Rules We're Meant to Break

by Natalie Williamson

  “I definitely do,” I say. “And it was no problem. I’ll see you Monday, okay?”

  “See you, Amber!” she says. “C’mon, Ringo.” And she tugs Ringo toward the doors. He walks by her side in an almost perfect heel all the way to them, only stopping to lunge once as they pass a woman with a chihuahua coming inside.

  When they’re gone, I go in search of Stephanie. I find her at her desk, poring over a thick stack of paper. She looks up when I knock on the door and smiles, waving me in and then holding out a hand to Buffy to beckon her over.

  “Hey, kid,” Stephanie says, as Buffy sniffs her hand and then rests her head in her lap so that it’s easy for Steph to rub her ears. “I was wondering when you were going to bring this cutie in to see me.”

  “She comes with me to my Thursday night thing, so I figured I’d pick her up before we came in.”

  “I’m glad you did. Gotta get all my Buffy time in this year, before you guys go off to college and leave me to find some new trainers.”

  “Yeah,” I say, trying to laugh and not doing a very good job. “Totally.”

  Steph looks up at me. “Everything okay in college land? You know I would love nothing more than to keep you two here forever so we can train all the puppies in Wichita to be as good as the Buffster. But not if I have to listen to you fake-laugh like that.”

  I laugh for real this time. Ever since Steph told me about the behavioral science program at KU, she’s been joking about somehow getting me to stick around in town for school. But I know she doesn’t mean it. She knows how much I want to go, even if she doesn’t know all the reasons why.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I found out I got into KU this week, actually.”

  “That’s great!”

  “Yeah. The financial aid package wasn’t as good as I was hoping, but I’ll figure out how to make it work. I’ve been applying for more scholarships, and I started researching apartments and jobs up there. I wanted to ask you about a pet store I read about, actually.”

  Stephanie smiles at me. “Pet Universe?”

  “Yeah.” I scoot aside a pile of papers so I can sit down on her desk. “You’ve heard of it?”

  She nods. “Of course. They’ve been around since the eighties, I think. I worked for them my junior year when I was in undergrad. It’s what made me sure I wanted to open my own store someday. I’ve been meaning to tell you to check it out, actually, but you’ve been so busy during your shifts that I haven’t gotten a chance.”

  “Everything I’ve read about them sounds amazing,” I confess. “Would you mind being a reference for me if I apply? They already have applications up for next fall, I guess since they get a lot of students who work just for the school year.”

  Stephanie narrows her eyes at me. “I hope you mean when you apply, not if. And of course I’ll be your reference. You didn’t even need to ask, kiddo. That’s a given.”

  “Thanks, Steph,” I say, a little overwhelmed by the matter-of-fact kindness in her tone.

  “You’re welcome.” She grins at me and tosses Buffy a treat. “Now get back out on the floor for a little bit before you go, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, smiling as I push myself off the desk.

  As I head back out to the front of the store with Buffy at my side, I can’t help thinking of rule number one. I don’t want to jinx it, but I think my horizon just got a little brighter.

  * * *

  I get caught up helping a customer toward the end of my shift, so I don’t actually end up leaving work until 7:55. When I realize the time I shoot off a quick text to Jordan to let him know Buffy and I will be a few minutes late.

  No worries, he says, but I feel guilty anyway and drive ten over the speed limit to minimize how long I leave him hanging.

  The garage door is open when I pull up to the curb in front of Jordan’s house, and light is spilling out onto the driveway. I cut the engine and sit for a second, fighting off a rush of nervousness as I try to psych myself up to go in.

  “This is no big deal,” I say to Buffy, who is sitting primly in the backseat. “It’s just Jordan. And he told me not to feel bad about Friday, so I totally shouldn’t. Right?”

  Buffy tips her head to the side and blinks at me in the rearview mirror, clearly skeptical. I sigh. Maybe it’s not too late to bail?

  But then she looks up at the house and barks, and I see that Jordan is standing at the top of the driveway, watching us. A second later my phone vibrates in the cup holder, and I pick it up to find a text from him.

