by Amy Spalding
By the time I’m home, showered, and in dirt-free clothes, there are five texts from Kat asking me to join her to go on some art walk somewhere on the Eastside. (She can be astoundingly vague for someone who uses so many words.) Dad’s at the shop, so I text him that I’m going and walk over to Kat’s house. I know, of course, that one reason I feel Kat’s absence more on the weekends is that, last year, we were both in relationships and so I spent plenty of time with Logan. I didn’t miss her so much when she was with Matty. But I’m still convinced she didn’t give quite so much of her time up to him, the way she seems to disappear into Quinn.
Mr. Rydell lets me in. “Hey, James. They’re all in Kat’s room.”
I try not to sigh until I’ve thanked him and am headed down the hallway toward the sound of conversation. Of course Quinn’s here, and Raina and Gretchen are, too.
“Yay!” Kat jumps up from her bed and hugs me. “Did you just get up? Why are you freshly showered? Were you doing running stuff?”
“Why are you so nosy?” I ask, and then smile really widely so that it doesn’t sound like I’m snapping at her. But good lord.
“I care about your life!” she says with a giggle. “OK, who’s driving? My car’s too tiny.”
Kat, who doesn’t even need a car to get to school and has never needed to get to a job or a volunteer gig, has a tiny, bright blue Mini Cooper that Mr. Rydell gave her on her sixteenth birthday. It mostly sits in the driveway. Kat once confided in me that it was practically too small to have sex with Matty in it, which was far too much information for me. We tell each other a lot, but often broad strokes, not the specific mechanics of things. To me, sex is so private—too private even for best friends. But I guess entire TV shows have been based around the premise that, for a lot of people, it isn’t. It’s strange to think you could grow up right alongside someone and be one category of person when it turns out they’re another entirely.
Raina has her mom’s SUV, so we pile in. I was here because I wanted a Saturday with Kat like we used to have all the time, but as everyone talks about bands I don’t listen to and TV shows I don’t watch, I wish I was back home.
“James, you should go with us,” Raina tells me, and I try to hold my face neutrally so that no one knows I haven’t been paying attention. “It’ll be—”
“—the most fun thing we do in March,” she and Gretchen end up saying together, before bursting into laughter. Oh, god.
“James is too cool to listen to pop music and eat ice cream,” Kat says. “All the songs she likes have, like, strong language and adult situations in them.”
I laugh against my will. “Sorry about your delicate ears.”
“Remember when Luke tried to tell us some gross joke and I burst into tears?” Kat rolls her eyes. “I’m such a nerd.”
“She got scared during Finding Nemo,” Quinn says. “Which I didn’t know was possible.”
“OMG, Quinn, don’t mock me. The shark parts are intense.”
It seems as if there’s nothing else that only Kat and I share anymore.
The art walk is only a few exits down the 5 Freeway but in Los Angeles proper, which anyone would agree is inherently cooler than hanging around Burbank. When we get there, I drop behind everyone, as I assume the two couples will want to pair off, but it stays less divided than that. Quinn’s chatting with Raina, while Kat shows a cute dog video on Instagram to Gretchen and me.
“Does anyone want an iced coffee?” Raina asks, as we near a tiny coffee shop.
“I’ll help,” Quinn says, as soon as everyone says yes.
“Gretchen?” Raina asks, and Gretchen nods and heads off with them as well, and so I’m alone with Kat.
“You didn’t have to include me,” I say.
“I do! Best friend bylaws or whatever!”
“Did you think about the fact that it would be awkward for me to be the fifth wheel with two couples?”
“Raina and Gretchen aren’t a couple,” she tells me. “Though, please, they clearly want to be, right?”
We share a look.
“Mmmhmmm. People think their feelings are allllll locked away, but, like, duh.”
