by Amy Spalding
The only thing I’d change about tonight is to have James be here. Of freaking course. And after prom’s over, after we’ve Lyfted to the hotel, after we’ve left three separate parties in three separate rooms (Mariana and her date Drew Williams’, Raina and Gretchen’s—and I am now more than pretty sure Raina and Gretchen are hooking up or at least about to—and Miguel Carter’s), James is still most of what’s taking up space in my brain.
“I just don’t understand why she wasn’t there,” I say, and it feels like it’s for the millionth time, though I am very aware it’s only the second time I’ve said it aloud to Quinn.
Quinn sits down on the edge of the bed. “Did you check that she’s OK?” We’re alone in our hotel room and my superhot girlfriend is on a giant bed, and yet all I can think about is James.
“Yeah, she just said she didn’t want to come.” I sigh. “I mean, I get that she’s maybe still upset about Logan or something? And didn’t have another date? But, like . . . it’s prom. I thought we were all going to be there to have fun together. I freaking picked out her dress with her. James’s was this really beautiful deep blue color and she looked amazing.”
“Breakups are hard,” Quinn says, taking off her shiny black dress shoes. Her socks have bright pink stripes that match my dress. “And prom is not that big of a deal, to people besides us at least.”
“It’s not just prom. It’s . . .” Suddenly all I can hear is Raina again. You guys don’t seem that tight. “James has been weird, like, a lot of this year. Things between us aren’t . . . I don’t know. I keep thinking how she’s still my best friend, but it’s not even like it feels like that? I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being sensitive right now because . . .”
I turn to look at myself in the mirror, the sparkly plastic crown balanced sturdily in my curls. I still feel like a princess. Princesses in Disney movies, after all, always seem to have dead moms.
“Because?” Quinn asks.
“Because this was such a big deal. We changed freaking school history. Our classmates voted for us and . . . it just feels really special to me. And I really, really wanted it, even if that’s gross and you’re not supposed to want stuff like this. I know people just thought I was having a post-Matty freak-out or something when I started going out with you, but . . . it feels like everyone cares about us now. And I know it’s just prom and it won’t matter in ten years or whatever, but I feel like what we did actually does matter. And my best friend didn’t even see it. I don’t even know if she cares.”
“I’m sure she cares.” Quinn shrugs. “Maybe it’s me.”
“What do you mean, it’s you?”
“K, I think it’s now pretty well established that James doesn’t like me.”
“That’s totally not true,” I say as quickly as I can and blink my eyes a bunch to keep from crying.
“Hey.” Quinn jumps up and hugs me. “K, are you OK?”
“Ugh, no,” I say. “I’m not dumping all my stupid drama on you.”
“You can dump all the stupid drama you want.”
“It’s just been . . .” I rest my head in the curve between her neck and shoulder. “I like that you don’t think of me as this super emotional depressing girl.”
“I don’t,” she says, “because you aren’t.”
“You would, though,” I say. “It’s not like it’s just James. Like if I talked about my mom or the day I found her or . . . or how my dad has a girlfriend and I actually like her and sometimes I feel like if Mom saw me getting along with Diane so well—”
I am in full beast mode. I’m crying and snotty and I don’t believe Sephora’s unspoken promises that my fake lashes will hold on through this storm.
Quinn just holds me really tightly. I feel it break through, this wave of emotion I’ve tried to dam off from her, and I cry like it’s never been so safe to do so. Maybe it really never has been so safe before.
“What was your mom like?” is how she ends the silence, when my tears are finally over.
“Oh my god, Quinn, she was amazing. She was so sophisticated and funny, and she could make my dad laugh even when he was being grumpy and gruff with us. Her job was so weird—it was selling the ads on this website called HerMaturity, which was like a sex blog for middle-aged women? She was totally their best salesperson and she’d fly all around the country doing her whole business pitch for executives and stuff. And the articles would be like ‘How to Choose the Right Lube for You’ but she’d never get embarrassed, even though, like, can you imagine? And she’d always bring me back a fancy box of chocolates from wherever she went and would tell me not to settle for cheap chocolate, like, ever.”
