We Used to Be Friends

by Amy Spalding

  Diane sneaks me wine, and she and Stacey promise they’ll take me to the guy who cut Mom’s hair so I can maybe finally get my own curls under control. We all give Luke girl advice, though of course he won’t take it and will whine later anyway.

  The feeling comes over me like when it’s cold out but suddenly the furnace kicks in. For almost three years I didn’t feel like a family, and right now, I can totally feel how we are one after all.

  Later, after Diane and Stacey have left, and Luke is out probably just drinking beers in Keith’s garage, I find Dad alone in the kitchen. And I know it’s time to ask.

  “Dad?” I take a super deep breath. “Where’s Mom’s stuff?”

  “What stuff?” he asks, and I realize there’s no stiffness in his shoulders, no weird itchy look. He looks OK.

  “The stuff that used to be in your room. Her stuff.”

  “Oh.” He nods. “I put it away. Do you—”

  “Of course I do! I wish you would have offered.”

  “Kat, in case you had some idea that I know what I’m doing . . .” Dad sighs and rakes his hand through his hair, just the way Luke does. It’s wild how gestures and looks can be passed down. I wonder if there’s anything of me that’s just like Mom.

  He walks down the hall to his room and comes back with a small box. When I open the lid, I smell her perfume. For just a second, it’s like she’s here again. From the look on Dad’s face, I’m pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing.

  “She’d be so proud of you,” he says.

  “No,” I say, for some stupid reason. I laugh and cry at the same time. I think of James’s words, how I never lose and I don’t have room for other people. What if she’s right? How could anyone be proud of me then? “Why? I’m not a big deal.”

  “You’re a big deal, kid.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, and he still doesn’t look itchy or jumpy. “I’m really proud of you.”

  I hug him so tightly. I don’t remember the last time we hugged like this.

  “Everything OK with you?” he asks.

  “Not really,” I say. “But I’m surviving.”

  “That’s all we can do, huh.”

  “What about you?” I ask. “How are you?”

  Dad glances at me like he’s surprised, and I feel it in my heart. I have to be the girl who asks, even when it’s hard and weird and maybe even itchy. Everyone in my life deserves that, and even though she isn’t my friend anymore, James deserved it, too. And I can’t undo that or give her any of the attention she deserved when she deserved it, but I can be this girl moving forward. I can be better every day, if I keep trying.

  “I’m doing pretty good, kid,” he says. “You want a beer?”

  “What?”

  He shrugs and gets up. “You’re going to college soon. It’s fine.”

  Dad returns a moment later with two bottles. I clink mine against his and hope that it’s OK that I don’t actually have a toast ready. He nods at me and looks back to the TV, so I think everything at this exact moment is OK as it is.

  Later that night, I get a new follower notification from Stacey, and later still she directly messages me an old photo of her and Mom I’ve never seen before. Stacey’s delicate diamond nose stud was a shiny silver hoop back then, and Mom was wearing a ripped-up T-shirt that said BABES IN TOYLAND. I can see how the necklace was an affront to their friendship, and I can also see that I look more like her than I realized. We stand just the same way.

  I message Stacey.

  Her response is fast.

  I have no idea if James and I are Stacey and Mom. But Mom stood just like me and Stacey’s tight with words like James. I know that soon I’ll be in Ohio, for the majority of the next four years, and of course I think I’ll meet new people and make new friends to confide in. But they won’t be James, with our shared histories or her quiet knowing smile. They won’t have known my mom, not at all, much less the way I remember Mom teasing James, and how James could always dish it right back. Not even Quinn knows that part of my history.

  And so maybe I can let all of this mean something besides my future having a big James-shaped hole right in the center of it.

  I’m about to get into bed later that night when I unfortunately think about the time capsule, about James’s letter, about how it’s still tucked away in my desk drawer. I know younger James wrote it, not current James, but I miss her words so much that even old ones sound better than none at all.

  The thin, crisp envelope is under the stack of birthday cards from my parents and then just Dad, and I touch those birthday envelopes written in Mom’s handwriting (always Katherine, never Kat) before grabbing for James’s letter. I hug it against my heart for just a moment before sliding out the piece of heavy, pale blue stationary.

  Dear Kat,

  I know that you think that I’m writing this only because you’re making me, and I suppose on some very technical level, that’s true. Also true that I don’t talk about my feelings all the time (or ever?) but I will make an exception for you.

  I’m so glad we were paired up in kindergarten, though I don’t think it was fate like you (probably?) do. We were just lucky. I think I already wanted to be your friend, though. Everyone wants to be your friend, and I get to feel smug that I already am. Your best friend, at that. It’s like being best friends with Beyoncé. (It’s actually probably better, because Beyoncé would always be leaving to go on tour, and you’re always around.)

