by Sophia Rossi
I sent a secret mental message to Lily (“SOS!”). But like all things lately re: Lily, I knew she probably wouldn’t respond with any real emotional depth. Plus it was kind of hard to concentrate on Lily, what with me focusing all my energy on making sure I was a good kisser.
After an eternity—okay, five minutes, tops—Derek broke away and stared at me, as if he were looking for some kind of change in my features, or maybe memorizing them.
“We should get back,” he murmured, and I, not trusting my mouth, mutually agreed and followed him as obediently as a puppy.
We walked back to the barn in silence, almost-but-not-quite holding hands. Back with the group, I tried not to notice Kendall staring daggers or Stephanie’s look of concern, and instead focused on counting the number of empty beer cans that had been strewn around the room. Derek must have misunderstood why I was staring at that particular scene, because he sauntered over and handed me his half-drunk can. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted any,” he said with a shrug. “But you can have the rest of mine.”
“Oh, actually, I don’t. . . .” I stammered, trying to find the right way to tell Derek’s blue-flecked eyes that the only reason I’d put that can near my mouth was to get another taste of his lips.
But I never had a chance.
“What did I tell you?” Kendall sneered, wobbling over to us in too-tall heels like a demented stork. Outfitted in yet another belly shirt and a shellacked-looking skirt that was short enough to expose a stunningly impressive thigh-gap, Kendall snaked her arm into Derek’s and narrowed her eyes at me. “I said, Harper is going to go call her best friend the Super Dork and have him save her from all us bad lil troublemakers!”
“Really?” I replied coolly. “Super Dork, that’s the best you could come up with? Did you buy your sense of humor at American Apparel, too? Is that why it’s so low quality?” Stephanie made a sound like a strangled laugh, but when Kendall turned around to look at her she pretended to be coughing.
Kendall snapped her attention back to me, which seemed to take more effort for her than it should. Her eyes kept floating upward and I wondered if she was going to faint and save us all some trouble. Her breath smelled like soggy, moldy bread. “Oh, and you have a sense of humor? Obvioush . . . obviously I had you pegged all wrong! Here, let me make it up to you. Want some?” Kendall produced a hot pink flask as if it were a magic trick.
I grabbed the flask from Kendall before she could see my hands shaking. It’s no big deal, it’s only alcohol, you baby, I chided myself as I unscrewed the lid. The wafting, overpowering stench hit my nose like a slap. I wondered if everyone could tell that I’d never taken so much as a sip of wine in my entire life. In fact, Lily and I had absolutely no interest in drinking or drugs. It wasn’t about being cool or uncool, it was just who we were, and the concept of “peer pressure” seemed so ludicrous when it was just the two of us that I’d never even imagined how it would be when I was all alone, holding a flask in hostile territory.
“Come on, Dorkgirl.” Kendall was listing so hard she should have fallen over already. “If you’re going to wuss out, I’m going to need to ask for my flask back.” I knew I shouldn’t have let such a lame insult get under my skin. I had always counseled Lily to ignore the haters if they couldn’t even bother to be original. But this was different: I had just had my first kiss, and Lily might as well have been a million miles away. This wasn’t peer pressure, I reasoned, as long as I was only doing it to get Kendall to shut up and make Derek like me.
All eyes were on me as I brought the hot pink container of liquid death to my mouth.
Harper (4:45 p.m.): SOS! EMERGENCY!
Lily (5:45 p.m.): ?????
Harper (5:47 p.m..): Things have gotten and double plus insane. Can we meet up? Ferris wheel your house my house I don’t care. I NEED YOU ASAP.
Lily (5:47 p.m.): PuppyGirl! What’s going on??
Harper (5:48 p.m.): Ugh I can’t even over text. Can we meet in 15? Near the pier? My sister can drive us if you want to get picked up.
Lily (5:49 p.m.): Oof! Whatever it is sounds awful. I really really want to meet but I can’t bc band practice.
Harper (5:51 p.m.): . . . Band practice?
Lily (5:52 p.m.): Yeah! Well, we’re not like a band, band–yet. I play the ukulele and sing, Jane is on harp and Drew plays the water jug. Guess what we call ourselves?