  Hey, creeper.

  I grin in spite of myself. Okay, so it’s too late to bail. And maybe I’ve been making a bigger deal out of this than I should be.

  “I’m not a creeper,” I call as I get out of the car and open the back door to let Buffy out.

  “Just giving you a hard time,” Jordan says, watching as we come up to meet him. “Looked like the two of you were having a pretty serious conversation in there. Everything okay?”

  “Fine.” I follow him into the garage. “It’s just been a long week.”

  He eyes me for a second. “All right. We should try to make this quick, then.”

  “Oh no, we don’t have to,” I blurt, and then I realize how desperate that sounds and heat rushes to my face. “I mean, it’s fine. I’m not in a hurry or anything.”

  There’s a beat of silence, and then he says, “Okay.”

  I feel strange and off-balance as I settle into my usual spot on the work bench, and judging by the stiff way Jordan holds himself as he slides in next to me I’m not the only one feeling awkward. I’m even more aware of him than usual, which is saying something, but I force myself to focus on the assignment he needs me to read. It takes a while, but I do finally start to relax. And as I start to get more comfortable, so does he, until it almost feels like we’ve traveled back in time to last week, when we were talking about our dreams.

  That feeling makes me brave, so when we get to a stopping point between assignments I say, “So. You want to take a break and shoot around for a bit?”

  It’s the first time I’ve ever been the one to suggest this, and I don’t let myself think too hard about why. I just know that I could go for a game of horse right now and the inevitable conversation that would come along with it. I find myself holding my breath, hoping he says yes.

  It takes a long time for him to answer, and when he does he won’t meet my gaze. “No, that’s okay. We’ve only got one more paper to read through, and it’s been a long day. Better to just finish up, don’t you think?”

  “Oh,” I say, letting my breath out in a whoosh, my heart sinking. “Right, yeah. That makes sense.”

  “Right,” he says, fiddling with that tear on the seat. “Great.”

  He doesn’t sound like he means it, but I don’t push. I just settle back into work and tell myself it’s better this way. This thing we’re doing, it was starting to push against the rules too much. Better to curb that impulse now than to keep going. Because this rejection? It hurts. But it would hurt more if I had really let him be an exception.

  nineteen

  The next night Hannah comes over for our traditional pre-Christmas sleepover, which we’ve done every year since second grade. We watch Disney movies and exchange presents and are generally obnoxious and loud and revert back to our eight-year-old selves. It’s my favorite part of the holidays because it’s the one thing that’s been the same since I was a little kid.

  We’ve barely gotten the snacks laid out and the first movie going when Mom yells down the stairs that Cammie is here to spend the night. Hannah and I exchange confused glances. While Cammie has come over for dinner every night she’s supposed to be here since that first time, she has yet to stay over. I don’t remember her saying anything about spending the night when she was here on Tuesday, but I was so distracted by the whole KU thing that I could have easily missed something.

  “We should invite her to hang out with us,” Hannah says.

  “Are you serious?
” I ask, looking at her. “No.” I don’t bother to add that tonight is me and Hannah’s time. That I look forward to this sleepover every year, with no intrusions by Mom or her boyfriend or his kids. I don’t add this because I shouldn’t have to. Hannah should already know.

  “Why not?” Hannah asks. “You hung out with her at Jordan’s on Thanksgiving.” There is a challenge in her tone that I don’t like, a reminder that she’s still mad about me turning down Jordan’s invite after the game last weekend. We still haven’t talked about that, even though I can tell she wants to. I’m worried that if we talk about Jordan, we’ll have to talk about everything we’ve been avoiding, including the fact that I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to be my roomie next year anymore. So I’ve been changing the subject every time she brings it up.

  I know it’s stupid, but I just want things to stay normal for a little while longer, even though with all this awkwardness lingering between us they really aren’t.

  “That was different. They’ve been friends since they were in diapers. It would have been weird not to invite her. I was being nice.”

