by Cameron Lund
We walk into Kai’s room and he shuts the door. It feels a bit like being in an enemy lair. It’s nothing special, typical boy stuff: a guitar in one corner, poorly taped pictures of surfers on gigantic life-threatening waves, dirty laundry strewn on the floor. He’s got the same Endless Summer poster as Jordan, and I wonder if they got them together. Still, I look around, soaking it in, like all these little pieces of him are clues that might help me destroy him.
He kicks a pile of laundry under the bed and sits down. Then he stands back up and pushes his desk chair in my direction, patting the seat like I’m a dog. I roll my eyes, but sit anyway. I don’t want to follow his instructions, but more than that, I don’t want to sit next to him on the bed.
We look at each other for a minute. I feel like I’m trying to read his mind. I wish I could see into it, could play his memories back like in that episode of Black Mirror.
“So,” he says. “Last night was . . . weird, huh?” He smooths his fingers down his pant legs.
“I don’t know if weird is the word I’d use.” I cross my arms.
“Did you get home okay after everything? Jordan kicked me out, so I couldn’t stay over, obviously. I got a ride home with some of the soccer guys and then felt like an idiot for leaving you.” He smiles faintly, as if everything is okay. How can he treat this like it’s something worth smiling about?
“No, I didn’t get home okay,” I say. “Spent the night on a lawn chair, actually.”
Kai’s face turns red. “Are you serious?” He stands and takes a step toward me, holding out his arms like he might try to give me a hug, but then thinks better of it and sits back down. “I’m sorry. You could have called me.”
“It’s fine.” There’s no way I would ever ask for Kai’s help with anything. “I survived the elements.”
“I can’t believe they didn’t bring you inside, though. That doesn’t seem like Jordan.”
“It’s not his fault. He thought I left.”
“Oh.” He cracks his knuckles again. “So did you guys talk everything out, then?”
“He broke up with me. If that’s what you mean.”
“Oh, fuck,” Kai says. He runs a hand down his face. “This is all so messed up. This wasn’t how any of this . . .” He trails off, shaking his head and looking down at the navy blue rug. “Have you talked to Olivia?”
“Did you guys break up last night too?”
He pauses for a minute, chewing his lip. “Well, yeah. We’re done, obviously.”
“I’m sorry.” Even though I don’t like Kai, I still feel like a horrible, destructive person for ruining his relationship.
“No, it’s not your fault.”
“But I . . . kissed you. Right?” The words make my face flame with heat. It is so strange to be talking about this.
“I kissed you back,” he says. “We’re both equal-opportunity assholes here, okay?”
It’s weird that he’s being so nice to me. I’m not used to it. I feel like this peace offering between us is made of glass—that at any moment it will shatter, shards scattering all over the carpet at our feet.
But right now, we’re on the same side.
“I just feel bad that I came between you guys.”
“I mean, it’s not . . . Wait.” Kai chews on the side of his fingernail. “What can you remember about last night?” He takes out his phone and starts tapping it against his palm.
“I don’t know,” I say, looking down because eye contact right now feels excruciating. “I remember kissing you, I think. We were in the laundry room. And then . . .” I strain, trying to make the memory sharper—Olivia opening the door, the sound of her shouting. “Olivia saw us. I think she was crying.” The thought makes me sick, and I shake it away.
“Oh,” he says. “Okay.” He keeps tapping the phone against his palm. Tap-tap-tap. I want to grab it out of his hands to make him stop. It’s like he always has an incessant need to make noise.
“What happened, Kai?” I know we kissed, but what I don’t understand is why. That’s what I’m really asking: How did we get here? Why the hell did I kiss you?
“You got sick,” he says. “I found you throwing up in that little bathroom off the side of the laundry room.”
I wince at his words. Of all people to find me puking. He probably ran and told everyone about it—that’s why they’re all calling me that name again. It’s hard to breathe all of a sudden, and I know I’m going to cry. “You could have kept it to yourself.” I’m mad he escaped the party last night—that he didn’t have to deal with any of this morning’s repercussions. I had to live through everything twice.