Harper (5:53 p.m.): Lily can you call me for a second? I really, really messed up, and I could really do with some Gawkward Fairy love right now.
Lily (5:53 p.m.): We’re the Jug Judies!
Lily (5:53 p.m.): Oh Harper I’m so sorry I wish I could.
Harper (5:54 p.m.): Maybe I could come over and hang out afterwards so we can have a 2 ?
Lily (6:01 p.m.): Awwww I can’t! I am already so so so late to finish my pre-midterm project for Lit Sesh. They’re letting me decoupage a conch shell for my project on Lord of the Flies instead of writing a paper!
Harper (6:05 p.m.): Okay.
Lily (6:10 p.m.): We will see each other soon I promise. I love you so much im going to sell your organs on the black market and use the profits for the next puppybash.
Harper (6:15 p.m.): Can you just call me ASAP?
Lily (6:16 p.m.): I will I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow after our NAMASTE meeting.
Harper (6:16 p.m.): NAMASTE?
Lily (6:18 p.m.): I have so many things to catch you up on! And I love you MOAR than metaphysical cops love donut wormholes. Let’s hang out soon! How about a Walgreens lip gloss run next week?
Harper (6:20 p.m.): I love you and I love that but are you INSANE. by next week I could be put in cedars sinai hospital for being in a full spiral. just call me soon, ok? I need your advice.
Lily (6:31 p.m.): Yes, totally, hugging you SO HARD through the phone right now!
“Okay, that one sounded like ‘Greensleeves’ meets Haim, for sure,” Drew huffed happily after Jug Judies rehearsal in the Pathways music room. It always took him awhile to catch his breath after thirty straight minutes of “tooting” (as he called it). “Lady Lily, why didn’t you tell us you had such an amazing set of lungs?”
I grinned. “Is that your nice way of saying you don’t like the way I strum my uke?” I gave my instrument a loud twang for good measure.
“Shush your face, just shush it!” Drew said, pushing his blond mop-top out of his eyes and grinning at me. “If I had your talent I would have sold it to Disney already so I could be the next Miley.”
“Oh, please, if there was anyone off today, it was me!” Jane said, pushing her chair away from her oversized harp, swooning over toward me, and laying her gigantic fluff of ebony hair into my lap. “Lileeee! Please sprinkle some of your magic dust on me, that I might play as fair a sound as you, m’lady!”
I threw my hair in front of my face and scratched at it furiously, sending a cloud of dandruff down on Jane’s head. “Here ya gooo!”
“Settle down, you two!” mock-scolded Drew. “Remember, here at Pathways we’re all about NAMASTE!”
We all giggled furtively. In the last week or so since we founded the Jug Judies, Jane, Drew, and I have become much closer friends. Nicole would probably be offended if she heard the way we sometimes laughed about NAMASTE, but that was only because she was so dedicated to her club that she didn’t really have a sense of humor about it. We all agreed that it was really inspirational, the way Nicole was able to get up in front of a group and give a big talk like she did the first week of school, and that none of us would even be friends if it wasn’t for her. We really owed her everything, but the truth was, I was still really shaken by the whole fairy wing t
hing, and I felt more relaxed when I didn’t have to put one-on-one time in with anyone. But I felt bad for even thinking like that because Nicole was the kind of person who could definitely read your thoughts.
The fact was, Drew and Jane were a lot more laid-back than Nicole was, and easier to be around. I hadn’t known this when we first met, but Jane’s father was one of the first African American television network heads, which is how Jane became so media-and Internet-obsessed, having spent most of her life defending her dad against racist trolls in the comment section of Deadline, Variety, and The Hollywood Reporter.
Jane’s blog, FancyFashionFeminist, gets thousands of hits and she’s even been written about by Teen Vogue and Refinery29 and a bunch of other publications who keep putting her on lists about young tastemakers. Not that I know much about that world, but I think Jane sells herself a little short. She really does have amazing taste and a fantastic eye for fashion, and unlike most of the Internet, Jane’s posts are always funny and well-written. She writes from a platform of body-acceptance and reaches such a large and diverse audience that she was once even mentioned by the ladies on Good Morning America.
