How to Rock Best Friends and Frenemies

by Meg Haston

  STEVIE: MEET ME AT SUGAR DADDY TODAY AFTER SCHOOL. 3:15. WE NEED TO TALK.

  I stared at the screen until the pixels blurred in front of my eyes. My phone vibrated again.

  STEVIE: P.S.: BAIL, AND I TELL FINNSTER—AND ZANDER—EVERYTHING.

  I’LL TELL YOU MINE IF YOU’LL TELL ME YOURS

  Tuesday, 3:07 P.M.

  “The counter by the window’s open.” Stevie held a green ceramic mug in one hand and her black patent clutch in the other, all while balancing a cupcake plate server-style on her forearm. “Come on.” She headed for the long bar that faced Marquette’s front entrance across the street.

  “Nah. Let’s go to that table in the back.” At the Frost-It-Yourself cupcake bar in the middle of Sugar Daddy, I swirled a glob of birthday cake frosting over a warm chocolate cupcake, then added two heaping scoops of chocolate-covered espresso beans for good measure. Being blackmailed required all the sugar and caffeine I could manage.

  “Fine.” Stevie turned from the window. Outside, a slight girl with blond hair identical to Molly’s scampered by. I hit the deck.

  “Kacey?”

  “Sorry! Lost an earring.” I waited for three measures and popped up again. “Found it.” I faked putting the earring back in. Good thing we did that lame section on the art of mime in Sean’s theater class this semester.

  “Um, good.” Stevie looked at me strangely.

  I mentally smacked myself on the forehead. Of all days not to accessorize, I thought as I shook my waves over my naked earlobes.

  “Let’s go.” I grabbed my mug and cupcake and headed for the back corner. Other than us, there were only two other customers—a high school boy listening to his iPod with his eyes closed and a mousy-looking girl with her nose buried in a book. There was a 99 percent chance Molly and the girls wouldn’t make an appearance at our hangout this afternoon, since they were shopping for decorations for the dance. But what if they took a retail break? Ditching my girls to meet up with Stevie was bad enough. But bringing her to Sugar Daddy was unacceptable. I felt like I was cheating on Molly. Again. I might as well have brought Zander for a make-out session by the cash register.

  A hot, steamy make-out session.

  With Zander.

  “Kacey,” Stevie snapped. “What’s with you?”

  “Nothing.” I sat down.

  Stevie shrugged and slid into the sparkly red seat across from me. “Whatever. It’s not like we’re here for pleasure. I brought you here because we have to figure out a way to break up our parents.”

  “First of all, I brought myself here.” I pulled one of Nessa’s mini legal pads from my back pocket and flipped to the list I’d made in study hall. “And second of all, are we just not gonna mention the part where you’re blackmailing me? Not that you have anything to blackmail me with.” I started doodling, too nervous to make eye contact.

  “If you believed that, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Wrong.” I braced myself and met her gaze. “I’m here for the same reason you are. To break up our parents.”

  “And because you’re scared. Because you know I could get you in serious trouble,” Stevie said coolly, quickly rebraiding her dark, glossy hair. “Because you’re guilty.”

  “You’re bluffing,” I said, gritting my teeth. My already tender gums screamed in pain. “You’ve got nothing.”

  “Wanna try me?”

  We stared at each other for a long moment. From her disgustingly long lashes to her hardened jaw, she was a fortress. This was a girl who was not going to go down without a fight. Which actually made her the perfect ally for Operation: Date Sabotage.

  “Okay.” I flipped to the next page on my pad so fiercely that the bright yellow paper tore in half. “We can start by brainstorming some reasons people break up. Then we could figure out a way to apply those reasons to—”

  “Are you assigning research? Because I’m not doing that.”

  “Do you want them to break up or not?” I said, exasperated.

  Stevie bent over her hot chocolate mug and sighed, blowing the steam directly into my face. “Keep going.”

  I scooped a blob of icing from my cupcake and licked my fork. The sugar rush was instantly soothing. “First question. How come your parents split up?”

