Being Friends with Boys

by Terra Elan McVoy

  I wait, to make sure she’s really done. She’s so angry I can hear her whole body trembling through the phone, and I don’t want to set her off on another rant against me.

  “Are you still there?” she says, quieter.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, are you going to say anything?” She still has an edge to her voice, but she’s calmer.

  “I just didn’t know you felt all that, I guess,” I manage. Careful.

  She laughs, bitter. “Yeah, well. I don’t think I always did either. But”—I hear her take a deep breath—“it’s not like it makes much difference.”

  Her breathing calmer helps me breathe calmer too.

  “It makes a difference to me,” I say. “I mean, I understand a lot better, actually. Why you’re so—you know. You always got angry at what felt like nothing, before.”

  “Well, when she left, that’s all I was. Angry. But Dad needed help and you had middle school to deal with, so I guess I didn’t . . . I don’t know.”

  I picture us back then: frozen dinners, learning how to do laundry, Jilly always having to make sure Dad actually got up. “Are you glad?”

  “What?”

  “Not to have to take care of us anymore?”

  “It’s not like that. I mean, there are other things to take care of now. Harder things, in a way. Different things. And besides, Dad is so much better, and look at you—singing in rock bands. Good thing I’m here in hard-core-musician land. It’ll help me keep up with my baby sister.”

  Her joking means that everything is really okay now.

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  “But, hey, believe it or not, I’ve been hanging out with Darby and Gretchen more, and they’ve been pretty cool. Ever since Gretchen broke up with the Wrestler, she’s much less bitchy.”

  “God, about time.” Jilly half groans. “I should call her.”

  And it hits me that I’m not the only sibling who might be missing Jilly, or who Jilly might miss. So I catch her up on Darby and Gretchen, then tell her about Benji, how fun it is to joke with him, and the Fabian thing too, which she laughs about but says nobody could blame me for. About Trip she just groans and says it’s annoying but pretty normal for a guy to ditch his girl friend when he gets a girlfriend.

  When we hang up, I feel confident enough to call Taryn. It’s just her voice mail, but I tell her that if we practice twice a week, I can probably do it. So long as Oliver doesn’t kill me for cutting back on Sad Jackal.

  Chapter Fourteen

  There are slightly fewer people at Oliver’s car in the morning, so there isn’t as much jockeying for position. I’m glad, since yesterday was such a whirlwind on a lot of levels, and I’m ready to get back to normal. Oliver spends the whole time talking to a bunch of new guys hanging around, and Lish dominates my attention once again, so it’s hard to tell what’s up between me and him, but things seem okay. Later, when I meet Lish for lunch, we don’t go off campus, but just hang out around Kiaya’s car. One of the girls shoots video of everyone talking in fake accents, and it’s fun, again, to be playing around with Lish like nothing happened.

  But something has happened. Kind of. At least with me, and joining Taryn and Sylvia. So at the end of the day, I psyche myself up to tell Oliver about reducing my rehearsal time. Taryn called me back late last night, and she and Sylvia and I are getting together. So I need to tell him.

  Like yesterday, however, Oliver’s not waiting for me outside of psych. Instead, he sneaks into his desk ten seconds before the late bell. At the end of class, he’s up and out like the building’s on fire. I only catch up to him because some football player stops him in the hall to say he totally scored thanks to one of our songs Friday night.

  “You got something after school?” I ask when Oliver turns to head out.

  “Doctor,” he grumbles.

  “Okay, well, I’ll walk you. I kind of need to talk.”

  He doesn’t look at me.

  “It’s about the band. I need to cut back on rehearsal time.”

  I’m getting out of breath, trying to keep up with him.

  “We’ll figure it out.” It’s like he’s a robot.

  “Well, I know you need to go now, but call me later? So we can talk about it? I can still write and everything and it’s not like . . .”

  “Okay, Spider. But I really gotta go.”