I smile at her and realize that maybe things do feel more the same than they do different. Friendships don’t fall apart over nothing, and certainly not so soon. It was literally only a year ago when we, along with Logan and Matty, skipped a Friday’s worth of school to escape to Disneyland for the day. Logan and Matty are both gone from my life, but it’s still one of my favorite memories, and that’s all Kat.
“Remember how much fun Disneyland was last year?” I ask, and her eyes do everything but literally light up.
“Yes. OMG, James, we should totally do that again. I can get away with skipping. Can you again?”
“Sure,” I say. “It’s so much better to go during the week, considering how bad crowds get on the weekends.”
“Exactly. Yay! This is totally what I need right now. You are a genius.”
“No boys this trip,” I say, which makes her giggle.
“Seriously, like, no boys at all. We’ll have so much fun.”
She’s already turned around because the other girls are back with iced coffees. Already I don’t resent their presence quite as much. Kat and I are still intact, after all. Also, obviously, it’s a relief to know I’m not tagging along on a double date. And maybe it’s just the caffeine, or having my hands in the literal dirt earlier, but today doesn’t feel like this shitty senior year I’ve resented. Today feels much closer to the one I thought I’d have.
My phone buzzes while we’re walking around, and even though it should make me furious, I feel a smile cross my lips when I see Logan’s name.
“Ooh, who’s texting you?” Kat asks me, and I look up with a start.
“No one,” I say.
“Really? Because you’re smiling like there’s a boy involved.”
“I just saw something funny on Instagram,” I say, and I wish I could explain it to her. But I can’t explain Logan even to myself right now. If he’s supposed to be gone, why isn’t it worse that he doesn’t seem to want to actually stay away?
I’m pretty sure my parents no longer talk at all anymore, and so it’s easy to let Dad think that Mom arranged a doctor’s appointment for me the next week. He’s great about nearly everything, but even whispering the word “gynecologist” will lead to a very quickly changed subject. He calls school for me without another word, and I try to get into my car without any Disney-inspired glee on my face. I doubt anyone has ever looked that happy to go to the gynecologist, after all.
When I pull up to Kat’s house, she’s standing outside already wearing mouse ears—real subtle, Kat—next to Quinn. I hope that Quinn’s just here to bid Kat good-bye since she’s going all the way to Anaheim, but then I realize Quinn’s also walking to the car and that she isn’t wearing a Dodgers cap today but one with the old-fashioned Disney character Oswald on the front.
“Hey!” Kat sits down in the front seat and immediately switches my stereo input to Bluetooth so she can play something from her phone. “Can we stop at Starbucks even though Quinn is morally opposed?”
“I’m not morally opposed,” she says from the back seat. “I only said their regular coffee tastes burnt. I enjoy a Frappuccino like any reasonably minded person.”
“Quinn’s coming,” I say and manage not to make it a question, though just barely.
“I know, right? Yay! She escaped her parents without any questioning this morning.” Kat waves her hand dismissively. “I swear I could leave for school, like, two hours later than usual, and even if my dad was home he’d be fine as long as I told him the rules changed or something.”
“Your dad is great,” Quinn says.
“He is,” I agree.
“Duh. I’m just saying. His grasp on my schedule and life is, like, tenuous at best. And now he’s all extra distracted with Diane, so. It’s all fine.”
“Everything’s OK there?” I ask because I’m
pretty sure that the last time Kat brought up Diane, tears were involved.
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be? No, don’t go to this Starbucks, the one on Alameda is way better, and then we’re right by the 5.”
“They’re all the same,” Quinn tells her.
“They aren’t! This one doesn’t have friendly baristas.”
I sigh but head toward one of the other billion Starbucks locations in Burbank, as Kat and Quinn debate the merits of barista friendliness. We somehow miraculously manage not to hit much rush hour traffic, and we’re parking at Disneyland while there’s still coffee left in our cups.
“We should make a plan of what rides we have to go on, and anything extra we’d like to work in.” I get out my phone and tap to my notes app. “I can make a list.”
