How to Rock Best Friends and Frenemies

by Meg Haston

  “You okay?” Zander pressed his palm over the strings, silencing his guitar. His cheeks looked suddenly rosy under the fluorescent lights.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Sure,” I said, too quickly. “I mean, uh—I actually wanted to ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m good.” He toyed with the leather cuff bracelet on his wrist. “How come?”

  “Because of the breakup?” Either Zander was playing cool to mask his devastation, or he honestly didn’t care. For the record, I was a staunch supporter of Option B.

  “Oh. That. No, I’m fine.” He pushed back his chair and stretched out his legs. Instead of his usual skinny jeans, he was wearing a pair of regular jeans, the wash so dark they had to be new. “It’s… whatever. It’s probably a good thing.” His blue bangs flopped over his eyes.

  “Yeah. A good thing.” I drummed my fingers on the table. A good thing. Good because he and Molly were polar opposites? Good because he was into somebody else, somebody who just happened to be sitting across from him this VERY SECOND?

  I had no idea why girls were always getting such a bad rap. Boys were way more confusing.

  “So I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said. “Two, actually.”

  “Yeah?” My throat was suddenly dry. I took another sip of my latté.

  “Well, the first one’s not really a surprise. I just wanted to give you this. Again.” He lifted the guitar in his lap, nodding for me to take it.

  “Zander. Are you sure?” Tentatively, I took it, tracing the circular opening in the instrument’s glossy blond body. “But you learned how to play on this thing. Don’t you want to keep it?”

  “Guitars are meant to played,” he insisted. “It’s a thank-you for Friday night. And a welcome-back-to-Gravity present.”

  The guitar smelled like Zander—freshly polished wood, leather, and pure perfection. “Thanks.” I squeezed the fret board tight.

  “I can teach you to play,” he offered. “Maybe you could play for Gravity, even.”

  I snorted. “In like a decade.”

  “You gotta start somewhere.” Zander cracked his knuckles and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Bring it to rehearsal tomorrow. I’ll teach you a couple of chords.”

  “ ’Kay.” Waves of excitement and nerves reverberated through me in a rhythm all their own. I hadn’t seen the other members of Gravity—Nelson Lund, Kevin Cho, and The Beat—since Friday night. And I still had no idea how they felt about me rejoining the band.

  “Hey.”

  I looked up. Zander was smiling.

  “It’s gonna be awesome,” he assured me. “We’re all pumped that you’re back.”

  How did he read my mind like that? I let my eyes lock with his for a quarter beat, until a tiny voice in the back of my head whispered: Girl Code. Reluctantly, I refocused on the guitar.

  “Good. Well, I gotta go.” He jumped up. “I’m supposed to watch my sister while our parents go to this art thing tonight.”

  “Okay,” I said, hoping the disappointment in my voice wasn’t obvious. “See you tomorrow?”

  “Deal,” Zander said in his Kermit voice. He lifted his palm for a high five, and I clasped it with mine. His palm was soft, electric. GirlCodeGirlCodeGirlCode. “Later.” He headed for the door.

  “Oh! Wait! What about my second surprise?” I called.

  He turned around, flashing a coy smile. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. You’ll find out tomorrow at rehearsal. You’re gonna love it.” He waved and disappeared through the doorway.

  “Yeah,” I murmured, cradling the guitar in my lap. Its shiny surface reflected my flushed cheeks and green eyes. As a general rule, I was not a fan of surprises. Surprises were the off-air equivalent of breaking news. Like my dad telling me he was leaving for good. Or like Ella admitting that she’d mixed Mom’s facial hair removal cream in my shampoo after I’d already lathered, rinsed, and repeated.

  But this was different. This was Zander. And if he was excited about it, then it was going to rock.

  CURSE THE CODE

  Monday, 9:02 P.M.

  That night, Mom, Ella, and I sat around the kitchen table in our breakfast nook. A stack of my textbooks, plus Ella’s weekly folder and a list of spelling words, was piled in front of Dad’s old chair. After four years, you’d think we would have gotten rid of his place mat. But I never liked the way the table looked with three mats—lopsided, like it could topple over at any second.

  “Great broadcast, Mom,” I said over a mouthful of room-temperature Greek takeout. Ella and I always watched the five- and six-o’clock Channel 5 newscasts when we could. Even though Mom had been the solo evening anchor for over a year, seeing her on air never got old. Lately, though, it had made me a little… something. Not jealous, exactly. More like nostalgic for the Simon Says days.