I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten until I glanced at the clock above a row of music stands. We had to go to a quick catch-up meeting for the NAMASTE officers, and then I had to hustle out to meet Harper, who I really, really owed. She was having a rough time at school, and I’d been so worried that I was maybe betraying her and our pact every single day I wore my wings at Pathways that I didn’t even know how to talk to her like a real person anymore. Could she tell how shady I was being over text? I hoped not, but Harper is so socially intuitive that I was sure that was just wishful thinking. For the first time ever, I felt nervous about meeting up with my bestie.
“Guys, maybe we should pack up,” I said. “Nicole is supposed to meet us in five minutes and you know how pissed she gets if our ‘extras’ make us late.” Nicole considered anything outside of sessions and NAMASTE to be an “extra,” i.e., “a nonessential part of the core growth opportunities offered by Pathways.” The Jug Judies seemed to particularly rub her the wrong way.
As we left the music room, Drew goosed me from behind, I screeched, and we all ended up running and laughing down the hall. There were small pockets of kids still roaming around, going to and from various activity groups, and you could tell one from the other based on the way each student-cluster was dressed and styled. But the one thing they all had in common is that when we flashed by one another, almost everyone waved and smiled at me. Someone even shouted, “Hey, it’s Fairy Girl! Fairy Girl!” I turned back and give a dramatic bow. The hallway, I’m not exaggerating, cheered for me. I didn’t even know a lot of these kids; a lot of them looked older, but they all knew who I was. It felt amazing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was popular.
Not that it matters, or anything. But it’s nice. Especially to have people like you for the right reasons, like how creative and unique you are. Is this what it’s been like for Harper her entire life?
Nicole was walking toward us in the Lane. She was kind of hard to spot, as she was rocking a shoulder-length blond wig over her real hair, which she’d recently changed from bright green to a beautiful shade of blue.
“Namaste, friends,” she said as we all hugged hello.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” I said. “My friend Harper? I’ve told you about her, she’s my best friend? She goes to Beverly High? Well, her birthday is coming up and I haven’t been able to see her in a while, so I’m going to make a Walgreens run with her today after school.”
“A . . . Walgreens run?” Nicole said, wrinkling her nose. She had on metallic eye shadow and a black romper with a red vinyl belt and white stilettos. It was trés punk rock.
“Yeah, it’s just this silly thing we do,” I said, looking to Jane and Drew, but they were both suddenly busy on their phones. “But it’s kind of Zen-like, you know? Walking through all those aisles and finding the nail polishes with the craziest names and trying on Burt’s Bees samples, or buying a giant container of Cheez Doodles for a dollar and then pigging out on them in the parking lot. We could spend hours in there, and definitely have. It’s actually very relaxing. It’s like . . . flow.”
Nicole made a snorting noise, but didn’t say anything. Neither did Drew or Jane. Sometimes when I talked about Harper, or about anything from middle school, really, they would all just get really quiet, and I didn’t know why. I thought maybe it was because they thought I was bragging. Like, “Ooh, have I told you yet about this popular blond cheerleader-type girl who’s chosen me to be her best friend?!” Seeing that Pathways was so alternative, I could understand why Nicole and the rest of them might not have ever fit in with Harper and her friends. Maybe they felt left out when I brought her up or told them stories about her, even though that was silly—Nicole was unlike any other person I’d ever met. That was kind of the point Nicole was trying to make: There was no one else like her, so don’t even try.
“Maybe you guys want to come with us? Harper is so great, and she’s always asking about all three of you!” Shoot, I thought, of course not thinking to think until after I’d invited them. What was I doing? If Nicole came along with me to Walgreens, then I’d have to wear my wings and then Nicole would mention how she’d bought a pair too, and then Harper will know I’m only wearing them because Nicole told me to. Even though the wings were my “thing” before I’d ever even met Nicole. And then Harper would meet my new NAMASTE friends and then we’d all become best friends and then Nicole, Jane, Drew, and I would make care packages to send over to Beverly High and—
I was broken out of my daydream by Nicole. “No, that’s okay Lily, I think we’ll pass,” she said, dismissing the idea with a wave of her hand. “Though you should totally have fun at your . . . Walgreens spree.”