“I was trying to help you. I cleaned you up, got you some mouthwash.”
“Yeah, and then you told everyone you saw me puking.”
He narrows his eyes. “I don’t know where you’re getting that idea from.”
“Where do you think?” I snap. The tears are falling now because I can’t hold them in as I think about how this morning was supposed to feel, my future with Jordan brighter than ever. I hate that I’m crying in front of Kai. I look so weak.
“Hey, that’s not what happened. I don’t call you that stupid name anymore, you know. This isn’t middle school.”
“Yeah, instead you just call me fake and shallow, which is so much better.” I cross my arms.
“Come on, that’s not what this is about.” He smiles again, and I don’t understand it. “Besides, you can’t hate me that much based on the way you jumped my bones last night.”
“I did not jump your anything.” The tears have stopped now, replaced by buzzing, red anger. This is so typical. Kai has never bothered to care about anything else in his life—why would he care about this?
“You wanted me.” He is full-out laughing now, his eyes twinkling. “You can admit it.”
“This isn’t funny,” I say.
“It’s a little funny.” He reaches out like he’s actually going to touch me.
I scoot farther away from him. “No. It isn’t. We messed up, Kai. What were we thinking?” Olivia and Jordan. Our two best friends. It doesn’t make any sense. “I wouldn’t cheat on Jordan,” I say. “Especially with you. I don’t even like you.”
“Thanks,” he says, glancing up at me and then returning his gaze back to the rug. “You’ve been pretty clear about that fact, Penelope.” I narrow my eyes at his use of my full name. It feels like an insult, even though it’s my name, a part of me. But Kai is the only person who always insists on using it. “You can say what you like,” Kai continues, “but the fact is you did cheat on Jordan. You kissed me because some little part of you deep down wanted to, and I guess I wanted to kiss you back. Although I have no idea why, considering you’re the most obnoxious person on the entire planet.”
“Oh, get over yourself,” I say, throwing my hands in the air.
“We can’t change what happened,” Kai says. “Sue me for trying to be a little lighthearted about it. We can’t change the past. So what’s the point of worrying about it? Some of us don’t like to spend our entire lives in a constant state of panic. Some of us like to make jokes and laugh about the shitty situations we can’t fix.”
“Are they really jokes when you’re the only one laughing?”
“Yes!” Kai says, standing up. “I don’t care if I’m the only one laughing. At least I’m laughing. I’m trying to lighten the mood, Penelope.”
“Okay, well . . . darken it a little! My entire life is ruined, Kai. Olivia isn’t talking to me anymore. I threw away everything I had with her, everything I had with Jordan, all because of you? You’re not worth it.”
Kai isn’t smiling anymore, thank god. He’s chewing his bottom lip again, staring down at the carpet. There’s another knuckle crack. “Wow. Okay,” he says.
“I don’t know why I even came over here,” I say, standing abruptly.
I thought maybe talking to Kai would explain everything—that somehow he might have the answers. But I don’t feel better at all. I feel so much worse.
“Yeah, me neither,” Kai says, standing too. “Apparently I ruined your entire life.”
“That’s what I said.” I walk back out into the hallway.
“So this was a huge mistake,” he says.
“Obviously.” I spin around to shut the door in his face, but I’m too slow, and before I can reach out, he slams it closed in mine first.
THEN
JUNIOR YEAR—SEPTEMBER
“WE SHOULD PRANK-CALL the boys,” Katie says, sprawled out on Olivia’s bed. It’s the first Friday of the first week of school, and we’re having a girls’ night—celebrating the start of junior year with Korean face masks, nail polish, and Disney movies.
Olivia has a TV in her room—something my mom has never allowed—and right now there are icicles shooting out of Elsa’s hands as she twirls around the screen. But we’re barely watching.
