldn’t be able to either.

  I hadn’t given much thought to Homecoming. I’d gone to other dances before, always with whoever Omar could con into going with him, and Lance Plus One. Sometimes he took home another guy’s date, and sometimes he brought a co-ed. Sometimes he didn’t go at all. He was nothing if not unpredictable.

  I didn’t want to ask Jade, because I knew then I’d have to find a group to go with. Omar and Drew were was down on my list of acceptable couples. I hated that my best friend was dating my sister.

  I squeezed my phone too tight, even though the offending messages were already gone. I’d been pacing in front of the school for twenty minutes. The air felt hot and sticky, no hint of a breeze. I hadn’t eaten lunch—something Coach would murder me over if he found out—and the very dangerous thought of I could skip track practice ran through my mind.

  The bell rang, ending lunch and the argument I was about to have with myself. I stormed to English lit, only softening when I saw Ivy had put her carton of chocolate milk, her serving of tater tots, and a cellophane-wrapped deli sandwich on my desk.

  Something hot started burning behind my eyes. I squinted, hoping to make whatever it was disappear. Jade hadn’t arrived yet, but Ivy sat in her desk. I ambled over to her and crouched next to her.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You don’t deserve it, you know,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder and pinning me with her eyes.

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t even get two salads out of the deal. And—” She pointed one lethal fingernail at me. “My geometry homework is officially late.”

  “Crap,” I said. “I have it done.” I fumbled with my backpack, extracting the orange folder right as Jade walked in. She saw me fraternizing with Ivy, and a frown pulled between her eyes.

  “I didn’t see you at my locker this morning,” I said. “Sorry.”

  “Lance warned me to stay away,” Ivy said. “He looked pretty serious too, so…”

  Fire instantly burned through my stomach. Lance hadn’t said anything to me this morning. He’d ignored me in metal shop too. So why did he warn Ivy to stay away?

  I didn’t know, and Mrs. Nordstrom certainly wasn’t going to give me a moment’s peace to figure it out. Neither did Mr. Newton—he had us looking at bacteria under microscopes for eighty-five-freaking-minutes.

  When it was time to go to track—and face Lance—I didn’t want to. I stopped by Coach’s office and told him I wasn’t feeling well—not really a lie. A throbbing pain had taken up residence in my head, and my neck was so tight I could barely turn my head.

  Coach squinted at me like he had x-ray vision and could diagnose me on the spot. “Okay,” he said. “But you need to do at least one long distance run this weekend.”

  “Sure thing,” I promised. I hurried to the student parking lot, hoping to escape without seeing Lance heading to the track, or Omar and Drew going home.

  For once, luck played on my side. I didn’t see anyone I wanted to avoid, and as I pulled into the dollar theater, I thought hiding was the best decision I’d made all day.

  That night, I looked my mom right in the eye and lied. “Track was great,” I said, hoping my voice wasn’t too high or too low. “Coach says I need to do a distance run this weekend, though.” At least that was true.

  Drew took over the conversation from there, while Omar kept shooting me glances from his position next to her. Jade had texted and said she’d forgotten about some dinner party she had to attend with her parents, so she hadn’t come.

  Dad attempted to draw me into the conversation several times, and each time I answered with a single syllable. I did not care about Drew’s girlfriend drama, or what color her hair should be for Homecoming, or if she should attempt to pass the test to get her learner’s permit—again. She’d already failed it twice.

  Finally, dinner ended and Omar and Drew got ready to watch a movie in the living room. Mom and Dad still wouldn’t let them go out alone, and I knew it was killing them both to be spending a Friday night with my parents. But hey, it was likely I’d be spending the night alone in my room, so I didn’t feel that bad for them.

  Holly’s house sat silently next to mine. I imagined her out with Greg, doing whatever it was they did. I’d never heard back from her about tomorrow, and I hadn’t invited Lance.

  “Holly can,” I muttered as I adjusted my headphones and turned on my iPod. “She’s the one calling him all the time.”

  It wasn’t hard to hear the bitterness—and a little bit of jealousy?—in my voice.

  The second song hadn’t ended before my bedroom door opened. Omar stood there, both hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. I took off my headphones and sat up.

  “Your room still smells,” he said, entering. “Some things never change.”

  I could tell he was trying to make a joke, but I didn’t feel like letting him have the luxury. “Some things do,” I said.

  “Look,” he said. “Sometimes things get all screwed up, you know?” He kicked my desk chair, sending it spinning. He caught the back and sat down, facing me. “And sometimes you need someone on the outside to let you know when you’re being an idiot.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Li
ke that time you thought it would be a good idea to climb the fence to the golf course? At midnight?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, just like that.”

  He’d wanted to gather all the errant balls from the ponds. He thought he could sell them like a scalper selling extra tickets to a football game. Lance had been all in, and even Holly hadn’t seen anything “too bad” about Omar’s lamebrained idea. Of course, she was going to be waiting with the bikes.

  I’d been the lone voice of reason, claiming that golfers weren’t showing up to the country club without balls, hoping some thirteen-year-old kid would have a sales table set up on the sidewalk. “This isn’t a lemonade stand,” I’d said.

  “Now that’s a good idea,” Holly had said, catching my eye. She must’ve finally heard reason. The next day, we set up a table outside the country club, with strawberry lemonade. We’d made fifty bucks in an hour.

  I didn’t know it at the time, but Omar needed the money. His power had been turned off, and his house had no air conditioning—a punishing way to live in Kansas in July.

  “Sometimes you just need the right person to say something,” he said, bringing me out of my memories.

  I glanced at him, but his face was impassive. “Yeah, sometimes.”

  Drew knocked on the door and entered a moment later. “There you are. Come on, my dad has all the ice cream stuff out.”

  Omar stood and cast me one more glance before following my sister downstairs.

  The next morning, Dad boiled while I kneaded. He wanted blueberry bagels, and I wanted asiago cheese. Drew came down around nine, requesting at least one plain bagel.

  I rolled my eyes. For someone who was anything but plain, I found it ironic she’d only eat plain bagels—with plain cream cheese.