  “What?” Stevie’s features hardened once more. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Look. I know it sucks to talk about this kind of stuff. But if we’re gonna break them up…”

  “Fine,” Stevie conceded. “So what’s my last name?”

  “Huh?”

  “My last name. If you can tell me my last name, I’ll tell you why my parents split.”

  “I—you never—” I cradled my mug in my hands. It burned. “I don’t really see how that’s relevant.”

  “Too bad. You were so close.” She shrugged. “So, what about your folks? Your dad probably got sick of your mom’s career coming first, am I right?”

  A hot flash of anger ignited at my core. “That’s none of your business.”

  “I’m just saying. That’s usually how it works when one person has a high-powered job.”

  “Well, you’re wrong.” I lifted my mug and took a long sip, even though I knew it was still too hot. It scraped my throat as it went down.

  “Hey, do you girls mind if I crank up some tunes?” the girl behind the counter asked, fiddling with the dial on an old-school boom box.

  She paused briefly on a classic rock station. Static buzzed over the speakers, but I’d heard enough.

  “NO JOURNEY!” I yelled at the exact same time as Stevie. For a second we just stared at each other, then we burst out laughing.

  “Okay, okay.” The girl cracked her gum and switched to the pop station.

  “Goose worships Journey. I don’t get it.” Stevie traced the rim of her mug with her index finger, her silver dome ring glinting in the fluorescent light. “The lead singer sounds like a girl.”

  “Right? But what kind of musical taste can you expect from a guy who wears—”

  “—skinny jeans?” Stevie’s lips lifted in a smile. “I told him to burn those puppies before he moved. But did he listen?” She shook her head. “Boy’s got a mind of his own.”

  I didn’t answer. It didn’t take a genius to know that she was still into Zander. Or that there wasn’t room for her in my relationship—whatever it was—with Zander.

  “I think maybe there was someone else,” I said quietly.

  “What?”

  “When my dad left. I think there was some other… person. Woman. Whatever.” I’d never had proof, but it was the only explanation that made sense. When he’d lived with us, he’d been around all the time. More than Mom, actually. He was the one who went to parent-teacher conferences. He took me to Lincoln Park to toss the Frisbee. He made peanut-butter-and-honey sandwiches for school lunch and always remembered to put them in the freezer for twenty minutes in the morning so they were perfect by lunchtime.

  And then one day we were on the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier, and I was looking over Lake Michigan and holding a pouf of blue cotton candy on my tongue. And we got to the top, with the whole world just beyond the tips of our sneakers, and without even looking at me, he said he was moving to Los Angeles. He said things weren’t working out with Mom and that this was “better for everyone.” Just like that.

  The worst thing about it was that I should have known. I was a journalist—I had instincts about these kinds of things, especially since they fought all the time after they thought we were asleep. It was the only time my sixth sense had failed me.

  “Oh.” At least Stevie had the sense to not say anything else, like how she was sure my dad still loved me or how she knew this girl whose parents divorced and then got back together.

  “I mean, I don’t know for sure. We don’t talk, really. Do you talk to your mom?”

  “Yeah.” Stevie stared down at her untouched red velvet cupcake. “They only split a couple of years ago. Dad got that grant to go to the Amazon, a
nd I guess he had to pick between staying with us…” Her jaw tensed, and she shoved the cupcake plate away. “Anyway, Mom filed for divorce the day he left.”

  “So how come you live with Gabe now?” I asked, tentatively taking another sip of hot chocolate.

  “Mom got kind of depressed after the split. She still lives in Seattle, though, so I see her a lot. But when Dad got back, I decided to move in with him.”

  I tried to imagine what it would have been like if my mom had fallen apart after the divorce. After Dad left, nothing was the same anymore. His shoes weren’t in the doorway. The bathroom didn’t smell like his mint soap. But my mom was still there, a wonderful, reassuring constant.

  The bell jangling over the door made me jump. But it was just a crowd of over-pierced twenty-somethings from the community college around the corner.

  “…’cause he works so much. I get the apartment to myself a lot,” Stevie was saying.

  “Yeah. Me too.” I wondered if she was lonely by herself. At least I had Ella when Mom was at work and Paige right next door. “Don’t you ever get bored, though?”