Olivia likes to pretend she’s too cool for cartoons—she’s explicitly stated that Disney movies are for middle schoolers—but I’ve caught her singing The Little Mermaid under her breath enough times to know she’s secretly into them too. Sometimes it’s like Olivia puts on this front like she’s older than all of us, as if she’s our sophisticated babysitter teaching us the ways of the world.
The truth is, I’m older than she is by three months.
“No way,” Olivia says. “Prank calls are for middle schoolers.”
Katie looks stung, but lets it roll off her back, pasting a smile on her face. It’s past midnight, and we were all supposed to be asleep hours ago because Olivia has a dentist appointment in the morning. But we don’t care. Myriah and Romina are on the air mattress on the floor, and we’ve piled a bunch of couch cushions for Katie. She’ll eventually move down there—everyone knows Olivia and I always share the bed.
Olivia’s room is amazing—painted a deep purple, twinkling fairy lights crisscrossing the beams on the ceiling. The walls are covered in photographs she’s taken, the pictures of all of us down on the tennis courts, poses that look like stills from a magazine. There’s a particularly beautiful one of Jordan staring down at me from above her bed, and I can’t help but turn away from his gaze. Even a picture of his smile gets me all flustered. It’s pathetic.
“Well, I’m bored,” Katie huffs. “We should do something more fun.”
“I have an idea,” Olivia says, her eyes sparkling. “Penny, give me your phone.”
“Why mine?” I grip my phone a little bit tighter, but then Olivia holds out her hand and I give it to her anyway.
“You have Sarah K’s number, right? From back when you were weird?”
My cheeks flame at her comment. We don’t usually talk about the way things used to be. It’s an unspoken agreement among all of us.
“Yeah, I have her number, but I don’t, like . . . use it or anything.”
I used to hang out with Sarah Kozlowski sometimes back in elementary school. We’d sit together at lunch when I wasn’t eating in the library, protected by a barricade of books. She was the only girl everyone hated more than me because someone saw her pick her nose on the bus and eat it. The fact that Olivia still remembers that friendship between us is so embarrassing.
“Perfect.” Olivia grins. She scrolls through my contacts and then enters Sarah’s number into her phone and starts typing.
“Show it to me!” Myriah squeals. The air mattress makes a farting sound as she sits up, and we all burst out laughing. Olivia turns her phone screen to us.
Hey Sarah, it’s Kai. I got your number from Penny.
“Stop,” I say. “Don’t drag Kai into this.”
It’s a stupid lie anyway. I don’t have Kai’s phone number. I don’t have Jordan’s number either, but that’s because I’m too scared to ask. Olivia has everyone’s number; she’s not scared of anything.
“Too late,” Olivia says. “Already sent.”
She types again. I think you’re so hot. Maybe we can hang out sometime?
“She’s not gonna buy it,” Romina says. “She’s not stupid.”
“She’ll buy it,” Olivia says. “No way a cute guy has ever texted her. This is like Christmas freaking morning.”
“I think she’s Jewish,” Katie says. “Remember? My mom made me invite her to my bat mitzvah because our moms are, like . . . friends or something.”
“Not important, Katie,” Romina says.
“I don’t like this.” Myriah leans forward. “This is mean. Besides, what if she already has Kai’s number? Or yours, Olivia?”
“Sarah Kozlowski does not have my number,” Olivia scoffs. The phone buzzes in her hand, and then she screams. “Oh my god, she texted back!” She holds it out for us to see.
Um, okay dude.
“Boring!” Katie says.
“Wait, she’s still typing.” Olivia holds a finger out, shush-ing us.
You know I have a boyfriend though.
We all scream.
“No way!” Olivia says. “This is too good. Sarah K does not have a boyfriend. She is totally lying.”
“Maybe she does,” Myriah says. “We don’t know her that well.”
“Why do you hate her so much?” Romina asks Olivia.
“She’s a nose picker,” Olivia snaps.
