Lost Girls(23)
“We’re not best friends anymore?” I asked, puzzled. It felt like she had punched me in the chest.
She shifted her weight, her expression softening just a bit as she cocked her head to the side, her red plaid skirt catching in the breeze. One of her Doc Marten boots tapped against the ground.
“Your little brother told my little sister that you don’t remember what happened. Is that true?” she asked, her voice lowered.
I nodded.
Kyle came up to us, said hello to Molly, then pointed toward the parking lot. “Come on, let’s go, okay, girls? Rach can give you a ride home, but we need to go. I’ve got things to do, important things.”
Molly hesitated and her brow furrowed. “I don’t think so. I’ve got to write a paper and I was just gonna hang out in the library.”
“I could still give you a ride to the library,” I offered.
She studied me for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, whatever,” she said, her tone cool.
Together, the three of us rounded the last curve of the walkway and the parking lot opened up before us, a cement backdrop custom-designed to display the wealth, or lack of wealth, of the students who attended Lincoln. Sparkling Mercedes, Mini-Coops, and Miatas lined up next to Pontiacs with missing bumpers and Chevys with busted headlights. My Volkswagen gleamed like an iridescent green June beetle, parked between a Smart car and a Fiat, as far from that line of cherry trees as possible.
But the fragrance of the flowering trees still swirled around us as I unlocked the car. It was impossible to get away from that smell.
“The holy of holies,” Molly remarked, a smirk on her face as she stepped inside my car. “Never thought I’d be invited in here again.”
“I’m really sorry, Moll. I lost my phone when—when I went—” Someday I was going to be able to finish that sentence, but obviously not today. I clicked my seat belt in place and checked my rearview mirror. “When I got home, one of the first things I thought was, ‘I can’t wait to see Molly, she’ll understand, she always does.’” I hesitated, staring down at my lap, speaking so soft I didn’t know if anyone would hear me, “But I have this thing with phones lately.”
She nodded and thankfully didn’t give me one of her signature are-you-serious-looks. We were pulling out of the parking lot and I was watching the cars behind me, looking for a gray Toyota, hoping Agent Bennet wasn’t following me. He wasn’t. The three of us rode in an uncomfortable silence for a couple of miles until we reached Kyle’s friend’s house. At that point, my brother jolted to life, climbing out of the backseat and heading up the sidewalk.
“Tell Mom I’ll be home later,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll stay here for dinner, K?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. The front door swung open and the two boys gave each other fist bumps. Loud music poured out of the house and I had a feeling there were no parents home.
Now it was just me and Molly and a year’s worth of awkward silence in the car.
“I didn’t really expect you to call me, Goth Girl,” she said as we pulled away from the curb. “I’m not exactly in your pack anymore.” She shifted in her seat, tugging on the satchel she wore over one shoulder 24/7, part fashion statement, part necessity, since she had to carry an asthma inhaler and thyroid pills with her all the time. “How much did you forget, anyway?”
“Like a whole year. Last thing I remember, I was studying for geometry—”
“With Miss Wallace? That witch. I hated her.”
“Me, too. After that I fell asleep. In my room.”
I slipped into a familiar route, one that passed school buses and kids on skateboards until we reached the historic district of Santa Madre. Here, the streets were lined with Craftsman bungalows and Victorian cottages, which then gave way to tiny boutiques and thrift stores and coffee shops. I snatched the first parking spot I saw, one that happened to be half a block from the library and across the street from a Starbucks, our old after-school hangout. I wondered if they still made caramel macchiatos.
Molly stared up at the sky, her lips moving, maybe calculating dates or classes or maybe just counting how many clouds were up there. “Was that before or after the spring dance?”
“Before, I think. I don’t remember the dance.”
We got out of the car, both of us temporarily forgetting about the library and Molly’s paper as we navigated our way across the street, dodging traffic. The door to Starbucks breezed open and the fragrance of coffee and chocolate wafted out, stirring up old memories of all the afternoons Molly and I had come here, all our conversations about cute boys and tough teachers and the deeper meaning of The Lord of the Rings.
“As Ricky Ricardo says, That ’splains everything. Sort of,” she said after ordering a mocha Frappuccino. “You started acting like a Prima Donna Bitch at that dance, which I guess I could have handled ’cause I’m a bitch sometimes, too. But you basically told me to get lost. In front of everyone.”
Other customers started staring at us. That happened a lot when I was with Molly. I ordered a caramel macchiato and we found a table in the corner.
“I said that?” I asked, my voice so soft I could barely hear it myself.
“Oh, you said that and a whole lot more. You made it really clear you didn’t want to be friends anymore. Meanwhile, you somehow became super popular. With all the wrong kids, of course.” She was snapping her gum, sometimes stretching it out of her mouth with her thumb and forefinger. Once she actually dropped it on the table, then grabbed it up and stuffed it back in her mouth, lint and all.