“It’s a run,” I said, still smiling like an idiot. “Not like a fashion spree or anything. More like a ‘Oh, let’s crank up the radio and play Adele, get some frozen yogurt and do a Walgreens run!’ run. You have to see some of these names they give their off-brand nail polish. One time, Harper and I found one that was called ‘Thanks a Latte’ and we couldn’t stop saying the name to ourselves over and over again in this really sassy Valley Girl accent, like ‘uh, thanks a latte for this super tacky manicure!’”
Drew cracked first and I smiled at him gratefully.
“Jane, I bet you could do a whole blog post just on the sheer ridonk of some of the stuff you’ll find in their beauty section. Seriously, Wet’n’Wild has a whole line named after TV shows . . . ‘How I Met Your Magenta’, ‘Gray’s Anatomy’, ‘Sa-green-a the Teenage Witch’ . . .”
“Are you telling me that this mega-chain is actually stocking some meta-commentary on a Melissa Joan Hart show in the beauty aisle?” Jane was almost bouncing from excitement. “I’ve got to see this for myself.”
Jane looked to Nicole, as if asking for permission. Nicole picked up her book bag and started heading for the exit, and for a second I thought that she’d been persuaded, so I gathered my things and started following her out. But then she stopped and motioned for me to stay behind with her while ordering Jane and Drew to meet her at her car.
I loved Nicole’s Tesla Roadster. It was hot pink, and everyone was jealous because apparently they hadn’t even released the electric cars in novelty colors to the general public yet, but Nicole’s parents had one special-ordered to arrive right before school started. Nicole had been giving me rides home every day, practically, except for my first day, when Harper and Rachel came to pick me up. Once I’d started up with all my extracurricular stuff, it didn’t make sense for Harper and I to carpool anymore, which actually felt like a blessing in disguise since I wasn’t sure what my new Pathways friends would think of my BFF. As much as I loved and was obsessed with Harper, I had to admit that her laid-back style didn’t at all fit Pathways’ intensely creative vibe. And when I saw Harper, I wa
nted to be able to fill her in from the beginning about NAMASTE and the fact that the Gawkward Fairy had started a fashion trend. In fact, I’d already started seeing a couple of pairs of wings pop up here and there around the Lane: DIY dragonfly blades made out of luminous cellophane on a girl dressed in a steampunk corset, feathery angel wings on a willowy boy who looked like a Bollywood star, and even a couple of kids who had taken to wearing backpacks shaped like monarch butterflies. Jane dutifully took photos of each new example of “NAMASTE-solidarity”—as Nicole called it—and even though Jane and Drew and Nicole were still waiting for their custom-made wings to arrive, the last thing I wanted was for Harper to think that I was wearing mine just because they had gotten trendy. I still couldn’t believe that being trendy was even a thing in my atmosphere.
When Jane and Drew had walked out of sight, Nicole grabbed my arm and turned to me. “Look,” she said sweetly, but she was squeezing a little too hard. “I don’t care what your friend Harper thinks about falling to the false idols of consumer packaging and corporate megastore commercialism. But I do care about what my friend Lily thinks of a store that exploits their employees.”
“Hey, they do not!” I said, because for once Nicole was really wrong. I’d done a paper in middle school about businesses with good labor practices. Walgreens was really not as bad as a lot of other places, which is why Harper and I chose it as our fun-day treat emporium.
Nicole sighed at me, as if I were some puppy she was training and she was just totally exasperated with me. “Lily, if you need to run to meet your friend, by all means,” Nicole said, stepping aside and loosening her grip and guiding me the rest of the way out of the building. She didn’t say anything again until we’d caught up with Jane and Drew, who were standing by the Tesla in the parking lot. “I’m just so sorry that we will have to decline.” Jane and Drew looked down to the pavement and mumbled apologies.