  “You think so?” Mom pulled her shoulder-length strawberry hair away from her face and secured it with one of Ella’s purple glitter claws.

  “Totally. I liked the piece on the school board scandal.”

  “Me, too.” Ella yawned into her stuffed grape leaves. Her dark red curls were still damp and matted from the bath, and she smelled like baby shampoo and hotel lotion. “And the commercials.”

  “Thanks, girls.” The tiny smile lines around Mom’s jewel-green eyes deepened under the extra layers of foundation she wore for work. “And thanks for taking care of dinner, baby.” She reached over to squeeze my arm and left her hand there.

  “Ha! Baby.” Ella snorted. She lunged for the pink curly-straw peeking out of her cup. I steadied the cup as she slurped her chocolate milk.

  “No problem,” I said. “I signed her folder and we finished her spelling words. Oh, and I have a permission slip for you to sign. It’s for our Marine Bio field trip to Shedd Aquarium on Monday.”

  “You got it.” Mom nodded. “Now run upstairs and brush your teeth,” she told Ella. “I’ll be up in a second.”

  “But—” Ella looked back and forth between Mom and me, like she was considering making a scene. In the end, another big yawn won out.

  “Night, Ell Bell.” I leaned over to give her a squeeze.

  “Don’t let the bedbugs bite!” She planted a breathy chocolate kiss on my jaw, and I lifted her off the chair and lowered her to the floor. A few seconds later I heard the slow thud of her galoshes on the stairs.

  “Really, Kace.” Mom sighed. “I’m sorry you had to take care of everything tonight. We lost one of our best producers last week, and the station’s new owner wants to—”

  “Mom.” I cut her off. “Really. I don’t mind.” It was the truth. Sure, Ella could be a major pain. Like last week, when she used my brand-new crackle nail polish to “decorate” her math homework. But for the most part, hanging out with her didn’t kill me.

  “I know you don’t. It’s just…” Mom’s voice trailed off. “So tell me about your day.”

  “It was good.” I smashed a giant piece of feta on my plate with a plastic fork, eyeing the teal digits on the microwave clock. After school I’d texted Paige to come over tonight so we could quote, strategize, end quote, about the home stretch of her presidential campaign. I’d thrown in a P.S. about Zander and Molly’s breakup, like it was totally an afterthought.

  “Just good?” The lilt in her voice told me Mom’s reporter instincts were kicking in. I’d have to do better than “good” if I wanted to leave the table before midnight. “Something on your mind?”

  “I—” There was a sharp knock from the other side of the kitchen.

  “Ella Simon, those teeth better be sparkling,” Mom warned.

  “It’s just me.” Paige appeared in the doorway and flashed a toothy smile. “But I did floss this morning.”

  “You pass inspection, Paige.” Mom laughed. “Come on in.”

  “Doesn’t she look amazing, Mom?” I said brightly, grateful for the interruption. Paige’s short dark bob gleamed beneath the kitchen lights, and she actually looked kind of stylish in the black cigarette pan
ts and black silk tee I’d let her borrow. Beneath her slanted bangs, her glasses added a nice, executive branch–chic touch. I congratulated myself on Paige’s mini makeover.

  “Always.” Mom nodded. I could feel her gaze on me.

  “So what’s up, Paige?” I widened my eyes meaningfully. You have top secret campaign business that can’t wait. We have to go up to my room. Right. Now.

  But my telepathic vibes sailed straight over Paige’s head.

  “Uh, you texted me.” She took Ella’s seat and slid a stuffed green three-ring binder on the table. “Only ten days till the election, Sterling,” she told Mom, plucking half a stuffed grape leaf from Ella’s plate and popping it in her mouth. “Just thought you should know. As an informed member of the media and all.”

  Mom tapped her temple with her index finger. “I consider myself briefed,” she said. “Now if you’ll excuse me, all that quiet upstairs is disconcerting.” She pushed back her chair and headed for the stairwell. “You girls can work till ten. And Kacey, make sure you watch Paige get home safely.”

  “She lives next door,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

  “I mean it,” Mom instructed. Ever since she started taking coffee breaks with Channel 5’s new crime reporter, she’d been paranoid about kidnapping and identity theft.