  Hannah narrows her eyes at me. “Okay, well, this is her house. And I think we should let her know that, if she’s interested, we will be screening Disney movies and romantic comedies in her basement all night. It’s the nice thing to do. Don’t you think?”

  I open my mouth and snap it closed again. I can’t believe she’s throwing my words back at me. “Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “But you can tell her that. Not me.”

  “Great!” Hannah says, and before I can stop her she’s out of the recliner and up the stairs. She goes so fast that Buffy doesn’t even move from her spot on the floor to follow her. She just looks at me, her brown eyes confused, like she doesn’t get what all the fuss is about.

  “I don’t either,” I tell her, and she tips her head to the side so her tags jingle, like she’s telling me she understands.

  Five minutes later Hannah’s back downstairs with Cammie in tow. She shoots me a challenging smile, then turns to Cammie and says, “Welcome to girls’ night. I hope you like Mulan, because that’s what we’re watching first. Amber’s pick.”

  Cammie eyes me for a second, and I bristle at the cool expression on her face. “That’s one of my favorites, actually,” she says.

  Hannah grins. I look away, back at the TV. It’s going to be a long night.

  We make it through Mulan fine, and when it’s over Hannah insists we rewatch the “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” part three times. Normally I love this part—actually normally I’m the one who insists we watch that clip over and over again—but tonight it grates on my nerves. I want this movie to be over so Cammie will go upstairs and leave us alone.

  But that doesn’t happen, because when Hannah finally gets tired of swooning over Shang, she says, “I think Cammie should pick the next movie. Amber, you good with that?”

  And I say yes, because saying anything else would be rude, and for the next few minutes, while Cammie debates what to pick, I sit and seethe in silence, wondering how this night went so wrong.

  She picks Tangled, which gets me a raised eyebrow from Hannah because Tangled is another one of my favorites and I’m sure she thinks this is a sign that Cammie and I are destined to be friends. But it isn’t, I want to shout. Because that’s against the rules. The RULES, Hannah! Don’t you remember them?

  I don’t though, because if I did Hannah would point out that I’ve been having trouble with the rules where a certain someone is concerned this year. So it’s better to keep my mouth shut.

  When the movie ends, Hannah flips on the lamp on the end table by her and reaches down for her overnight bag. She starts digging in it and finally comes up with a small package in hand. “Ha!” she says, and tosses it at me. “Here.”

  I hesitate for a second, not wanting to do this little ritual in front of Cammie. But Hannah raises her eyebrows at me so I grab my own little package from the back of the couch and toss it at her, a little harder than I should. “Here’s yours.”

  “Is it someone’s birthday?” Cammie asks, looking very confused.

  “Nope,” Hannah says.

  “So what are the presents for?”

  “Christmas.” I open mine and laugh. I can’t help it. “Darth Vader? Nice.”

  Hannah holds up hers. “Bugs Bunny! I’ve missed this guy.”

  “Wait,” Cammie says, and I look over at her. She’s looking from Hannah to me and back again. “You guys give each other bobbleheads?”

  “Yup,” Hannah says, grinning. “See, my dad has this bobblehead problem. Like, he’s gotten me bobbleheads for Christmas every year since I was five.”

  “And,” I jump in, because I love this story, “the year we turned eight, he started getting them for me too. And not just one.”

  “Oh no,” Hannah says. “Like a ton of them. ‘They’re collector’s items, Hannah,’” she adds in a perfect imitation of her dad. It’s so good I lose it all over again and a little bit of my irritation with her goes away.

  “And he still gets these for you?”

  “No, he stopped last year. But we have so many and we never got the same thing, so we started trading. How old were we? Thirteen?”

  “Twelve,” I say. “The Star Wars ones are our favorites.”

  Cammie takes a second to process this. Then she goes, “Huh.” Which sets Hannah and I off again.

