How to Rock Best Friends and Frenemies

by Meg Haston

  I squeezed back and swallowed a laugh.

  “Nobody messes with us,” Nessa singsonged in my other ear.

  … and gets away with it, I added silently.

  “ATTENTION!” Finnster bellowed in a voice louder and stronger than I’d ever heard before. We shut up. The only sound in the observatory was the muffled flapping of penguin wings.

  “Now. As much as I detest the idea that a Marquette Middle School student could be responsible for such a childish prank, it’s clear that this is the case.” Furious spittle leapt from her withered mouth. “I want the person or persons responsible for this to come forward immediately.”

  No one moved. Or breathed. Until the rustling of a cellophane bag caught Finnster’s attention. The woman couldn’t hear a fire drill, but apparently a candy bag was a different story.

  “Ms. Jarvis?” Since nobody had bothered to inform Finnster that Stevie and Zander weren’t siblings, she’d been calling Stevie by Zander’s last name for days. It made me want to hurl. “Please step forward.”

  At the edge of the crowd, Stevie froze with her hand in her back pocket. Her elbow jutted out at an awkward angle.

  “I, uh—yeah? Yes?” Stevie looked like she wanted to move but couldn’t, like she was playing her own personal, doomed game of freeze tag.

  Tag. You’re out.

  “Kindly remove your hand from your pocket.”

  For a few agonizing seconds, Stevie just stood there. Her eyes were twice their normal size, and her cheeks were the same pink as Molly’s old bang streak. She didn’t look confident, or cool, or even snarky, the way she’d looked 24-7 since she got to Chicago. Instead, she looked young and confused. Out of control.

  Good. Now she knew how it felt.

  “Ms. Jarvis.”

  Slowly, Stevie pulled her hand from her pocket. Peeking out from her fist was a crumpled piece of plastic. I held my breath.

  “Open your fist, please.”

  I could almost see the air leaking from Stevie’s body as she complied. Inside the bag in her hand was a lone red gummy fish, identical to the fish in the tank.

  “Okay. I know… But I… I didn’t do this!” Stevie sputtered, looking to Zander for help. He took two steps away from her. “This isn’t my fault!”

  Liv made a peace sign. Or maybe it was a V for victory.

  “No way.” Somebody snickered in the back. Finnster’s glare silenced the uneasy murmurs bubbling to the surface.

  “Somebody set me up,” Stevie insisted, her voice getting stronger. Now instead of looking scared, she looked pissed. “I swear.” She scanned the crowd, and her gaze came to a screeching halt when she found me. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

  “Yeah,” Jake Fields said sarcastically. “It’s a conspiracy.”

  “Come with me, Ms. Jarvis.” Finnster’s steely tone chilled the room.

  “But—”

  “Now. We’re going to discuss this with aquarium security. The rest of you will remain in this room until you are instructed otherwise,” she informed us.

  “Wait,” I whispered to Nessa. “Security?”

  Nessa shushed me with a sharp exhale. “It’s fine. Remember. She deserves it.”

  Head down, Stevie followed Finnster toward the glowing red EXIT sign over the door, her chunky plastic bracelets clinking together like a prisoner’s cuffs.

  TSUNAMI

  Monday, 10:46 A.M.

  Back in my reporting days, nothing would have made me giddier than witnessing a scene like this firsthand. The story had everything—scandal, intrigue, a fall from grace—but I felt none of the usual excitement. Instead, the dead-fish smell combined with the wet, hot air overtook me, making the room start to sway. What if Stevie got in serious trouble? Worse, what if she ratted me out? I should have agreed to a freeze-out. Those were just as effective, sans the possibility of jail time.

  Molly leaned next to me, knocking my knee with hers. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to smile.

  “Hate to break it to you, Jarvis.” Quinn shuffled over to Zander, who was standing off to the side and glaring at the exit. Quinn slung his arm over Zander’s shoulders. “But your sister’s a total whack job.”

  Zander borderline shoved Quinn, who stumbled back with a look of surprise on his face. “She’s not my sister.”

