We walk out of school into the freezing November night. We pull our hoods up and run to the car.
“Ice Cream Shop?” my mom asks.
Ari and I look at each other in the backseat, and it feels like my mom is our chauffeur, which makes us totally crack up.
“Ice Cream Shop!” we yell.
It’s freezing outside but it’s definitely a night for ice cream with your friends. Performance nights, parent drama—all call for ice cream. And they have french fries, too. So maybe we’ll get both. Salty and sweet.
We are celebrating, after all.
“I’ll text Jason and tell him to meet us there,” Ari says. “He did help you with your act. And he is our friend.” She laughs.
Our friend.
It has such a nice ring to it.
FORTY-NINE
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” I SQUEAL AS soon as Ari opens her front door. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!”
“Thank you.” She bows. “I am so psyched to set up for our party!”
“Me too.” I follow her down the hallway.
“My dad got these,” Ari says, showing me these cool rainbow lights as soon as we get down to her basement. “I think they’re meant for a dorm room or something. But they’re cool, right?”
I nod. “I picked up streamers and balloons,” I tell her.
“I know we’ve been talking about it for months now,” Ari says as we’re stringing the lights around the room, “but I still can’t believe we are really twelve!”
“Me neither,” I say. “When I was, like, seven, all I wished for was that I was twelve. How dumb is that? But the thing is, twelve always seemed so grown-up, so mature. Ya know?”
Ari nods. “Totally. But is it?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “How do we know if we’re grown-up and mature?”
“No clue.”
“So then maybe we’re not,” I tell her. “Maybe we’d know if we were.”
She shrugs. “I think we are. We’ve done Whole Me Makeovers. That just screams mature.”
“That’s a really good point.”
We stop talking for a bit and continue stringing the lights. Soon, Ari’s mom comes down with bowls of chips and pretzels and bottles of soda.
“Thanks, Mom,” Ari says.
“Pretend I’m not here,” Ari’s mom sings as she puts out the snacks. “I’m not here. I’m invisible.”
I look at Ari, slightly perplexed.
“She’s trying to not meddle so much in my life,” Ari explains. “After we had that whole talk.”
Then I remember—another thing on the list we did separately.
“How did your talk go?” I ask her.
“Well, my mom kind of understood what I was saying. I mean, I think she did. She’s tried to stay out of my business, while still kind of being in my business. If that makes any sense.”
I grab a handful of pretzels and put some glow-in-the-dark stickers above the doorway. “I think it does.”
“She was kind of upset, though,” Ari admits, standing back to inspect her work.
“Really?”
“Yeah, she cried a little, saying she knew this day would come, and she understands and gets it, but it’s hard that I’m not her little girl anymore.” Ari rolls her eyes. For some reason my throat stings a little, and I feel bad for Ari’s mom. I guess that means I feel bad for my mom, too. “I guess she’s glad she still has Gemma.”
“Who still has me?” Right at that second, Gemma comes bursting down the basement stairs, licking one of those giant gobstoppers.
“Gem! Were you listening at the door again?” Ari shrieks.
“No! I came downstairs to get some DVDs. Mom and Dad told me I’m banned from being down here tonight.” She glares at us. “Thank you very much.”
“Get your DVDs and go,” Ari says, doing her best to sound forceful.
Gemma smiles at me, and I smile back. She’s so cute with her blond curls.
“I’m glad you and Ari are friends again,” she says, propping herself up onto the railing. “It was so boring around here.”
“Get out of here!” Ari shouts, and then Gemma jumps down and scurries up the stairs.
I start to wonder if we should prepare Gemma for what’s to come. And maybe it’s more than prepare—maybe it’s help her realize how good she has it now. Maybe we should be reminding her to savor her youth, to really appreciate it.
And then maybe when Gemma reaches middle school, we can help her, so everything doesn’t go crazy the way it did for us.