  It’s true that I don’t always know what to say, or that I do and am not always sure how to go about saying it. I’m glad this hasn’t ever mattered to you, as if you always miraculously know anyway. And so you probably know better than I do what to say to my future self in your letter. I don’t think the passage of time will really matter, though, because once you’ve forged your friendship in kindergarten mortarboards you’re linked for life. (That’s a saying, right? )

  Love, James

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  August before Senior Year

  JAMES

  Something about Los Angeles that seems to surprise people from anywhere else is how big it is. I know that it doesn’t sound like a big deal to live in Burbank and have your boyfriend move into the dorms at UCLA, but, well, it’s not nothing. Even today, a Saturday, it took me nearly an hour to drive over. Finding parking that wouldn’t get me a ticket—or worse, towed—took fifteen minutes more.

  But it’s fine, because now I’m sitting on the green grass of the UCLA campus, with my college freshman of a boyfriend. I can’t believe in one year I’ll be the freshman here—as long as I get in. And as long as Logan doesn’t skyrocket past me in maturity and not need me anymore.

  “Oh my god!” Logan’s overcome with his dorky little laugh. I hope he never knows how stupid weak it makes me. “That guy was skating past those girls and trying to look cool, and he completely wiped out.”

  I follow his line of vision. “Well, Logan, not everyone can be as cool with the ladies as you are.”

  “You jest, but I’m the coolest guy you know.”

  I laugh and lean back on the lawn. “Only because I don’t know that many guys.”

  “I’ll take what I can get.”

  “Logan . . .” I don’t know why this is coming out of my mouth now, but I don’t feel like I can stop it. Normally my feelings seem so within my control, so maybe it’s the campus. “I know what we said, but if you—”

  “Nope, McCall, nope.” He collapses back next to me. “We’re in this. As long as you still wanna be.”

  “You know that I still want to be.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” He pushes up my sunglasses and kisses me. “Seriously. I love you and wanna make this work. Us. College. Semi-long-distance. The whole shebang.”

  “God, you’re a nerd.” I laugh but end up kissing him more. My brain had conjured up a new Logan, who’d be instantly more mature, more serious, more quick to judge. The new Logan wouldn’t need a high school girlfriend, much less one like me who wa
sn’t like him in ways I worried would someday matter.

  But it’s just a campus, and while the drive wasn’t exactly fun, it’s not actually that far. He’s the Logan who asked me out by waiting outside the girls’ locker room after track practice and who once took my best friend to Throwback Thursday at Moonlight Rollerway because I’d suddenly come down with the flu and Kat couldn’t drive yet.

  We lie silently next to each other for a while, and I imagine this moment, exactly one year from now, when I won’t have to drive home afterward. This is all assuming I get accepted at UCLA, but my plan feels so right that I can’t imagine it not working out.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I risk ruining the moment and take it out to read the screen.

  I glance over at Logan, who is now on his phone as well. “Would you kill me if I left?”

  “McCall, murder is never on the menu.” He shoves his phone back in his pocket. “What’s up?”

  “Kat’s home from Indiana.”

  “Go,” he says, instead of reminding me that she’s been gone for a shorter time than he has. “Tell Rydell I said hi.”

  “It’s only because I love her more than you,” I say, and kiss him. “It’s still weird you aren’t a few blocks away anymore.”

  “We’ll get used to it,” he says. “I’ll escort you to your car, my lady.”

  “No,” I say with a laugh. “I’m good. I’ll call you later. But if people want to go out or you get invited to a party, go.”

  “Aye aye, Captain McCall.”

  We kiss once more and then I’m back to my car and fighting weekend traffic on my drive northeast back to Burbank. By the time I park, I’ve got what looks like two dozen texts from Kat.

  I turn around and rush over to Simply Coffee. Kat is sitting outside and leaps to her feet when she sees me.

  “You’re alive!” she calls out as she tackles me into a hug, which is impressive, given that she’s nine inches shorter than me.

  “Sorry, I was actually in Westwood with Logan,” I say.

  “Oh my god, thank you for journeying so far to see me.” She gestures to her hair, which does resemble a mushroom in shape. “This is what I’m going to look like in college, so it’s good I’ve already locked down your friendship, James. I cannot imagine I’m going to pick up a bunch of new friends starting next year.”

  “Only if you get in,” I tell her, which makes her giggle.

  “Thanks! That’s totally the silver lining I needed.”

  We walk inside together so I can get a coffee and Kat can get a(nother) chai. We risk losing the table outside, but it feels ridiculous to stop talking.

  “So Luke is settled in?” I ask once we’ve ordered our drinks.

  “Totally. Him and his new roommate had already been emailing about, you know, all their engineering stuff, so he seems completely at home. And I know I texted you about it, but it was so cool Dad drove me all the way to Oberlin.”

  “So you’re sure you want to go there?” It’s not that I want to deprive Kat of her dream college experience. It’s only that going to Ohio seems so random, and, for god’s sake, I’m struggling to adjust to Logan only forty-five minutes (plus parking) away from me.

  “I’m not one hundred percent sure. But I felt super at home on campus, and it would be kind of cool to not be too far away from Luke. It just feels so smart and creative there. They have this first-year student seminar program that sounds so good for me. And I know your James brain wants all these logistical reasons that add up to some perfect formula, but . . . ?” She laughs and takes our drinks from the barista, and we walk back outside into the sunshine. Our table’s still open for us. “It just feels right, you know? Can’t something just feel right, James?”