  I stop where I am, since I’ve got to turn around and go to the lower lot, anyway. He shoots forward without waving or looking back, and all I can think is What is it now?

  Wednesday morning, Oliver has neither called me nor responded to my When can we talk? text, but I let it go. I feel like I need as little drama going on today as possible. And at first it starts that way. We’re almost late for school in the morning, so I don’t see anyone first thing. During lunch, too, everything’s normal—well, my new kind of normal, where I hang out with Lish and the other girls. I want to tell them, a little, about my thing with Taryn and Sylvia this afternoon, but decide not to, since I’m not sure how it will go. Instead I let myself relax and just enjoy myself. I forget, even, that we haven’t been friends all semester.

  But after fifth period, before psych, I find a note from Lish in my locker.

  Hey you! I didn’t want to say anything in

  front of the other girls, and I still won’t,

  but I just wanted you to know that I

  think it is really cool—and, hello? ABOUT

  TIME—about you and O. Of courz it’s

  under wraps, but I’m just EEEEEEEE

  for you, you know? But like I said, your

  secret is safe with me as long as you

  want it to be. We should talk more about

  this though. Call me later!

  Xoxoxox Lishfish

  Um. What?

  I read it again. If it weren’t definitely in Lish’s handwriting, I’d think it was a practical joke, though I’m not sure who would play this kind of joke on either me or Oliver. Why would anyone think we were together? Nothing even remotely romantic has ever happened between us.

  But if Lish thinks something’s up, that means someone else does too. She had to hear it from somewhere, right? So does that mean Oliver’s heard it too? And is that why he’s been so bizarre? God. He doesn’t have to act like I’m a leper. This is so stupid.

  Unless—my stomach crashes—he somehow thinks I want it to be true?

  I shove the note into my bag and move in the direction of psych, though part of me considers skipping. The whole thing is stupid, obviously, except that Oliver clearly doesn’t think so. If that’s what he’s being weird about. I mean, it could be something else. Maybe he doesn’t even know. But he’s obviously tweaked about something. I need to find out more about what Lish heard, and from whom. If it’s not a big deal, then I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it with him, because then it will just be more awkward for both of us.

  So this time I’m the one who’s unable to look over at his side of the room when I slip in just before the bell, because I don’t know how to arrange my face. We continue ignoring each other during class, and when it’s over I hover around Ms. Neff’s desk, pretend I have a question for her, just so he doesn’t have to work so hard at avoiding me this time. I don’t like acting like this, and I don’t like him acting like this, but I don’t know how to fix it yet, so.

  Speed walking to the lower lot, I text Lish, CALL ME ASAP. I probably won’t get to talk to her until after practice. All I can do is pray she’s not hanging out with Oliver and the guys after school. Even though she said my “secret” is safe, I can just picture her trying to let on to Oliver that she knows all about what’s going on. If—god—she hasn’t done that already.

  It’s not until I’m walking up the three short concrete steps of Sylvia and Taryn’s house that the wave of nerves sweeps over me. I stand still a second, taking deep breaths. This is going to be completely different than singing with Sad Jackal, and I haven’t had a
lot of time to process it. These are cool girls who I barely know, not my best friend from fifth grade. What if I mess up? What if they decide they don’t really like me as much as they thought they did? What if the stuff they do isn’t something I can sing well?

  But I can’t stand here like an idiot. I press the doorbell.

  Some girl I’ve never seen before answers. She’s holding a giant plastic cup and sipping out of it with a bendy straw, which she talks around.

  “Are you Charlotte?”

  “Yes.”

  She holds open the door. “They’re downstairs.”

  “Are you playing too?” I ask.

  “I’m just part of the entourage.”

  She leads me to the dim kitchen, papered with vintage cookbook pages. On the opposite side, a door opens onto some stairs. Taryn’s head appears at the bottom.

  “Hey hey! We’ve been waiting for you!”

  I head down and let Taryn hug me. Over her shoulder, I see her synthesizer set up. Sylvia’s sitting on a stool, tuning her guitar.