I have a nagging sliver of guilt somewhere in my stomach, a bubbling anxious feeling that won’t go away. Olivia has always had a dark side—I know from experience. But when she likes you—when she’s on your team—she would do anything for you. And the days she used to turn her bite on me are so far in the past it’s like they barely even happened at all. I’m afraid if I say something—if I remind her of who I once was—that girl could come back.
There are only two options, and every girl knows them: you can side with the Olivias of the world, or you can side with the Sarahs. And survival is key. Being on Sarah’s side would mean losing everything—all my friends, my place at the lunch table, the friendly shouts in the hallways, and the weekend plans. It would mean becoming Pukey Penelope again.
So I keep quiet.
“Ugh, you guys are no fun,” Olivia says. “Fine. Whatever. I have another idea.” She sits up straighter on the bed, fluffing the pillows behind her. I don’t like how easily she’s moved on from this Sarah thing—like it barely even registered on her morality radar.
“We should make resolutions for the year,” Olivia says. “Like, pretend it’s New Year’s Eve. Let’s figure out how to have the best fucking junior year ever. Actually, hold on.” She stands and joins Myriah and Romina on the floor, sitting next to them and crossing her legs. “Let’s all sit in a circle.”
Katie and I join her, and then we’re all sitting cross-legged beside the air mattress. Elsa is still singing loudly about letting it go, and Olivia grabs the remote, pausing the movie so we’re plunged into silence.
“Wow, that’s so much better.”
“I love Frozen,” Myriah says. “You guys think you’re too cool for everything.”
“Elsa is hot,” Romina says. “She’s a queer icon. But she’s so loud.”
“Hush, children,” Olivia says. She stands up and grabs a tall candle off the top of her dresser. It’s got the Virgin Mary on it, but with Lady Gaga’s face. I gave it to her for her birthday last year. “We’ve got to light the sacred candle.”
It feels suddenly like we’re in a coven, like we’re witches about to bring someone back from the dead.
“Okay,” Olivia says. “Myriah, you first. What’s your resolution? Tell Gaga your desires and she’ll make them come true.”
Myriah brings her hands up to her long hair, braiding it absentmindedly. She’s in a lavender silk PJ set, matching top and bottom. Myriah is the only person I know w
ho actually wears matching pajamas. I think she’s secretly eighty years old.
“Okay, so I really want to get a better part in The Nutcracker this Christmas. I always get stuck in the ensemble.” She lowers her voice to an almost whisper. “I really think I could be the Sugar Plum Fairy.”
“Fuck yeah, you’re such Sugar Plum material,” Romina says. “It’s in the bag.”
“Also, I want to finish my college apps.”
“Slay those apps, girl!” Romina says.
“And, um, kiss someone.” Myriah’s hands stop braiding, and now she’s holding on to the braid like it’s a lifeline. Her cheeks are bright pink.
“Just kiss them?” Romina leans a little closer.
Myriah lets out a breathy, nervous laugh. “Okay, I want to take them to Soul Mate City.”
“Who?” Katie asks. “Who do you like?”
“Yeah, you’re holding out on us,” Olivia says. “Is it a girl from your dance studio?”
“It’s no one!” Myriah says, the words a little too high in pitch. “I don’t like anyone.”
“Okay, well, I want you guys to finally meet Matt this year,” Katie says, referring to the boyfriend who seems to be allergic to social media.
“Oh, fuck off,” Olivia says. “Matt isn’t real.”
“Yes, he is,” Katie says. “He just doesn’t like getting his picture taken.”
“Sounds like he’s hiding something, if you ask me,” Romina says.
“Are you sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend?” Myriah says gently.
“Yeah, he has a girlfriend,” Katie snaps. “I’m his girlfriend.”
“If you insist,” Olivia says. She turns away from Katie, the conversation closed. “Romina, spill.”
Romina looks down at her fingernails, which were once painted brown and are now horribly chipped. But that’s just Romina. She’s pretty much the only one of us who can get away with dressing like she doesn’t care and still make it look purposeful. My nails are always perfectly groomed, expertly painted to match whatever outfit I’ve planned.