  “Well, sure.” Of course, I like facts and reasoning, stats on how fast I ran this year compared to last, SAT scores to aim for, percentage of local students accepted at UCLA. Life isn’t all so tidy, and even though it might surprise Kat, I’m glad that it isn’t. Is there sense to make of our decade-plus-long friendship? Is there logic and sound reasoning to falling in love with Logan? All of that feels right, but I know if I said that aloud it wouldn’t sound passionate and interesting the way it does from Kat.

  “I need to see more of the world,” Kat continues. “I know that you’re about to say that Ohio isn’t exactly more of the world, Kat, and I know that you’re right, but it’s not LA, and that’s all I know. I barely know that! I know freaking Burbank.”

  “Hopefully Ohio has everything you’re looking for.” I try not to smile as I say it, but Kat cracks up and then I’m laughing, too.

  “I have no idea what I’m looking for,” she says with a little shrug. She doesn’t look terrified, even though that feeling would chill me to my core. “It seems like a good place to find out, though, maybe. Who knows! Senior year could hold anything, though.”

  I don’t realize I’m smirking, but then Kat elbows me.

  “Oh, stop. I know, I know, the next years of your life are completely figured out while I flail about. Whatever.”

  I sip my cold brew. “Have you seen Matty yet?”

  “James! I literally just got back and now I’m here with you. Matty can wait.” Kat fidgets with her necklace. “So, like, not that you should have been, but were you nervous to go see Logan? Did you worry he’d be all . . . collegiate?”

  “Yes.” Last Thanksgiving, my aunt asked me if Kat and I were still friends, and why we got along so well. When you’ve been friends with someone as long as Kat and I have been, it can be hard breaking it all down. And I didn’t know what to say, because Kat and I just work. Kat knows the things that scare me without me having to name them.

  “But Logan loves you,” she says very firmly. “So I’m sure he wasn’t collegiate and everything was normal, right? Like perfectly normal. Normally perfect? Whatever. You guys are my proof love exists.”

  “Not your own boyfriend?”

  She giggles. “My own relationship can’t be my own inspiration, dork. It’s all you guys.”

  I can’t make fun of her considering it’s probably much dorkier for your relationship inspiration to be your own parents.

  “Urgghh,” she says, and then sips a bunch of her iced chai. “Don’t you wish it was already next fall? You’re all cute with Logan on the UCLA campus, and I have mushroom hair in Ohio?”

  “I think I’ll like being a senior,” I say. “And not having you more than two thousand miles away.”

  “We’ll FaceTime,” she says. “Lots! Think of all we’ll have to talk about. We already have a million things to talk about and that’s with us doing almost all the same stuff all the time.”

  I’m not sure that I’m ready for any huge changes, but—besides Logan—all of that’s a full year away. What I am ready for is senior year, right here, with Kat. And I love that I don’t have to say it. With Kat, I never have to say it. I just smile at her, and she knows.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my editor Maggie Lehrman for fighting for this book. Working on it with you was a dream come true. Thank you to Hana Nakamura and Christine Almeda for the beautiful cover that brings James and Kat to life. Thanks to the entire of the Abrams team for your hard work!

  Thank you to my agent Kate Testerman, who continues to be more tireless and optimistic than I could ever manage. This book found its home because of you, and I’ll be forever grateful.

  Thanks to early readers and cheerleaders and note-givers: Christie Baugher, Meghan Deans, Jessica Hutchins, Gretchen McNeil, Sarah Skilton, and Jessie Weinberg. Thank you to Tess Sharpe for your genius nonlinear thoughts. Thanks to Zachary Wilcha for your incredible help regarding Habitat for Humanity, and Darien Wollman for the helpful information about Tree People. Thanks to Jasmine Guillory for always knowing what characters should be cooking. Thanks to Britta Lundin for knowing the worst car for prom. Thanks to Laura Birek for brainstorming how one could be romantic via coding. Thanks to Scott Singer for all of the information about runn
ing track.

  Thanks to my amazing writing community. I will be sure to inadvertently leave people out, but encouragement and support from, but not limited to, these people has kept me going: Robin Benway, Kayla Cagan, Heather Cocks, Audrey Coulthurst, Elizabeth Eulberg, Maurene Goo, Adrienne Kisner, Aditi Korana, Kathy Kottaras, CB Lee, Nicole Maggi, Jessica Morgan, Julie Murphy, Becca Podos, Isabel Quintero, Marisa Reichardt, Zan Romanoff, Rainbow Rowell, Lance Rubin, Aminah Mae Safi, Tiffany Schmidt, Robyn Schneider, Stephanie Strohm, Robin Talley, Julia Whelan, Kiersten White, Sara Zarr, and all the pals I forgot. Writing is stressful and isolating and weird sometimes, and yet because of the people in my life, it’s a little less so.

  And, finally, thanks to my mom, Pat Spalding, for all of your encouragement.

  Loved the book?

  Check out our entire catalog of great novels, graphic novels, and non-fiction for young adults and middle-grade readers at Amulet Books!

  Hungry for more YA?

  Take a

  with sneak piques, behind-the-scenes, interviews and much more inspired by our latest YA books at piquebeyond.com!