“That’s a good life rule.”
“Right? She was just, like . . . the kind of grown-up I hope I am someday. And I hope I can still figure that out now.”
Quinn kisses me, and I taste her chai lip balm mixed in with my tears. Our crowns smash together and now there’s glitter in the mix, too.
“I . . . I knew about your mom,” she says. “Not that you found her, or what happened, but . . . you know how the school is. I’d heard that your mom had died.”
“It was a cardiac arrhythmia,” I say. “She didn’t know she had it. She was always so healthy, you know? And then one day I got home and . . .”
Quinn holds me tighter.
“It still doesn’t feel real sometimes.”
“Seriously, I can’t imagine,” she says. “You’re so strong.”
“Oh, sure! I seem super strong right now, huh?”
“Yes,” she says, looking right into my eyes. “You do.”
“I didn’t want you to think I was like this,” I say. “Like this total emotional freak.”
She leans in so closely that her lips are almost touching my ear. “I already knew.”
I giggle and shove her away, but just a little. “Quinn!”
“K, you’re one of the strongest people I know,” she says. “If it wasn’t for you, the school never would have changed this rule. Not now, at least. You, like, get out there and make people see what you’re fighting for. It’s a big deal.”
I wave my hand. “I just wanted this super fancy plastic crown.”
“You don’t have to downplay it,” Quinn says. “Not to me. You inspire me.”
“If you knew what a mess I really was,” I say, “you wouldn’t think that.”
“You know you don’t have to pretend you are or aren’t anything, right?” she asks. “You’re well aware I fall apart sometimes.”
“I just liked being . . .” I sigh. “I like being this version of me, with you. The one who cried less and didn’t talk about her dead mom all the time. Who didn’t say, like, all her neurotic stuff aloud.”
“You can cry and talk about your dead mom as much as you want. And I’m up for hearing as many of your worries as you want to tell me.” Quinn grins and lies back on the huge hotel bed. “Is this how you pictured our prom night?”
I wipe my eyes for possibly the billionth time. “Oh, totally! Crying is super romantic and sexy, if you hadn’t heard.”
She traces her fingers down my arm. “I love you so much, Kat.”
Oh my god, I burst into tears again. But they’re different, and I hope she can feel that. They’re full of joy, and relief, and somehow my future. Maybe it will be our future.
I’ve managed to stop sniffling—mostly—and I lie back next to her to kiss her. “I love you, too.”
“I get that you think everything has to be perfect. But . . .” Quinn laughs. “It doesn’t? That’s all I’ve got.”
“I don’t—” I stop myself because I can feel how right she is. Even if this is one of the rare times I wish that she wasn’t. “I’ve felt like a mess ever since Mom died. And then after Matty . . . you just made me feel like none of that had to define me anymore.”
“None of it does,” she says. “But you don’t have to pretend none of it happened, or that you’re fine one hundred percent of the time. Or that it wasn�
�t a big deal to come out and start dating me. Or that whatever’s going on with you and James isn’t hard on you.”
“It, like, weirds me out how well you know me.” My skin tingles with the recognition. “And you still like me!”
“Also, you really can stop pretending that I’m perfect. We both know I’m not.”
“You are to me,” I say, sitting up. It feels more authoritative. “You have no idea, and if I have to keep telling you how I can’t believe how funny you are and how hot you are and how when you kiss me sometimes I swoon so hard I can’t even think. So, like, it’s hard for me to imagine anyone not seeing all of that, too.”
“I didn’t kiss any admissions officers at Oberlin,” she says.
“Well, duh. That would have been super unfair to every other applicant.”
She blushes again.