Ari shakes her head, sprinkling hot pink confetti all over the table. “Gemma does not understand what things should be said aloud, and what things should be kept inside her brain.”
I laugh. “Well, give it time. She’s only in third grade.”
After we’re done with all the decorations, we stand back to survey our work. I put an arm around Ari. “It looks great,” I say.
“Better than great,” she adds. “You have your playlists ready?”
“I do!”
“Let’s JHH,” she says. “I know this wasn’t technically on the list, but we set up and it looks so good, we need something to mark the occasion!”
“I agree completely.”
We told people to come at six, but it’s 6:06 and no one is here yet. My stomach churns. What if no one shows up? Or worse—only, like, two people show up?
“Where is everyone?” I ask Ari.
“No one comes on time,” she explains. “It would look lame.”
“Why? I don’t get that. I like to be on time.”
She shrugs. “I know you do. But it’s a thing—coming fashionably late. Just trust me.”
“Well, what should we do in the meantime?” I ask her, glancing up the stairs to see if anyone is coming in.
“Let’s just look busy,” she says. “Put on music. We’ll start the snacks.”
I turn on our Birthday Party playlist, and we sit down on the couches and drink cups of Cherry Coke and munch on chips. I’m not even hungry. In fact, my stomach hurts and I don’t want to eat, but I need to physically do something so I don’t completely freak out from agita overload.
“’Cause baby, you’re a firework,” Ari and I sing at the same time, using our fists as microphones.
Finally, at 6:12, we hear the doorbell ring, and muffled voices, and then Ari’s mom tell some kids that the party is downstairs.
I grab Ari’s hand, and we eye-bulge at each other. All the Cherry Coke sloshes around in my stomach. I’m afraid I might burp when I’m about to say hello to someone.
Marie and a few of the girls from the other side of the lunch table come down the stairs, holding brightly colored packages.
“Hiiii,” they all sing at the same time. “Happy birthday!”
“Surprise!” It’s Jules from the pool. She continues, “Sydney told me about the party, and I figured it would be okay, right? What’s one more person?”
Ari and I look at each other.
“Sure,” Ari says. “Welcome!”
Marie, Ari, Sydney, Jules, M.W., and I all do an awkward group hug, but I’m glad to be included in it.
Pretty soon after that, June and the friends formerly known as the Whatevers arrive, and they’re so peppy and happy-seeming. I can’t believe they ever seemed whateverish to me.
“It looks amazing down here, you guys,” Cami shrieks. “Seriously amazing! My mom dropped all the Harvey Deli subs upstairs, BTW. Your mom is getting them ready.”
Ari smiles. “Great, thanks so much for bringing those!”
June, Cami, and Saara are all wearing matching glittery eye shadow and pink flare-y skirts.
“We decided to match,” Saara says. “Cute, right?”
I nod. “Definitely cute.”
“Oh, and I found these on sale at the Dollar Store,” June explains, holding up some bizarre decorations of neon cats. “I don’t like cats, but they’re just so weird, I had to bring them.”
One cat is wearing sunglasses and another is wearing a toga. They may be the oddest things I’ve ever seen, and maybe it’s my nerves or these ugly cats—but I start laughing hysterically. June does, too.
“Ugly cats,” June, Saara, Cami, and I say again and again.
I think this is our first private joke.
Soon everyone arrives. The basement is crowded and loud, and there are a thousand conversations happening all at the same time.
I pull Ari to the side. “This is happening,” I tell her.
“I know!” she squeals.
“Everyone came here for us.”
“I know!” she squeals again. “But Noah’s not here yet. . . .”
“He’ll come,” I say, looking around. “He said he’d be here.”
This moment feels big and happy and I want to make sure I appreciate it, make sure I remember it and take notice.
Then, in the middle of my happy, appreciative hug with Ari, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
Ari raises her eyebrows at me; it lets me know exactly who is standing behind me.
I turn around. “Hey, Jason,” I say. My eye gets all twitchy, but I hope it’s only something I can feel and not something he can see.