  “So, what do you think?” Taryn says, spreading her arms wide.

  “This house is awesome. How many people live here?”

  “Right now, four of us. Veronica you just met. There were five but Megan and Ginger broke up. Believe it or not, renting this place is cheaper than on-campus housing.”

  I pretend to follow what she’s saying.

  “You’ll meet everyone in a little while. In fact, I don’t know where they are.” She squints at Sylvia.

  “They went to get some food, remember?”

  Taryn sighs, looking at me. “We have a lot of craziness in this house, if you couldn’t tell.”

  I have no response to this.

  “So . . . what is it you had in mind for us to play?” I ask.

  “Mostly we do covers,” Sylvia explains. “We’re an homage band, really.”

  “But an homage to the ladies.” Taryn’s eyebrows go up and down.

  I’m trying to remember what “homage” means, and also what cover songs I know. Probably Trip would strangle me for not thinking of any.

  “Anyway,” Sylvia says. “We only do songs sung by women, but we like to go all over the place with it. Dolly Parton. Rihanna. Neko Case. Katy Perry. Courtney Love. We wanted you on board because I can’t sing worth a damn—”

  “And apparently I can’t either,” Taryn finishes, “because we’re not getting anywhere.”

  “Um, I don’t think I can sing like Katy Perry,” I say.

  “You don’t have to,” Sylvia says. “The way we mix things up, you can barely recognize the original.”

  “Which is the beauty of it!” Taryn claps.

  Sylvia stands up and brings a sheaf of papers over to me, along with a wireless mic. “Here’s lyrics.”

  I flip through the pages. Over half the songs I’ve never even heard of. It is funny that there’s a Taylor Swift one in there, though. And an eighties band Mom used to like.

  “I might know this Heart one a little,” I tell them. “Can we start there?”

  “Let’s see what you’ve got,” Sylvia agrees.

  When Taryn begins playing, it doesn’t sound at all like the cheesy song I remember, but when Sylvia starts, I know a little better where I am.

  My first line comes out raspy and unsure, so I take another deep breath, try to calm down. My brain is divided between the song and the memory of Mom singing along in the car, Jilly harmonizing, me pretending to play the guitar. The windows down, all three of us happy. When I get to the chorus, it’s hard not to close my eyes, clench my fist, and squeeze the words out with deep passion, the way Mom would in the front seat.

  Upstairs, there’s the sound of people tromping in over our heads. I make myself keep singing. “These dreams,” I croon while the four of them come down and plop on the couches and watch me. One of them gives me a huge grin. Even though I’m still trying to concentrate, I can’t help smiling back.

  I get to the end. Taryn and Sylvia fade out. The girls on the couch applaud.

  “That was terrific!” one chirps.

  “Good call, TeeTee,” another says to Taryn, but pointing at me.

  Taryn is beaming at me. “That was perfect.”

  “Don’t hold back on the cheese, either,” Sylvia says. “I saw you clench your fist at that one part. Follow that kind of instinct. That’s the sort of thing we want.”

  Taryn bounces on her toes. “Can we please please please do ‘Drown Soda’ now?” She puts her hands together in prayer under her chin, batting her eyes at me.

  “Okay, but I don’t really know how it—”

  “Just do it like you’re talking, if you want. Or whatever. And remember we asked you to be here,” Sylvia says.

  The girls on the couch all encourage me too. They shift around, get more comfortable, draping arms or legs over each other, like a pack of kittens. Being here, among these girls, I feel this wild sense of abandon.

  Taryn starts playing again, a bagpipe sound. Sylvia nods at me to come in, and I do: “Oooh yeah, he wants to take you . . .”

  The next hour is absolutely great. The more I ham it up, the more the girls on the couch all cheer. By the end, I’m jutting my hip way out in the air and making emotional hand gestures. When we finish the last song, I take a deep bow, flinging my hair back over my head.