“I get that you don’t think I see you clearly,” I say, “and probably I don’t. It’s all hazy like a perfect sunset. But also maybe you can’t always see yourself clearly, you know? Like, none of your friends were shocked you got into college or were the other half of prom couple, were they?”
Quinn looks thoughtful for a moment. “You have a point.”
I smile at her because I love her but also because I love being right. It hits me how much I work, all the time, to be perfect so that no one needs to worry about things that will hopefully be fine later. I could brush that off as easy, but feeling how much weight has been lifted off me tonight, I guess that it wasn’t entirely. And maybe that’s what I’ve been pushing on Quinn this whole time, this perfect mold to fill instead of letting her take her own shape.
“Seriously, though?” I touch her face, and she grins. “If I ever made you feel, like, not heard about being stressed out or whatever, I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, K.”
“Also, oh my god, Quinn. Everyone knows you have to be twenty-five to rent a car!”
Quinn just grins, and now it’s too much; I have to kiss her, and kiss her, and keep kissing her. She carefully unthreads my crown from my curls but dodges me when I try to lift hers off her head.
“What? I’m leaving mine on,” she says with a smirk.
“Oh my god, you’re such a nerd.” But I’m careful as I slide off her tuxedo jacket, untie her bowtie, and unbutton her shirt, not to jostle her crown. There are probably a thousand more things we could discuss tonight, but I’m done with talking, and from the swift way Quinn unzips my dress, I think she is, too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
October of Senior Year
JAMES
I smile at my phone’s screen. Last year, when I thought about Logan away at college, it sounded very adult and sexy. But it had actually been easier finding time to be alone when we—both only children with two working parents each—were still within walking distance of each other’s homes. Apparently, roommates can be harder to shake than parents.
“You look happy,” Kat says, walking up to my locker. “Like, boy-happy.”
“You know me well.” I start to hold out my phone to her but realize Quinn Morgan is right behind her. As usual, these days. And I have nothing against Quinn, but I don’t know her well enough to let her in on my sex life.
“What are you doing on Friday?” Kat asks. Since she’s glancing back at Quinn, I’m not sure who the question is for. I continue moving my books from my bag to my locker. “James?”
“Oh.” I turn back to her. “I think I’m hanging out with Logan. Why?”
She makes a little frustrated noise. “Quinn’s friend Raina is organizing a bunch of people to go skating at Moonlight Rollerway. You love skating.”
Is it weird to ask my college boyfriend to drive out to the suburbs to go skating with a bunch of high school girls? Because Kat’s right; now that even the idea of skating is in my head, I can feel the motion in my legs, picture the way the world curves around me as I fly around the rink.
She bounces up and down. “See, I can tell you want to!”
I’m used to Kat being practically a literal cartoon character, but I can see from how Quinn’s eyes follow Kat that it’s all new to her.
“I should check with Logan,” I say.
“Of course!” Kat gestures down the hall. “I have to get to class, but we can discuss more later at lunch? Quinn says there’s tons of room at her table if we want to totally firm up plans with everyone.”
“Oh, I . . .” I want to say that I don’t think we need to switch tables just to finalize plans for roller-skating, but Kat’s so eager and I can’t figure out a way to say it that doesn’t sound bitchy. So I end up nodding. And what Kat said ends up not even being true; Quinn’s table is packed. Quinn, a red-haired girl named Raina, and Gretchen Bates, who runs track with me, all have to grab chairs from neighboring tables. We manage to mostly fit the additional chairs in, and I see how Quinn makes sure that Kat gets one of the non-shoved-in chairs.
“This is better,” Kat says with a little glance over to our regular table. Matty is, of course, holding court, and maybe I’m an asshole for not realizing how rough it’s been on Kat to sit near him after everything. Though I still hope this is for today only, because these girls aren’t my friends, and I’d rather be catching up with Sofia and Mariana like always. Sitting here is already such a production. Over at the other section, if there aren’t enough chairs, people just sit nearby without rearranging everything.