“Hey,” he replies, a little out of breath. “I brought these.” He hands me a box of the smallest cupcakes I’ve ever seen. They’re all different colors and almost too adorable to eat. “Happy birthday. Again.”
“Thank you,” I say. “These look amazing.”
“They’re the best,” he says, looking around. “Especially the green ones; they taste like candy apples.”
I nod, and it feels like there’s nothing else to say. I’m scanning my brain for something, anything, to talk about, and zero results are coming up.
But then he says, “This is way better than the rec room at the pool, by the way.”
I shrug. “Yeah, probably. I can’t wait to see what it looks like after the renovation!”
“Me too,” he says. “Maybe you can teach clementine-peeling classes there next summer!”
I laugh. “Maybe. You’re the one who suggested that awesome act! I never would’ve thought of doing that.”
He takes a bow.
Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” comes on, and soon everyone at the party is dancing and singing along.
It’s like I got this music in my mind, saying it’s gonna be all right.
My skin prickles and I pull my hair up into a messy bun. I’m singing along and dancing, and Ari’s basement feels like the happiest place in the entire world.
We’re all dancing in a circle, and then Jason grabs my hand, and we’re dancing like that, bopping up and down and holding hands, and it feels so silly, but I don’t even mind. During the chorus, he twirls me under his arm, and I don’t care if anyone is watching us, but I don’t think they are. They’re all having fun and dancing, too.
I, I shake it off, I shake it off.
When the song ends, we’re all out of breath, and everyone runs over to the drinks table to refresh.
“Your playlist is awesome,” I whisper to Jason.
“Of course it is!”
“Subs will be out in ten minutes,” Ari’s mom calls down the stairs.
I look at Ari to see if she’s embarrassed, but I think she’s having too much fun to even care.
“Jason, come here,” I say, after I refill my cup of Cherry Coke. He looks up and raises his eyebrows, like he doesn’t know what’s going on.
“I want to show you something.”
FIFTY
I LEAD JASON TO ARI’S laundry room. There are a few drying racks stacked in the corner. A box of dryer sheets. And the biggest bottle of laundry detergent I’ve ever seen.
Guaranteed to fight stains.
I picture the detergent literally in a battle with a stain—armed with a shield and a bow and arrow or something.
I’m laughing a little to myself, which I know makes me look totally crazy. Jason turns to me and says, “So what’s up?”
His hair is a little slicked back and parted on the side, all perfect. He smiles his sweet, little-boy smile, and I can’t resist smiling, too.
“Just in case a game of hide-and-go-seek breaks out,” I start, trying to act all serious, “this is the absolute best hiding spot.”
“Good to know,” he says, taking a sip of soda. We hear music playing—an Ed Sheeran song that Ari and I were obsessed with last summer.
“So,” I say, nervous about what I plan to say next.
Everything in my heart says to say it, but everything in my brain says not to, because I’m so scared. I don’t want it to be bad again. I don’t want it to be awkward.
“So,” he mimics, and soon we’re both giggling, and he holds up a bottle of Spray & Wash like he’s about to spray me.
“The redo?”
He nods, and we’re still laughing about nothing and everything at the same time.
We both lean in a little, and then Jason’s lips are on my lips.
They taste like root beer.
His lips are on my lips, and they stay there for a second. But they’re there! They really are. It’s not awkward like last time—with half a lip on my nose, and my tooth cutting into his lip.
This is the redo. And it’s going well.
We’re kissing. We really are.
Finally, he pulls away. We look at each other, and I cover my mouth because I feel like I’m about to start laughing again.
“So?” he asks.
I nod. “That was a good redo.”
“It was definitely a good redo.”
“So what happens now?” I ask him.
“What happens with what?”
I hoist myself up onto the washing machine, and Jason sits next to me on the dryer. It’s hard to take yourself that seriously when you’re sitting on boring household appliances. And it’s hard to talk to someone after you’ve kissed them. Your lips have touched. How do you just go back to normal chatting?