  “Could he be any more emo?” Molly checked the reflection of her wide, satisfied smile in the glass, coming nose-to-nose with a heavyset trainer wielding a trash bag and some yellow rubber kitchen gloves. “At least now we can get back to planning the dance. Committee meeting tomorrow morning in The Square, okay?”

  “Hey. Kacey.” Zander’s voice was strained. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” He nodded toward the stairwell, then disappeared through the exit door.

  I froze, my eyes darting from Liv to Nessa to Molly. Did he know? I wanted one of my friends to say something reassuring, at least give me a look that said I’d be fine. But their eyes were wide. Unblinking. Petrified.

  I considered bolting, but the stairwell was my only way out. And Zander was waiting.

  Holding my head high, I strode through the door. I had starred in Guys and Dolls. I could totally pull off “innocent girl who definitely did not just frame someone for penguin vandalism.” That was, until I tripped over the first step and went down, palms first.

  “Hey! Whoa!” Zander reached out to steady me. He was sitting on the third step with his back against the wall. “You okay?”

  “I—sorry. I’m fine. Just a couple of scrapes.” I’m sorry for everything, I thought as Zander cradled my hands in his, inspecting my injuries. For possibly getting your friend, girlfriend, whatever she is arrested, even though objectively, she has the worst personality ever. For almost bailing on rehearsal.

  “You’re bleeding a little. Here.” Zander shrugged off his yellow hoodie and dabbed my wounds with the sleeve.

  “That was stupid of you,” I blurted, tears springing to my eyes for no reason. I felt like a kid, like Ella when she fell in front of my mom or me. Everything was fine until somebody took an interest. “Now you’ve got blood all over your sweatshirt.”

  “So?”

  I looked up at him, tried to find his eyes through the blue streak that kept slipping over his forehead. “I’m sorry Stevie got in trouble.” A snot bubble hovered dangerously close to the edge of my left nostril.

  He shrugged. “Whatever. It’s her own fault.”

  “Is she your girlfriend?” I didn’t realize how stupid the words sounded until it was too late to take them back.

  “Huh?” Zander stopped playing nurse long enough to stare at me. “Stevie?”

  It wasn’t a denial.

  “Oh, come on.” My toes curled inside my boots. “You guys act like you’re… like you…”

  “We were,” he said quietly after a few seconds had passed. “I mean, back in Seattle, we were.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I fought the fresh wave of salty tears threatening to spill onto my cheeks.

  “You really hate her.” He said it matter-of-factly, without judgment.

  “I don’t—” I shuddered and took a breath. “I—”

  “It’s okay. I mean, it sucks. I wanted you guys to like each other. But I know she can be tough.”

  “You do?”

  “Kace. Give me a little credit,” he said ruefully. He knocked my boot with the toe of his sneakers. “She comes off pretty strong sometimes. Kind of like this other chick I know.”

  “Hey!”

  He shrugged. “ ’S true.”

  “You ditched me.” The words were out before I could take them back. “For her. Like you didn’t care if I was in the band at all.”

  “What? No way.” Zander went down a step so we were at the same level. He looked genuinely lost.

  “It seemed like it,” I insisted. “As long as you were with your girlfr—”

  “She’s not my girlfriend, okay?” Zander’s laugh was harsh. “It didn’t work out. I don’t like
her that way anymore.” He leaned over and stared at his sneakers. “And I didn’t mean to ditch you, or hang out with Stevie more, or whatever. I just wanted to give you some space.”

  I blinked. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Because of the breakup. With Molly? I thought hanging out with you as much as I… wanted to would make things weird between you and her.”

  As much as I wanted. My pulse raced. I couldn’t even look at him. Then… “Wait. You know about the Girl Code?”

  “I know about the Bro Code. And if one of my guys ever broke up with a girl, and then I started hanging out with her…” He shook his head.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” Zander murmured. He rested his hand on the stairs, his fingers just inches from mine. “So, like, for example, Bro Code would totally forbid me to ask you to the dance on Friday.”

  My mouth went dry. “Oh,” I said again.

  “And Girl Code would prevent you from accepting.”

  Finally, I looked up at him.

  “Then again, if we went, like, in secret, without telling anybody…”

  His silvery eyes locked with mine, and warmth spread through my body, making my fingers and toes tingle with anticipation. Zander and me, on a date? A real (secret) date? Did that mean we were…

  I felt myself nod. “Okay,” I whispered.