  In my room on the third floor, Paige and I kicked off our shoes and stretched out on our backs on my pink-and-black plaid duvet. I stared at the glow-in-the-dark solar system sprinkled across the slanted attic ceiling. The flatscreen across from my bed was muted, and the crisp scent of lavender drifted from the pillar candle Liv had given me last Christmas to cleanse my chi. Photos of Gravity (mostly Zander) and vintage album covers I’d bought at Vinyl Destination were pinned to the three bulletin-board walls that surrounded my bed. The chalkboard wall behind my bed was filled with song lyrics and the names of bands I’d recently discovered.

  “Do we really need to work on the campaign?” Paige asked the Big Dipper. “I’ve been rehearsing my speech all night. Maybe we could talk about something else.”

  “Liiike—” I cut my eyes at her, fighting a smile.

  “Oh, I dunno.” Paige whacked me with a furry pink pillow. “Like how a certain friend of yours just broke up with another friend of yours, who is so obviously more than just a friend where you’re concerned?” She blew her bangs out of her eyes, and they fluttered back to her forehead in an inverted V.

  “Ohhhh, thaaat.” I flipped onto my side. The words bubbled up inside of me until I couldn’t hold them in any longer. “HesaidhehadasurpriseformeandI’mgonnaloveit!”

  “What? When?” Paige shrieked, scrambling to her knees on the bed.

  “Girls!” Mom called from downstairs.

  “Sorrryyyy,” we yelled back.

  “Tell me everything,” Paige said in a low voice. Her cocoa-colored eyes were double their usual size.

  “There’s not much to tell.” I sat up. “We were hanging out, and he gave me his old guitar and then he said he had a surprise for me, but I’d have to wait until rehearsal tomorrow.”

  “Ahhhh! Kay-cey!” Paige shoved me so hard, I toppled back onto a mound of pillows and stuffed animals. “He gave you his guitar? That’s huge! He’s totally gonna tell you he’s into you!”

  “You think?” I closed my eyes and let myself picture the scene. It would be after an awesome jam session with the band. The other guys would have already left the loft. And it would be just Zander and me, draped casually on the leather couch in his loft’s living area. Something slow would be playing, like Death Cab’s latest single. Zander and I would be humming along, and suddenly our eyes would meet.

  Kacey, he’d say. I—

  GirlCodeGirlCodeGirlCode.

  Right on cue, my cell buzzed on the bedside table, forcing me back to my non-loft.

  MOLLY: DID U TELL PAIGE I’M PLANNING THE DANCE?

  MOLLY: ANY DIRT FROM THE SPY SESH W/Z?

  “Ohmygod. Is that Zander?” Paige bounced in place on the bed.

  “Just Molly.” With a pang of guilt, I hit IGNORE and stuffed the phone under my pillow.

  Paige made a gagging sound.

  “Paaaige,” I groaned. “By the way, has anybody signed up to head the Party Planning Committee for the dance?”

  “No.” Paige looked confused for a second; then her face lit up. “Wait. Do you and Zander want to do it?”

  “Molly wants to. Is that cool?”

  “Ugh, but fine, whatever. Can we get back to the point?”

  I picked at the flaking eggplant polish on my big toe. “Have you ever heard of the Girl Code?”

  Paige fiddled with the iPod dock on my desk, settling on a new single from Levi Stone, an up-and-coming singer-songwriter whose recent feature on MTV had propelled him to superstardom almost overnight. I’d heard on the news that he had a Chicago tour date next week. “You mean like, Never run for office if your best friend already said she wanted to?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No. I mean like, Thou shalt not crush on another girl’s ex-boyfriend for one whole year?” I said, half hoping the opening notes of Levi’s single, “You’re So Right, We’re So Wrong,” would drown me out.

  “Huh?” Paige’s fringy bob whipped around indignantly. “Did Molly tell you that?”

  “No! I mean, she wasn’t talking about me, specifically. She was just saying that no other girl can date Zander for at least a year.” Saying the words out loud made me realize just how insane they sounded. But did it matter? Wouldn’t a good friend stay away from Molly’s ex no matter what? Even if they’d only dated for a matter of days?

  Paige squinted through her lenses like she was trying to figure out a math problem. “I can’t—that doesn’t even—I—” She stopped and took a measured breath. “Didn’t you say she was dating some other guy already?”

