How to Rock Best Friends and Frenemies

by Meg Haston

  “I know.”

  Zander cleared his throat. “What are you doing here? It’s not really the best time.” The space between us was palpable.

  “I came by to apologize.”

  He didn’t say anything, just stood hunched in the same outfit he’d worn to the dance the night before. His shirt wasn’t wrinkled, though, and I wondered if he’d even slept.

  “Here. Sit down, at least.” Stevie shoved Zander onto the couch, and he scooted to the far end. I dropped where I was.

  “I’m not expecting you to understand why we—” I looked to Stevie. She slid onto the coffee table and gave me a slight nod. “—why I wrecked Gravity’s shot to play the dance. And I’m definitely not expecting you to forgive me. I did a really stupid thing, and I didn’t even take the time to think about what it would mean.”

  “No. You didn’t,” Zander said to the floor.

  “I know. And I know this is the second time I’ve let you down in a major way, and I can’t expect you to keep forgiving me.” My toes curled into the scratchy rug. I expected the patterned fibers to blur at any second, but somehow my eyes remained dry. Maybe I didn’t have it in me to cry any more.

  “Nope. You can’t.”

  “I know, Zander. That’s what I just said.”

  “And I don’t get to say it, too? That what you did was totally unfair? That it’s not okay that you went behind my back?” The tendons in Zander’s neck throbbed every time he opened his mouth. “You know what burns me up the most? We’ve already been through this once! Why can’t you trust me?”

  “I do trust you!”

  “Bull,” Zander spat. “If you really trusted me, you’d have told me what was going on! I could’ve helped you figure out a way to deal with it that didn’t involve lying or screwing over my band.”

  “Our band.” An electric pulse of fear shot through me.

  “Whatever. I would have understood.”

  “That’s bull.” Now it was my turn to get mad. “Okay, fine. I should have been honest with you sooner. And yeah, pulling the stunt with Levi was wrong on, like, fifty levels. But don’t ever tell me you would’ve understood, Zander. Your parents are still happy.”

  “She’s right, Goose,” Stevie said quietly. I’d completely forgotten she was there. “You can’t wrap your head around how crazy divorce makes you. Not unless you’ve been through it.”

  Thanks, I blinked. She blinked back.

  “So just because my parents are happy, I’m not allowed to be pissed about this?” Zander’s eyebrows shot up.

  “That’s not what we’re saying, Goose, and you know it.”

  “We? Since when are you guys on the same team?”

  Zander’s blatant irritation fueled me. Where there had only been fear and remorse, now there were tiny sparks of anger. “Wait. You wanted us to like each other! And now that we do, you’re mad about that, too?”

  “Hold up, hold up. Who said anything about liking each other?” Stevie jumped in. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Simon.”

  Even Zander should have smiled at that.

  He didn’t.

  “Whatever. I’m out.” Zander started to get up. In a flash, Stevie’s palms shot out and collided with his chest. He fell back, surprised. “What was that for?”

  “For being a closed-minded jerk.” Stevie stood up. “You at least have to hear her out. I’m going upstairs, and you’re gonna sit here and listen if it kills you.”

  “I just need a minute. And then I’ll go,” I promised.

  Stevie flicked her hair over her shoulder and made a point of knocking one of Zander’s sheet music binders off the table before stalking up the green ladder that led to one of the loft’s sleeping areas.

  Zander bent over and retrieved his binder. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “I don’t know what else to say,” I blurted out. Instantly, I regretted it. Now was my chance. Zander had actually agreed to hear me plead my case, and all I could think of was I don’t know what else to say? “I just wanted to tell you I was sorry and to explain.”

  “Stevie explained.” His voice was raspy.

  “Oh.”

  “And she told me some other stuff, about what it was like when her folks split and stuff. She’d never told me any of that stuff before.” For the first time, he looked up at me. His eyes were conflicted. “You never tell me any of that. You never talk about your dad.”

  I closed my eyes. “I don’t talk about him to anybody.”

  “Yeah, well. I’m not just anybody.”

  “Well, I didn’t know you wanted to know about any of that stuff. It’s not exactly a fun topic.”