  “Okay.” Zander leaned close. Before I could think about how I was going to keep my feelings about him secret now that I knew how he felt—

  —Zander Jarvis and I were kissing.

  Kissing. As in, heads tilted, noses and lips pressed together, hearts racing, toes curling. KIS. SING. Zander’s lips were so soft that I barely noticing the rotting-fish stink swirling like orchestra music around us. He lifted his fingers to my cheek and lightly cupped my chin in his palm. It felt unfamiliar and completely comfortable at the exact same time. Like I was breaking in a brand-new pair of shoes with my favorite socks.

  He pulled away too soon.

  “But—I—”

  “Okay,” he whispered with a sleepy smile. And then he kissed me again.

  MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

  Monday, 6:30 P.M.

  As I eased into a hot shower that night, I replayed the kiss on loop. The soft warmth of Zander’s lips on mine, the slow tilt of his head as he moved toward me.

  Before I could decide which would make a better theme song for the kiss, Ben Folds’s “The Luckiest” or Christina Aguilera’s “Ain’t No Other Man,” I heard Mom’s muffled voice on the other side of the bathroom door.

  “Giiiiiirls!”

  “In the shoooower!” I bellowed, kicking one of Ella’s battery-operated bath mermaids out of the way.

  A knock sounded on the other side of the door. “Baby?”

  “Mom? What are you doing home?” I turned away from the shower curtain, feeling completely exposed. Partially because Mom had an even better sixth sense than I did and could probably smell my Zander kiss a mile away. And partially because I was naked.

  The door opened, and the toilet lid dropped. “Whew! Steamy in here!” Mom said. The lid creaked as she sat down. “What smells like—”

  “—dead fish? That would be me.” I grabbed my pouf and scrubbed hard.

  “Oh, right! The field trip! How did it go?”

  “Fine.” I bit my lip, grateful that she couldn’t see my grin.

  “Good.” The lid creaked again. “Listen, I’m glad you’re showering. We’re going out to dinner in about an hour. You know that new sushi place in Lincoln Square?”

  “Can’t we just order in? I’m kind of tired.” All I wanted to do was wrap myself in a clean, fluffy bathrobe, eat Chinese takeout, and replay the kiss over and over. And think about whether it was too soon to text him.

  “Nope!” The faux cheer in Mom’s voice was enough to make me stop exfoliating. “I got a sub for the night and made special plans. So hop to it, eldest daughter of mine.”

  I finished showering in record time, and after throwing on an aubergine silk romper over gray fishnets, I headed for Mom’s bathroom to finish getting ready.

  “Kacey!” Ella dove for me the second I walked into the lilac-and-white bathroom. She was wearing black tights, a pink tutu, and a green-and-blue zigzag tankini bathing suit top over a turtleneck. There were unidentified neon-orange stains on her fingertips. Cheese puff residue, if I had to guess.

  “Ahhh! This is silk!” I grabbed her wrists just in time and held her at a safe distance. “Keep. Off.”

  “Better yet, why don’t you wash your hands, El?” Mom bent over one of the white marble pedestal sinks and pouted at the mirror, filling in her lips with a creamy, pinkish-nude gloss. She’d flatironed her normally wavy auburn hair so that it fell in a sleek, angled curtain around her shoulders.

  “Whoa.” I whistled as she straightened up, showing off a close-fitting black knit dress with a high neck and a semi-low V in the back. Paige was right: My mother was a fox. “Hot date?”

  I knew the second the words left my mouth. “Ohmygod. No way.”

  “Kacey.” Mom sighed. Then she turned to Ella and took her by the hands. “Ella, sweetie? I want you girls to meet a friend of mine at dinner tonight, okay? A… man… friend.”

  Ella’s eyes became flying-saucer wide. I knew the feeling.

  “MOM! I can’t believe you’re springing this on us, like, half an hour before!” How had I not seen this coming? The heart-to-heart Friday night, the second date on Saturday… I should have been prepared. But I was too busy worrying about Zander and Stevie to focus on my mother, Chicago’s newest bachelorette.

