The Best Possible Answer(60)

I say it like I mean it, but the reality is, I’m nervous about seeing Evan. Virgo hasn’t said anything to me, and he’s treating me like normal, which is reassuring, but I don’t have a complicated relationship with Virgo. He’s my boss and my friend. That’s it. I haven’t kissed him three times and then promptly showed him my crazy.

Evan’s back at work on Tuesday, but I hardly see him. The sun and high temperatures have seemingly brought the entire Bennett Village out to the pool, as though every single family with all of their kids and extended families is here, like they’ve all skipped work and camp to come swim. Virgo orders two guards on deck at a time, which means Evan’s doing double shifts.

At the end of the day, he comes into the office, sees me, says an awkward hello, and then grabs his guitar and leaves.

“Well,” I say to Sammie later. “He’s one for the history books. So much for friendship. I guess I am on my own this year.”

She crawls onto her bed. “I’m sorry I’m leaving.”

“Would you stop apologizing?” I sit down next to her. “It’s not your fault.”

“What are you going to do without me?” Sammie says it with a laugh, but I know the question is real.

“I’m less worried about myself and more worried about the Drama Department. Who’s going to be their lead this year? Have you told them you’re not going back?”

“Don’t remind me. It’s the only reason I’ve decided to enroll at the school in Morton Grove. Well, that and the fact that my mom and I negotiated that I could have my Instagram account back after she saw that all my photos really were about fashion.”

“No GED?”

“Nah. My mom convinced me to give it a few months, and if I don’t like it, I can try for my certificate.”

“Good.”

“Why good?”

“I’d miss seeing you onstage.”

“What about you?” Sammie says. “What’s your plan for survival this year?”

I shrug. “Join the Olympiads. Take Physics Two. Learn coding so I can avoid any future online scandals. Embrace the reality that I like my science classes, even though it’s something that would please my dad.”

“Ha. As long as you don’t stress too much about it.”

“I’m going to try not to.”

“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.”