  “Of course I want to know!” He leaned forward. “It’s part of your life, part of what, like, makes you tick and stuff. And I wanted to know those things because I liked you, Kacey. Like, really liked you.”

  Liked. Past tense. Goose bumps rushed from my wrists to my shoulders.

  “I liked you, too,” I said quietly.

  “She still does!” Stevie yelled from upstairs.

  “No one’s asking you!” I yelled back, even though she was right.

  Zander didn’t say anything. Every passing second filled me with more humiliation.

  “Well, I guess that’s that,” I said.

  A slow Barry White song blared through the loft.

  “Ow ow!” Stevie catcalled from upstairs. “Don’t you kids do anything I wouldn’t do!” She stood at the top of the green ladder, gyrating her hips like the belly dancers at that Middle Eastern restaurant Ella liked, where you couldn’t eat your hummus without some lady in a coin bra shaking her ta-tas in your face.

  Zander and I hurled leather throw pillows at the ladder. They made it as far as the dining room table.

  “Fine, fine.” Stevie disappeared, and the music stopped. “You lame-o’s are no fun.” She shimmied down the ladder with ease and plopped down on the couch where I’d been sitting. “So, is your mom as depressed as my dad?”

  I nodded. “She’s a wreck. We messed up.”

  Stevie chewed her bottom lip and nodded. “We really did.”

  “But I think I might know how to fix this.” I told her about Liv’s skirt, about how the colorful fabric had ignited the beginnings of a plan.

  “A skirt. You’re basing a plan on some skirt.”

  “No, I’m basing the beginnings of a plan on some skirt. The rest, I need your help figuring out. But I’ll do it without you, if I have to.”

  She shrugged. “Fine. I’m in. Although if they decide to get married or something, I’m going to reevaluate my position. And can we get something to eat first? I’m starved.” She jumped up and headed for the kitchen.

  “I should help her—” I tried to get up, but Zander grabbed my arm.

  “I, uh, I’m happy to help your mom out and stuff, if there’s a chance they’ll get back together. But other than that, I don’t know. I’m not trying to be mean or anything, I just want to be honest. Okay?”

  A lump rose in my throat. “Okay.”

  And then he let me go.

  AND THE ELECTION GOES TO…

  Monday, 12:01 P.M.

  Zander, Stevie, and I spent the rest of the weekend plotting, and by Monday, everything was set. I floated toward lunch period feeling lighter than I had in a long time. Maybe Zander would never forgive me. Maybe Paige would never speak to me again. But at least I was doing the right thing for Mom and Gabe. I owed them that much.

  Briiiiiiiing! The lunch bell echoed through The Square. I snapped to attention and pressed myself against the wall next to the Hemingway entrance. Paige had already slithered out of my reach at least seven times so far today. But she had to come through this door to hear the results of the election. And when she did, I’d be ready.

  Next to me, the door flew open, spewing kids and noise into the courtyard.

  When the initial stampede subsided, I spotted her.

  “Paige!” I leapt in front of her and grabbed her wrist.

 
; “Ow! Kacey! Are you crazy? Get off!” She wrenched her arm away.

  “Ohmygod.” A kid from Sean’s American Government class was the first to step into Paige’s wake. She gaped at me in horror. “Can’t you see that she’s getting weaker by the second? Leave her alone!”

  “Ew, don’t touch her!” someone else exclaimed.

  A dull ache pulsed in my jaw. All morning, kids had been avoiding Paige like the plague. Which everyone thought she had. One girl had even worn a surgical mask to school, and a few kids had left a wilting trio of sympathy balloons at Paige’s locker. She hadn’t even tried to argue. It was like she’d completely given up.

  “Paige, you have to hear me out.” I tried to keep my voice down, but kids were starting to stare. “Look, I know you’re mad, but I need you to hear me out. And I’m not giving up until you do. Even if I have to interrupt the election announcement.” I checked a nonexistent watch on my wrist, for effect. “Looks like Sean should be here aaaaany—”

  “Fine,” she caved, sounding exhausted. “You have one minute. Or until Sean makes the announcement, whichever comes first.”

  I dragged her along the wall until we were out of earshot. “First, it was so awful that you had to see that newscast Friday night.” My fedora slipped, and I knocked it back into place. “And I’m really, really sorry.”