“I don’t know. With us? Now that the redo went well, what do we do now?”
He shrugs. “I guess we do whatever we want to do.”
“That’s a good plan,” I say.
“I still like you,” he announces.
“Well, that’s good.” I smile. “Because I still like you, too.”
He puts an arm around me. “Well, now that that’s settled . . .” He hops down and smiles at me for a second. “Can we get more chips?”
I nod. “Definitely.”
FIFTY-ONE
I SMELL THE SUBS AS soon as Jason and I come out of the laundry room and everyone rushes up to the table to get them.
“These look amazing, don’t they?” Cami says, putting an arm around me, admiring the platters like she made them herself. “Harvey Deli buddies forever!”
“Forever!” I say back.
I’m making sure we have enough of everything when Ari comes up behind me. “Noah’s here with a bunch of kids from Hebrew,” she screeches in my ear. “The ones from the trip.” She nudges her head in their direction.
“Happy birthday, Arianna!” one of those girls says, pulling her in for a hug. “You look amazing!”
“Thanks.” Ari smiles.
“Yeah, Ar,” another one says. “You should totally wear that outfit for the Chanukah party next month.”
Ari shrugs and says, “Oh, good idea!”
I think back to that trip; it feels so long ago now. I can’t believe those girls were so mean to her at first.
When they walk away to go get food, Ari puts a hand over her mouth and whispers in my ear, “Noah came so late. I honestly thought he was gonna bail!”
“See, I knew he was coming,” I say quietly. “And he’s here now. That’s what matters.”
“I guess.”
I turn to whisper in her ear. “We had the redo.”
She steps back. “And?”
I give her two thumbs-up, and we walk over to the drinks to refill our cups.
We’re stan
ding by the soda when Noah comes over to us. “Did you ever mix Cherry Coke and Sprite together?” he asks. I assume he’s asking Ari, since he’s never met me before, so I stay quiet.
“No. I don’t think so.” She laughs a little. “Is it good?”
“Yeah. It should definitely be its own soda flavor. I can’t believe I’m the only one who thought of it!” He pours a cup. “Here, try it.” He hands her the cup and then looks at me. “You want one, too?”
I nod. “Sure.”
I feel like Ari should introduce me, but she’s just standing there, shuffling her feet and biting her lip.
“I’m Kaylan, by the way,” I tell him as he hands me the cup.
“Oh, the other birthday person? Cool!”
I wonder if Ari’s told him about me, or if he knows we’re BFFs, or that we had a fight, or made the 11 Before 12 List.
Noah makes all these unusual soda concoctions and has us sample them—root beer and Cherry Coke; Sprite and orange soda; Dr Pepper and Coke.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Can I come down with cake now? It’s Ari’s mom.
“Did you see this text?” I ask.
Ari shakes her head, laughing. “I think she only texted you! Write back that it’s okay.”
Me: Sure!
Three minutes later, Ari’s mom comes down with a birthday cake with twenty-four candles: twelve for me and twelve for Ari, and I’m only a little bit worried that the guests are going to get too close to all the flames.
We sing “Happy Birthday” and “Are You One, Are You Two?”
I put an arm around Ari, and she puts an arm around me, and we blow out the candles together.
“Don’t tell me your wish!” we say as fast as possible, at the same time.
“Jinx!”
Ari’s mom and dad cut up slices and pass them out.
“Best cake ever,” Marie says, after a gigantic bite.
“Well, yellow cake, chocolate frosting,” I tell her, realizing this may be the first conversation we’ve actually had, just the two of us. “It’s the only way to do birthday cake.”
“I totally agree,” she replies.
The party goes on, longer than we expected it to, but that’s always a good thing—everyone is having so much fun, we don’t want to kick them out. But we do have something we need to take care of, something we’ve been waiting to do together for so long. Something we need to make sure happens before the end of Ari’s birthday.
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