“Churros first,” Kat says, dragging Quinn along behind her. I’m grateful—I guess—that I walk quickly enough to catch up. Kat and Quinn split a churro while I’m left ordering one on my own. This too-big churro feels like the dumbest metaphor for my life.
We start making a list, but Quinn and Kat keep agreeing with each other, so I finally just tell them to point me wherever they want to go. I’m going to get outvoted no matter what; at least this will ultimately save time. Also, to be fair, I like nearly every ride at Disneyland.
“Where are you going?” Kat asks me as we walk up to the Indiana Jones ride.
“Single rider line,” I say while pointing. “We’ll get through faster.” The annoying thing about Disneyland is that even when you pick a random Friday morning in February, the park can still be packed.
“Aw, but I have to ride with Quinn,” she says. “I’ll get scared of the boulder alone!”
“How can you get scared of it when you already know of its existence?” Quinn asks, but she’s smiling, and they drift together into the regular line.
“You can get into the other line if you want,” Kat tells me in the voice I know she thinks is extra sweet.
“It’s fine.”
Kat gets out her phone and starts to take a selfie of all of us.
“Don’t post this,” Quinn says quickly. “Not today at least.”
“Your parents aren’t going to look at my Instagram,” she says.
“You don’t know that,” Quinn says.
“Fine, fine, fine. Can’t I just save pics for myself? Yes, I can. Take off your hat, there’s a weird shadow on your face.”
Quinn sighs but does so. I lean in, but I can see from the camera’s screen how fake my smile looks. Was it that much to hope this would just be the parts of last year that still exist? Kat and me, me and Kat.
Kat swaps Quinn’s hat for her ears. “Look, you’re cute with ears!”
“I have ears already,” she says, as she and Kat collapse into giggles.
“Not mouse ears. James! You aren’t being festive at all!” She hops up to try to place the hat on my head, but there are benefits to being nearly six feet tall.
“I’m festive without headgear,” I say.
“I disagree, but I know you’re stubborn as heck.”
Kat gets out her phone to take more selfies of her and Quinn in their switched hats, which at least means that I’m off the hook for a while.
The three of us end up in one row in the fake Jeep, with Kat in the middle. She clings to Quinn the entire time, and screams just in anticipation of the boulder. I try to remember if she was quite this annoying last year, but all I remember about this ride then is Logan sitting behind me (we were both big believers in the single rider line) and trying to tap me at the scariest points. It never worked because Logan would scream even louder than Kat is now. He was such a baby.
I guess that he still is. Or maybe college has changed him. It shouldn’t be my concern anymore.
“Haunted Mansion next,” Kat says as we exit the ride. “Right?”
“Sure,” Quinn and I say together. Of course, when we get there I remember that the little buggies only seat two, and so I’m left alone in one. I can hear Kat and Quinn giggling behind me in that very specific way I know is associated with making out. It’s not as if I’ve never made out in the Haunted Mansion, but I’m almost startled at how lonely I suddenly feel.
It goes like this for the rest of the morning and early afternoon. I’m either next to a giggly couple on the verge of PDA or immediately in front of or behind them—including now, in line to get Dole Whip floats.
“We could just get ice cream on the way home,” Quinn says as the line in front of the Tiki Room for pineapple soft serve slowly inches forward. “Isn’t there a place at the Glendale Galleria that has these?”
“Quinn, you of all people who cares about real food and the honor of a recipe should know that place, like, completely pales in comparison to the real deal.”
“The true glory of the Dole Whip?” Quinn asks with a grin.
“Exactly.”
I can tell from how they’re angling the conversation toward me that I’m supposed to feel included, but people need more than angles. I get out my phone and hope that they can see they’re off the hook. Kat and Quinn keep debating the merits of nonregulation Dole Whip, so I check my messages and then scroll down through Instagram. Kat must be pretty confident about skipping school today, because she’s posted several times already. (She was at least thoughtful enough to leave Quinn and me out of it.) I keep scrolling, but something lodges there in my brain, so I scroll up a little and see it, on a selfie of Kat and her mouse ears. You look great as a rodent, Rydell.