  “Sorry I saw it? Or sorry you lied about me having some made-up disease in the first place?”

  “Both,” I said, truthfully. “I thought I was protecting my mom, but I was wrong. And I went about it in a really stupid way. I never should have dragged you into this.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” Paige looked past me.

  “I don’t want to sound dramatic, but have you ever woken up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, wondering if your mom would be okay when you left for college?” I said. “Or worrying about who will help your little sister with her spelling words or make sure she eats something other than sugar cereal for dinner?”

  “College? But Kacey, that’s like—”

  “When you go out to dinner with your family, do you have to be on the lookout for every jerk guy who hits on your mom when he notices she’s not wearing a ring?”

  She shook her head, looking abashed. “No. Never.”

  “What I did was wrong and stupid, and I wish I could take it back, but that’s why I did it.”

  “You couldn’t just fake sick and tell your mom you had to go to the doctor or something? That’s what I—I, uh, this girl I knew did once to keep her mom out of parent-teacher conferences the one semester she got a B-plus.”

  “Test. Test.” At the center of The Square, Sean stood with a cordless mic. “Can I have your attention, please?”

  It took about half the time it usually did for a room full of seventh graders to listen to Sean. He adjusted his square frames on his nose, looking pleased with himself as the chatter died down.

  “Thank you. As you guys know, I’m here to announce next year’s eighth-grade student body president.” He paused, apparently expecting a parade, but all he got was a polite golf-clap from a band geek.

  I searched the crowd for Zander but couldn’t find him. Now that our scheming was over, that was probably how it would be now. He would slowly fade out of my life like a flickering boy hologram.

  I reached out and grabbed Paige’s hand, but she pulled away before I had a chance to let her know that even though she was about to lose, I wouldn’t desert her like I had after she’d lost in fifth.

  “This year, we had two very strong candidates,” Sean lied. “Incumbent Paige Greene—”

  “Awwwwwww.” The crowd sighed like a pity soundtrack.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “And basketball team captain Quinn Wilder. With your votes, you’ve used your political voice. As a country, we’re privileged enough to have this voice heard every—”

  “USE YOUR VOICE TO TELL US WHO WON!”

  I recognized Aaron Peterman’s yell and located Quinn and his friends at the very back of The Square. Quinn hair-tossed three times in a row in a transparent effort to appear calm. It would be a miracle if he didn’t give himself whiplash by the end of the day.

  Sean coughed into the mic. “With an impressive margin of victory, next year’s student body president will be… PAIGE GREENE!”

  When Paige’s name left Sean’s mouth, time froze. For a split second, I could hear nothing but the rustling of balloons and the heavy beat of my heart. Then…

  “AHHHHHHH!” I didn’t know if that was Paige’s scream, or my scream, or both. We threw our arms around each other. Waves of shock and elation pumped through me like a steady backbeat.

  Everybody clapped as Paige pulled away, tears hovering just beyond her lashes.

  “Okay, okay. Let’s take it down a notch, folks.” Sean waited for the applause to die down before he tried again. “Would our candidates care to come up and say a few words? Quinn?”

  Quinn made his way through the crowd with his chest puffed out but his head down. His sandy bangs fell at a humbled angle across his forehead. The crowd parted, with every kid tossing Quinn a clap on the back or a pity five. The tiniest part of me felt sorry for him. He’d probably thought he was invincible, that he’d always be on top. I knew what that felt like. And I knew what it felt like to fall.

  Sean gave Quinn an Atta boy shoulder punch and handed him the mic.

  “What’s up, Marquette?” Quinn’s words were more deflated than Paige’s Sorry you’re about to croak balloons.

  “You rock, Wilder!” Jake Fields yelled through cupped hands.

  “Goooo, Quinn!” Molly’s disappointed chirp followed. Across The Square, Nessa linked arms with Mols and Liv.

  Quinn managed a meager fist-pump in Molly’s direction.

  “Uh, thanks. I just wanted to say that even though it blows to lose, it blows even more to have a killer fungus. So I’m glad you guys voted for her.”