  “I didn’t know until a couple of hours ago.” Mom glanced back and forth between Ella and me, like she wasn’t sure who was more deserving of her excuses. “He called and asked if I wanted to go to dinner, and said he wanted to meet you girls, so—”

  “So you just said okay, without asking us first, because that’s what he wanted? Hello? I thought you were a feminist!” I huffed so hard the cilantro-scented candle on the shelf by the door went out.

  Mom bit her lip to hide a smile, which made me want to pitch her jar of super-fancy eye cream at the mirror.

  “I don’t even like sushi.” It was a lie, and everybody in the bathroom knew it. But I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “And besides, I have a headache.”

  “Me too.” Ella’s lower lip trembled. “I have a headache.”

  Mom shot me a look. “Girls. Come here.”

  If I’d been wearing heels, I would have stomped across the white tiles. But since I was just in tights, I had to settle for some very stern walking. “What?”

  “Sit down,” Mom said softly. Her voice was equal parts authority and softness—the worst possible combination. “Okay, listen. I may not have handled this in the best way. I should have given you girls more time to prepare, or talk about it, or whatever you needed. So I apologize for the short notice.”

  “Whatever.” I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.

  “But I hope you girls know that I would never, ever ask you to meet someone unless I thought he could be an important part of my—our—lives. Can you trust that?” She crouched in front of the tub and rested a hand on both our knees. “Trust me?”

  I swallowed the knot in my throat and nodded.

  “And I do. I really do think he could mean a lot to me. But nothing”—her voice cracked as she squeezed our hands—“no one will ever mean more to me than my precious girls. Which is why I want you to be involved here. Got it?”

  I got it. But I didn’t have to like it.

  After I’d wrestled Ella into a suitable jumper and tights and corralled her curls into a ponytail holder, the three of us hailed a cab north to Lincoln Square. We were silent the whole way, which was fine by me. I stared out the window into the dark, my gaze blurred and unfocused. I needed a few minutes of not having to talk, or think, before we walked through the restaurant doors.

  “Right here is fine, thanks.” Too soon, the cab came to a stop and Mom sl
ipped a wad of cash through the partition. We stepped onto the street just below the glowing green Lincoln Square marquee. The commercial district was bustling with twenty- and thirty-somethings carrying shopping bags and talking on cell phones. Wrought-iron streetlamps cast a buttery glow over the sidewalk. I’d been to Lincoln Square a million times, but tonight it felt like unfamiliar territory.

  “They’re supposed to have this incredible sashimi.” Mom straightened the hem of her dress. “Do you girls remember the seafood place in Streeterville we used to go to sometimes? Well, the head chef there left to open up his own place, and this is—”

  “Mom. Can you chill out, please?” I gripped her forearm with one hand and Ella’s wrist with the other. Sometimes living with my family was like having two kids of my own. “It’s probably not gonna be a total disaster.”

  “Reassuring, Kacey. Thank you.” Mom ran her fingers through her hair twice in a row.

  “And if it is a total disaster, look on the bright side,” I said cheerfully. “We’re never, ever doing this again.”

  “Do I have lipstick on my teeth?” She flashed a flawless Simon Smile at Ella and me.

  I folded my arms over my chest. “What’s it worth to you?”

  Mom looked to Ella, who shook her head.

  “Thank you. Now let’s do this.” She took a deep breath and pulled open the door.

  The restaurant was ultramodern, with dim lighting and a smooth, dark wooden floor. The tables were low to the ground, looking like square platform beds bordered by overstuffed silk floor cushions. Diners sat cross-legged on the pillows, chopsticks poised over bowls of seaweed salad and trays of artfully arranged sushi. On any other night, I would have been impressed.

  “Oh! Hey there!” Mom lifted her hand and signaled for us to follow.

  I squinted hard, trying to make out the man standing next to a waterfall wall at the back of the restaurant. He was tall but solidly built, with tanned skin that set off his light blue eyes. Barefoot, in worn jeans and an army-green button-down with the top two buttons missing, he was definitely underdressed. But his longish salt-and-pepper hair and the smile lines around his eyes and mouth told me he probably didn’t worry too much about things like dress codes.