“Sure,” I say, balancing my salad on top of my lap, while Kat’s onion rings and tiny cup of Thousand Island dressing are in front of her on the table. Mom frequently starts sentences with you know that I love your friend Kat—but then there’s always a but. And the fact that my best friend eats like a tiny junk-food-obsessed bird is often what follows the but.
“Oh my god,” Kat says. “Quinn! Show James your list.”
Quinn stares at Kat like she’s just been asked to walk around naked.
“James’ll think it’s so cool,” Kat says in the tiny sweet voice she uses when she wants to get her way. It’s transparent but usually effective. This time is no exception, because even though Quinn lets out a heavy sigh, she flips through a small leather-bound book she’s pulled out of her stack of school stuff.
“Amazing, right?” Kat grabs it from Quinn and shoves it nearly in my face. Oberlin, Wellesley, Amherst, Vassar, NYU. The list goes on in neat block handwriting, but I get the picture.
“It’s the same as your list,” I say.
“Yep! We’re like college soul mates or something.” She giggles, but I see a look of terror pass over Quinn’s face, like the fear that everyone sees exactly what you’re thinking. Her glances and the care she takes carving out space for Kat tell a lot already. To be fair, it feels like everyone’s in love with Kat. She has that effect on people, and there’s no reason Quinn would be immune.
Kat comes over after school ostensibly to do homework, even though I know she’ll just want to talk and raid our refrigerator. I still get out my statistics homework while I hear her rummaging around in the kitchen.
“Can I eat this pink stuff?” she calls.
“It’s frosting,” I tell her, but moments later she appears with a bag of pretzels and the tub of homemade frosting leftover from a cake Dad made this past weekend.
“Did Logan text you back yet?” she asks. “About skating?”
“Not yet,” I say.
“He’s probably, like, super super busy,” Kat says, before I even have a moment to wonder.
“I’m not worried,” I tell her. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Ugh, you’re so freaking mature.” She dips a pretzel into the strawberry frosting. “No wonder Logan loves you. Loving you is like loving the land.”
What? “What?”
“Like it only slowly changes over time, it’s all safe and good if you take care of it. Probably no one will ever love me again; I’m like loving a feral cat.”
“These are both extremely inaccurate analogies,” I tell her. “The earth is constantly ch
anging, actually, and when you add climate change to that—”
“James, don’t bring actual science into my science analogies.” She giggles and checks something on her phone before looking back to me. It’s at least a chance to get started on my statistics homework.
“So, do you have a whole plan? Like a Logan plan?” she asks. “Not your big life plan, like, your long-distance relationship plan?”
Is it possible there’s a plan I’ve missed?
“Like, how often you guys are going to see each other in person, and if you’re going to have actual phone calls or FaceTimes or whatever in addition to texting,” she continues. “Relationship expectations, you know?”
“We didn’t make a plan for it,” I say. “But I trust him, and so I guess that covers everything? I don’t expect him to be hitting on girls or avoiding me. If he’s busy, he’s busy. Logan’s so honest . . .”
I suddenly hate my words, because Kat was literally gone for only about five days when Matty cheated on her, and even though she’s the kind of girl everyone wants to be around, he left her feeling like a feral cat.
“OMG, James.” She makes direct eye contact with me. “Like, obviously. Whatever bad thing you’re thinking, it’s OK. Logan has totally proved himself to be all honest and upstanding.”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m still sorry about what happened. You know that it has nothing to do with you, don’t you? Matty’s just . . .”
Kat shrugs. “I hope it doesn’t. What if I’m just this depressing loser with a dead mom who’s unlovable?”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I say, and she throws her arms around me before returning to her snacks and her physics homework. “Should I make a long-distance relationship plan, though?”
“Ooh, a pro/con list about whether or not to make a long-distance relationship plan!”
I almost start to write that down before I realize she’s teasing me.