  “You are an absolute doll,” a freckle-faced girl squeals at me. “Come over here and tell us all about yourself.”

  “Yes, do.” Taryn drapes her arm around my neck and leads me over to the couch. “It’s so loud at the club, we never really get to talk.”

  I feel like I’ve got a head rush, the kind you have after a really good pillow fight. It’s hard to know what to say.

  “Well, what do you want to know?”

  “Tell us about Sad Jackal. How did that start?” Taryn leans in.

  I tell them about Abe and Oliver, and the three of us knowing each other since middle school. I tell them about Trip moving here last January, and how the three of them formed a group. About the poems I wrote for Mrs. Stenis, and Oliver wanting to use them for songs. Then me coming in to organize all the gigs this summer too.

  “Wait now.” Sylvia stops me. “He takes your lyrics? And sings them himself? Doesn’t give you any credit?”

  I shake my head. “It isn’t like that. Oliver and I have just been friends for so long, and he knows I—”

  Freckle Face tsks. Even Taryn looks like I’ve made some kind of mistake.

  I stammer. “It—it’s not like he tells people he wrote them.”

  “Not in front of you.” Freckle Face snorts.

  I think of Oliver’s vague, not-wholly-true answer to that guy in the parking lot Monday. I have never once not trusted him. But being surrounded by all these disapproving girls, a creepy feeling comes over me.

  I don’t want to turn traitor on my friend, though. My friend who’s stuck around through all sorts of changes in our lives and could’ve ditched me at any point along the way, just like Lish did.

  “Well, I sing with them now, so—”

  “You sing great,” Taryn says for what feels like the twelfth time. “I just think you shouldn’t automatically give all your talent away like that.”

  “Especially not to a bunch of dumbass high school boys,” one of the girls adds.

  “Any boys.” Sylvia.

  “Boys aren’t so bad,” Taryn chirps. “We heart Fabian, right?”

  Fabian, whom I still haven’t had the nerve to call or text back. God, he must think I’m terrible.

  “Fabian’s different,” roomate Veronica says. “Fabian is transcendent.”

  “There are plenty of good guys out there,” Sylvia says, cutting off the chatter. “The thing is”—she turns to me—“you’re acting like a sidekick to this Oliver guy. When, really, you are the superhero.”

  Sidekick. It’s funny to hear that word in Sylvia’s mouth. I’ve always thought of myself that way, with Oliver. Been proud of it, even.
But now it sounds like a bad thing.

  When I get home, I run up to my room to call Lish. She sent three texts while I was at practice, all of them saying, Where R U?

  “I’m glad you’re not at dinner,” I tell her when she answers.

  “No, but we’re about to be, so I can’t talk long. But, you know, ohmygod EEEEEEE.”

  I have to pull the phone away from my head, she’s so loud.

  “Ohmygod EEEEE nothing. Who told you that we were?”

  “You don’t have to act innocent with me.”

  “I’m not acting innocent,” I spit. “There isn’t anything to be acting innocent about. We are not together. Never. No way.”

  “Please. I see how he practically walks away whenever you come over. I mean, you two are so far undercover that even Eli looked at me like I was crazy.”

  “You said something to Eli?” I try not to screech.

  “I figured he already knew.”

  “And that’s ‘keeping my secret safe’ how?”

  “How am I supposed to know who knows what? You won’t say anything.”

  “I’m telling you, there isn’t anything to know.”

  “Oh crap, my mom’s calling me. I gotta run.”

  She cannot hang up now. “Listen to me, Lish. You have to tell people that it’s not true. Okay?”

  “Well, that’s gonna be a little hard.” It’s almost like she’s laughing at me. “Everyone saw you two up there at the dance.”

  So that’s it.

  “Just because we sing together doesn’t mean—”

  “Listen, my mom is about to have an aneurysm. I’ll be on later if you want to chat some more.”

  “I mean it, Lish. You have to help me out on this.”

  “Okay, but right now I gotta go.”