I click on Kat’s profile and then tap through her photos. logan_af didn’t only comment on this selfie. Somehow I haven’t noticed that logan_af comments all the time, or, at least—weirdly—has been commenting plenty since last month.
“Are you and Logan friends?” I ask.
Kat looks to me with what I can clearly see is a start. “Friends, like, how?”
“He commented on your photo,” I say. “He’s commented on lots of your photos.”
“We don’t, like, hang out,” she says. “We were friends—are friends, though, I guess.”
“I’m really surprised you’d”—I cut myself off to find the word. “After—” What after what? I hate that I can’t end the sentence. I can’t even middle the sentence.
“I totally know it’s, like, a best friend violation,” she says, and then we’re at the front of the line. Quinn steps up to the register and orders for everyone, as Kat and I continue to watch each other.
“So if you knew that—”
“We were friends, too,” Kat says. “I missed him. Also sometimes I need . . .” She nods to Quinn and drops her voice. “Girl advice.”
“You’re friends with literally everyone at school,” I say. “There’s no one else?”
“Um . . .” Quinn is somehow balancing all three Dole Whip floats in her hands. “Should we eat these in the Tiki Room? Or just sit out here?”
“You can’t not eat these in the Tiki Room,” Kat says. “I can only enjoy pineapple soft serve when I’m being serenaded by animatronic parrots.”
“I’ll wait out here,” I say, and I can see how Kat doesn’t even hesitate to walk in without me. Quinn dashes out a second later to give me my float, and then, with an apologetic look, heads back in. I guess that it’s apologetic. Who even knows what Kat’s said to her about me?
They’re out in fifteen minutes, and we wordlessly walk away together.
“I should find something for Ainsley,” Quinn says, and then glances at me. “My sister has a Little Mermaid obsession.”
I nod and we both watch as Quinn disappears into a gift shop.
“I just wanted to have fun today,” I say.
“Well, duh, me too.”
“You’re almost eighteen,” I say. “Maybe you should cut out the whole duh thing.”
Kat steps back as if I’ve slapped her.
“I’m trying to help,” I say.
“Help what?” She blinks her eyes a bunch, clearly drawing attention to her te
ars. I’m not going to let her force me into feeling sorry for her, when there’s nothing about today that doesn’t feel like a betrayal. “Maybe we should just go home.”
Suddenly the moment is like a wave that’s swept me out to sea before I could even see what was happening. I don’t want to be manipulated, but I didn’t want to give up on this so soon.
“Only if you want to,” I say.
“Of course I don’t want to! I wanted to have a super fun day, and I thought we were,” she says. “Yes, I’m, like, social media friends or whatever with Logan. I didn’t know if I had to tell you or not, but, like, the last thing I wanted to do was make you think more about your breakup, which you still haven’t even told me a single thing about, you know, so I didn’t.”
“I’m fine about my breakup,” I say. “What’s there to say? No one should realistically expect a high school relationship to last.”
Quinn emerges from the gift shop holding a bag. “Where to next?”
“I think we should probably go home,” Kat says.
“I didn’t—”
Kat cuts me off with a look. “My head hurts and we should probably try to beat rush hour traffic.”
Last year, we were here until the park closed. I remember that Logan drove home and that in the middle of a conversation on our way back north on the 5, Kat fell asleep against Matty’s shoulder. For some reason at that point, Logan had been wearing Kat’s mouse ears, and I kept a photo I took of him driving as my lockscreen for months.
The ride back up is quiet, besides the playlist Kat plays over my stereo. She’s staring straight ahead every time I sneak a glance over at her, and I wonder how she can be so clueless about today. Why would I want Quinn here if the whole point of today was to try to recapture something we still had last year? Of course, now that seems stupid. Last year’s already gone, and trying to hang on to it is like grasping a glass of water after it’s been poured into your hands.