  Her chin dropped, releasing a shiny curtain of bangs that blocked her eyes. “When Goose was in town, he used to come over and hang out. Sometimes he’d even spend the—”

  “We’re supposed to be talking about our parents,” I reminded her, a little too loudly.

  Stevie cleared her throat. “Yeah, not anymore.” She shoved back her chair. “I’m getting more frosting.”

  “But we’re not done!” I protested. A familiar stabbing feeling in the pit of my stomach chided me for telling Stevie anything. It was the same feeling I’d gotten the morning after my first sleepover with Molly, when I’d had one too many bowls of ice cream, gotten a serious sugar rush, and accidentally blurted out that I’d never had a boyfriend.

  Stevie didn’t turn around to face me until she got to the cupcake bar. “Andrews,” she called, slopping an unholy amount of cream cheese frosting on her cupcake. “That’s my last name. And with any luck, it’ll never be yours.”

  PAIGE’S CAM-PAIN

  Wednesday, 6:57 A.M.

  “It looks like Marquette swallowed Quinn Wilder whole, then barfed him up again,” Paige said early the next morning, her voice echoing in the deserted Square.

  Grimly, Zander, Paige, and I surveyed the LET’S GET WILD(ER)! campaign posters that clung to the walls and floor. Someone had even sprayed THE WILDER, THE BETTER in shaving cream on the roof. In the forty-eight hours since he’d announced his candidacy, Quinn’s beaming face and glistening hair had taken over every inch of our school.

  “This sucks,” Paige pronounced. She kicked a Quinn poster out of her path, revealing a crumpled Imran Bhatt ad.

  “I know.” My chest tightened. There were two days left before Friday’s election. I didn’t like to think about what Quinn’s next move would be.

  Paige punted a giant white beach ball with Quinn’s name on it across The Square. It smacked the door to Silverstein Hall with a sickening slap and deflated. When Paige turned away, Zander grabbed my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back.

  “Okay. That felt good. Now let’s get to work.” Paige rolled up the sleeves on her black mini shirtdress, then leaned down to tighten the laces on her suede booties. As Election Day got closer, she seemed to be suiting up for battle in much better clothes than usual.

  I dug a few rolls of green crepe paper from the tote at my feet. “Zander and I will take care of the ceiling and walls. And this”—I tossed a few thick hunks of green sidewalk chalk in Paige’s direction—“is courtesy of Ella.”

  Paige snatched the chalk out of the air and dropped to her knees. I bit my tongue as she started making sweeping emerald arcs on the floor, then crawled through them in Lurex-threaded black tights. My Lurex-threaded black tights.

  “Let’s start with the far corner,” Zander suggested with a smile. His hand brushed mine in what was definitely not an accident.

  “Sounds good.” If anyone noticed the flush to my cheeks, I could blame it on the tropical temperatures in the glass-enclosed Square. Zander and I hadn’t been alone since our kiss in the stairwell. Not that I knew what to say to him. It was times like this when I wished Molly were here. And times like this when I cursed the Girl Code.

  I followed Zander to the corner of Silverstein and Addams, my heart jangling along with the lucky gold-coin earrings Liv had made me for our Secret Santa this year.

  “Paige seems pretty bummed,” Zander said, fiddling with the torn edge of a crepe paper roll. “You think she’ll be okay?” The space between his eyes crinkled with worry.

  “She’ll be fine.” I loved how much he cared about Paige. About all people, really. Unless those people were blackmailing pranksters with boy names. Then I did not approve. “I know Quinn, and—”

  “Yeah. Spare me the details.” Zander smiled, but didn’t look me directly in the eye.

  “Gimme a break.” I shoved him lightly. Okay. Technically, I shoved him a smidge harder than lightly. “We weren’t even together that long.”

  “Me and Stevie, either,” Zander shot back.

  “Okay, okay. Can we not talk about exes, please?” Just hearing Stevie’s name made me think about Mom and Gabe, which made me want to puke. I would have to tell Zander about them soon, but I still couldn’t figure out how to get the words out without dry-heaving.