  I nodded.

  “And since when do you take orders from Molly Knight?”

  “I don’t,” I protested, irritation pricking my voice. She obviously didn’t get it. My friendship with Mols was still so fragile, the slightest problem could send it crashing down for good. “Forget it.” I karate-chopped a decorative pillow and face-planted into the picked silk.

  “No. Wait.” Paige took a running leap and dove next to me on the bed. “Sorry. I love that you’re trying to be a good friend. It’s just that Molly and Zander should never have been together in the first place—they only went out because you lied about her being into Acoustic Rebellion. And you and Zander are, like—”

  “I knooooow,” I wailed into my pillow. “Don’t say it.”

  “—perfect for each other! And I just think he’s too great for you to let him get away. I mean, what if you wait a whole year and some other girl starts to like him and then they start dating?”

  I flopped onto my back. Paige was right: Zander and I were perfect for each other. A much better match than my recent ex-crush, Quinn Wilder, had been.

  “I think I’m gonna throw up,” I groaned. Although from excitement or worry, I couldn’t quite tell.

  “Ew.” Paige crabwalked backward to the other side of the bed. “Need I remind you that the borrowed top I’m wearing—your top—is silk?”

  I ignored her. “What do you think Zander’s surprise is?”

  “That he likes you,” Paige said matter-of-factly.

  A broad smile broke over my face.

  “And seriously, Kace. I think it’s okay for you to like him back. Can’t you just be honest with Molly?”

  I snuggled into a sea of pillows and plush, suddenly completely exhausted. Half of me was giddy at the possibility that Zander liked me back. The other half was worried that even thinking about Zander was a terrible violation of my friendship with Mols. If she knew how I felt, she’d never forgive me. It was like my brain was at war with itself. Fifty-fifty.

  Although I knew that the next time I saw Zander, or heard him play, it would be more like sixty-forty, in favor of Zander.

  Okay. Seventy-thirty.

&n
bsp; Seventy-five–twenty-five, tops.

  All’s fair in love and war. The words from that afternoon came back to me, fighting for space in my mind.

  Girl Code. Girl Code. Girl Code.

  I wondered if it was too late to amend the Girl Code: Thou shalt not force thy tortured BFF to choose between love and friendship.

  IF A WHALE LEAVES THE DOCK AT 8 A.M.,

  TRAVELING 12 MILES PER HOUR, THEN WHAT

  IS THE THEME OF THE SPRING DANCE?

  Tuesday, 10:40 A.M.

  The next morning, my Giddy-Over-Zander-to-Guilty-Over-Molly ratios were still fluctuating wildly. As I sat in third-period Marine Bio, failing to focus on the pop quiz I was probably bombing, a just-chased-a-double-shot-of-espresso-with-an-extra-large-hot-chocolate sensation sloshed around in the pit of my stomach.

  I turned around and checked the clock at the back of the classroom. More than four hours until rehearsal. More than four hours until Zander’s big reveal.

  Torture.

  “Question number six,” droned our teacher Miss Finnster—or Spinster Finnster, as she’d been known since the dawn of time—from her desk at the front. Next to her were giant yellowed mason jars inhabited by pickled sea creatures as old and wrinkled as she was.

  Paige and I sat at a scuffed black lab table at the back of the room. Molly and Liv sat to my right, and Nessa Beckett was camped out at the far end of our row. My ex-crush, Quinn Wilder, and his friends Jake Fields and Aaron Peterman sat in the row ahead of us, while Zander slouched in the second row. His head bobbed in time to the ticking clock by the door.

  As we waited for Finnster to continue, I looked over at Nessa, the overachiever of our group. Her slick, dark pixie cut gleamed with confidence, and her spring-green cowl-neck sweater accentuated her flawless dark skin. Stacked spiral notebooks bordered her paper like a barbed-wire fence around a prison yard. She stared down at her quiz without blinking.

  After a full minute of silence, Jilly Lindstrom lifted her hand in the first row. “Um… Spin—Miss Finnster?” she chirped. “Is there a… question six?”

  The folds of Finnster’s neck were tucked into her chunky knit cardigan, making her look like a resting turtle. Her eyelids were so wrinkled that it was hard to tell if they were closed, but the gentle snore that escaped her nostrils was a dead giveaway.