  Instantly, The Square was consumed with the kind of awkward, palpable silence usually reserved for the period lecture in health class. Paige stiffened. Sean rubbed his face in his hands. And that was when I knew: Paige had gotten the pity vote. She’d won because of my lie.

  “I know Paige is gonna make a great president,” Quinn said earnestly. “Plus, this is prob’ly the last cool thing that’s gonna happen to her before, you know—”

  “Thank you, Quinn.” Sean batted the mic out of Quinn’s grip. “Let’s hear it for your eighth-grade class president, Paige Greene!”

  Everybody went wild, from an appropriate distance, and doused themselves with hand sanitizer. Paige shot me one last half-confused, half-ecstatic smile and headed for the center of The Square.

  “Hey, uh, Marquette.” Paige took the mic from Quinn, who practically dove back into the crowd.

  “Fight, Paige!” somebody yelled. “Don’t let go!”

  “Okay.” Paige lifted the mic to her lips. “Let’s get two things straight, Marquette. First thing is this: You guys rock for voting for me, even if you did it ’cause you think I’m dying. And second? I’m. Not. Dying.”

  “You’re so brave!” A girl from Finnster’s class cheered. “That’s totally why I voted for you!”

  “No. Really!” Paige protested. “I’m not dying. I don’t have a killer fungus. I don’t even think killer funguses are a real thing!”

  “Fungi!” Jilly Lindstrom corrected her.

  Somebody booed before I could.

  “This whole thing happened because—” Paige looked directly at me. Dancing light from the balloon-covered ceiling reflected off her lenses, making it impossible for me to read her expression.

  Please. Don’t. I held my breath, hoping. If anybody else found out what I’d done… I didn’t even want to think about what the rest of my middle school days would be like.

  “Well, I don’t know why this whole thing happened,” Paige said finally. “But if I had to guess, I’d say it was a desperate last-minute ploy on the part of my opponent’s s
upporters to keep me out of office.”

  I felt like a huge slab of concrete had been lifted from my chest. Heat and cleansing antibacterial fog rushed into my lungs. I didn’t deserve it, but she’d saved me. Just like in some bizarre, twisted way, I’d saved her campaign.

  “But it doesn’t matter anymore,” Paige said excitedly. “I can’t wait to get to work for you guys. You won’t regret this. Thanks, Marquette!”

  A few confused, staccato claps punctured the air. Then I clapped. Loud. After a few beats, some of the kids around me started to clap, too, and soon there was enough applause for Paige to hand over the mic and blend into the crowd again.

  “Well, I guess that’s it for now.” Sean’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers. “Enjoy the rest of your lunch period.”

  I found Paige giving an on-air interview to a stiff Abra Laing, who stood at a safe distance and extended her mic as far as possible in Paige’s direction. I smiled at the look of pure bliss on my friend’s face. It was the same look Molly got when she was party planning, the same look I saw in Liv’s eyes when she was sketching a new design, and the same look Nessa had when she was steamrolling through an easy test. It was probably the same look I used to have when I was on air—or on stage with Gravity.

  “SO, PAIGE! WHAT DO YOU SAY TO THOSE WHO SAY YOU WON AS A RESULT OF, AND THIS IS A DIRECT QUOTE FROM A CONFIDENTIAL SOURCE, THE ‘PITY VOTE’?”

  Paige looked Abra directly in the eye. “I say it doesn’t matter how I got here, only that I’m here. And I’m going to prove to my constituents that they made the right decision.”

  “DO YOU HAVE ANYONE YOU’D LIKE TO THANK FOR YOUR VICTORY?”

  “I’d like to thank everyone who voted for me, of course.” Paige flicked her bangs out of her eyes and straightened her glasses. “And there’s someone else who’s responsible for this win. She knows who she is. And I just want to say… you’re forgiven.”

  SOME ENCHANTED EVENING

  Monday, 5:11 P.M.

  When the doorbell rang eleven minutes late that afternoon, my stomach got all fluttery. It wasn’t like I was the Simon about to experience the world’s most rocking date in the history of love. But my nerves were inevitable. Stevie and I only had one shot at reuniting Mom and Gabe in a perfect, romantic setting. If this didn’t fly, we were sunk.