  After that, Hannah decides we should put in another movie. “My pick this time,” she says, getting up and going over to the rows of movies. She’s quiet for a few moments and then she says, “Ha!” and puts one in. I know what it is as soon as I hear Al Green over the opening credits. Love & Basketball.

  “That’s an interesting choice,” Cammie says, raising an eyebrow, and my whole face burns.

  I keep quiet, staring at the TV until my vision starts to blur. I miss the first ten minutes or so of the movie because I’m not paying attention to anything except keeping my face blank. By the time I tune back in, it’s almost to the high school years, and Hannah and Cammie are having an intense conversation about Omar Epps and his hotness.

  “He’s definitely on my boyfriend list,” Hannah’s saying.

  “Boyfriend list?”

  “Yeah. Don’t you have one?” Out of the corner of my eye I see her nod toward me. “Amber does, but hers are all fictional. Like Barry Allen and Harry Potter.”

  “Oh,” Cammie says. “I’ve never made an official one, but I see what you mean. My number one would probably be Paul Walker, may he rest in peace.” I raise my eyes at her in surprise and she says, “What? I like The Fast and the Furious movies, okay?”

  Hannah nods, holds her hand over her heart for a brief second, and then grins approvingly. “Noah Centineo for me. That boy is so good-looking.”

  We make it through almost all of the rest of the movie in silence, with only the occasional comment about something funny or hot on the screen. It gets so close to the end that I think maybe it really was a coincidence that Hannah picked this movie and I’m being paranoid for no reason. But then we hit the part where Monica challenges Quincy to a game of one-on-one for his heart.

  “So, Amber,” Hannah says. “Is this how your games with Jordan go?”

  Startled, I blink at her for a few seconds while emotional music comes out of the speakers. “What?”

  “Your one-on-one games. Are they this intense?”

  “No,” I snap, glaring at her.

  “No,” Cammie agrees, and I shoot her a grateful look, surprised she’s backing me up on this. But then she adds, “I’d say it’s more like that earlier scene, where they strip while they play.” And I remember why rule number two exists in the first place.

  “Yeah, well,” I say, “in case you weren’t paying attention, nobody asked you.”

  She jerks back like I’ve slapped her, and I catch Hannah’s expression out of the corner of my eye. Like she doesn’t even know who I am anymore. Pretty ridiculous, since this whole si
tuation is her fault.

  What feels like an eternity but is really only about five minutes later, the movie ends and I hurry to get up and take it out of the Blu-ray player. Hannah gets up too and flips on the lights. The sudden brightness makes me squint. I stay on the floor in front of the TV instead of going back to my seat, hoping my outburst means this charade is finally over.

  “Well,” Hannah says, clearing her throat. “Thanks for hanging out with us.” She says it nicely, but it’s clearly a dismissal, and Cammie thankfully gets the hint.

  “Yeah,” she says. “Thanks for letting me. It was—fun.” She yawns big and long. “I’m gonna go up to bed. Night.”

  Hannah waits until we can’t hear Cammie’s footsteps anymore before she rounds on me. “What is your problem?”

  “My problem?” I ask, whipping my head around to look at her. “Are you kidding me?”

  Hannah stares at me. “Uh, no, I’m not.”

  “My problem,” I say, mimicking her tone, “is that you invited her down here when you knew I didn’t want you to.”

  “You said it was okay!”

  “Only after you backed me into a corner!”

  Hannah looks at me for a second, blinking rapidly like maybe that will make my angry mood go away. “God, Amber, you know what? You really need to get over this.”

  “This?” I say, using air quotes. “What is ‘this,’ Hannah?”

  “This is the way you explode at everyone anytime you have one second of connection with whoever your mom is dating, or his family, or, God, his neighbor or something. And you know what? I am tired of it, Amber. I get that it sucks for you to have all these people come and go, but you make it so much harder than it needs to be!” She takes a step toward me. “That girl is nice. Tonight was fun. Sue me for trying to be nice to someone you have to live with. And Jesus, Amber, what if things really do work out with your mom and Kevin and you have to deal with Cammie long-term? What are you going to do then?”