  “Deal,” Zander agreed.

  “Here. Catch.” I took a few giant steps back and hurled the roll of crepe paper toward the ceiling. It sailed over one of the rusted ceiling beams, then dropped into Zander’s outstretched palm.

  “Niiiice!” He nodded, looking pleasantly surprised. “Good arm.”

  “Yeah, well.” I stuffed my hands in the pockets of the cerulean knit shift dress I wore over a yellow mesh tee. “I’m not just an award-winning journalist and rockin’ lead singer, you know.” The minute the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Did they make me sound like the old, self-centered Kacey? Was it bragging if it was true?

  But Zander just laughed. “Apparently,” he said flirtatiously. He whipped the crepe paper roll across The Square. It fluttered over the center beam and made a beeline for Paige. “Heads up!”

  “Ahhh!” Paige’s head snapped to attention just as the crepe paper smacked her in the stomach. “Zander!”

  “Sorrryyy!” we yelled in unison.

  I turned back to Zander and lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’m just saying. I know Quinn, and he doesn’t care about politics. He cares about basketball and his stupid friends. And being popular. That’s it. He’ll get bored and drop out.” Sometimes I couldn’t believe I’d ever crushed on Quinn, that I’d been the type of girl who cared more about my popularity than my good friends. Or my band.

  “Isn’t that what this election is all about anyway? Popularity?” Zander asked, frowning. “I mean, you and I know Paige has done tons for the grade, but do you really think everybody else is paying attention?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.” I’d never admit that I had no real concept of what Paige had done as president of seventh. Apart from switching out all the good vending machine snacks for granola, at least.

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” Something in Zander’s face changed. He looked at the ground. “So, um… I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Nah. Nothing. Never mind.”

  “No. What?” My heart sped up in my chest. Suddenly, I could feel the electricity between us; could almost visualize gold lightning bolts shooting from my core to his.

  “It’s nothing. I just… this musician I used to like in Seattle is playing a small show in town tomorrow night. I didn’t… do you think your mom would let you go out on a school night?”

  My mouth went dry. “What, you mean like a d—what about Molly?” I pinched my thigh, hard. How stupid could I possibly be? Zander was asking me out for real, and all I could think to say was What about Molly?

  �
�Well, we’d just be… hanging out. It doesn’t have to be like a big thing.”

  BUT I WANT IT TO BE! my brain shouted. “Okay, cool. So tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Tomorrow. Seven thirty. Show starts at eight, but it’ll be pretty packed. He’s playing at the café next to Vinyl Destination. It’s gonna be a pretty small show.”

  “No Stevie?”

  Zander looked at me and grinned. “No Stevie.”

  “Hey! What are you guys whispering about over there?” Paige stood up and brushed green dust from the knees of her tights. She flung the crepe paper in our direction. Zander caught it and tossed it back. The ceiling was starting to look like an emerald spiderweb. “Flirting does not count as working.”

  “We were just talking about everything you did for the school.” Zander caught himself a few seconds too late. “Everything you’re gonna keep doing. After you win on Friday.”

  “Nice try,” Paige said dryly. She hopped over a half-chalked GO GREENE ad and teetered toward us, looking like a baby duckling in her too-high ankle booties. “For real. Do you guys think I’m going to lose? Be honest.” She leveled her eyes at me, and instantly my insides were wound tighter than one of Ella’s bath toys. Was this one of those times I was supposed to lie to spare her feelings? Or did she really want truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

  “I was just telling Zander that Quinn doesn’t belong in politics,” I said firmly, ignoring the sweat stains probably forming under my arms. “I don’t think he’s gonna stay in the race.”

  “But what if he does?” Her voice was pinched with anger.

  “He won’t.”

  “But what if he—”

  “Paige.” Gently, Zander cut her off. “Who budgeted more money for student-run activities this year than any other student body president?”

  Paige pursed her lips together. “I did.”

  “Who kept the school board from censoring the Marquette Gazette when they wanted to kill that story on unsanitary meat storage conditions in the cafeteria?”

  “I did.” Paige’s eyes flitted to mine. I nodded encouragingly.