A Tale of Two Besties

by Sophia Rossi

  It was the day of our NAMASTE council meeting, the first one since Nicole had given her speech out in the Lane. Without my diaphanous appendages, I would be just looking for trouble, and I wanted to be as in control as possible. Nicole had already made it known that she thought the “best me I could be” was the one that dressed exactly as she decreed. But with Jane and Drew and even Nicole now sporting their own versions of my persona, I was beginning to feel like one of those characters from Dr. Seuss. You know, a Star Bellied Sneetch, or one of the Sneetches with no stars, who then gets a star, but then all the other Sneetches get stars and now the stars aren’t as special anymore.

  I was walking around aimlessly during my morning free period when I heard a familiar, welcome voice.

  “Why, hello young sprite, you seem to have lost your way!” I looked up from my texts with Harper (I hadn’t realized how much I had missed talking to her like a normal person!) and saw Drew smiling goofily up at me from his usual spot on the grass. He wasn’t wearing his wings, and instead had his guitar slung to his back. Bold move. “Where are you off to on this fine Monday morning?”

  “Oh, you know. Fighting crime, saving the world. The usual.”

  “Sit down.” He patted the grass. “Rest awhile.” I took a seat and texted Harper one last time

  Lily (10:16 a.m.): BRB I promise!

  before turning my attention to Drew. “Want a macaron?” he asked, pulling out a tin from his knapsack.

  “Only if you’re sure you won’t tell anyone how you’re contributing to the plight of those overworked sugar granules.”

  Drew laughed and stretched out with the ease of a guy who spends most of his free time in downward facing dog and handed me a honey-flavored macaron. And then a bright pink pistachio one. And then a coconut. Before long, half the box was gone.

  “Oh, my sweet lord,” I moaned, spraying crumbs everywhere. “My belly is going to explode. I am literally in my third trimester of a sugar baby.”

  “Just make sure you deliver before our first show this weekend,” Drew said, patting my tummy. “We could use the extra audience member.”

  My laughter died in my throat as I saw who had materialized behind Drew and was now regarding him with the cocked hip of a gunslinger. Nicole’s hair, her follicular mood ring, was jet black and gelled down flat against her head. She glared down at us with dark, kohl-rimmed eyes, and her face was completely pale save for a slash of dark red lipstick.

  She looked nothing like the bohemian girl I had met on my first day of school, and I wondered if her new Goth look was any more “true” to her real self than that nu-hippie persona had been. Maybe, I thought, none of this was part of the real Nicole. Maybe she was like a chameleon who changed colors, but instead of using her outfits to blend in to the background, she used her plumage to stand out.

  I looked at her wings, which today were so black they were almost blue, like a dark angel’s. She had taken my fairy wings, which used to be my escape, my fantasy, and turned them into just another part of her ever-evolving “look.”

  “What are you doing?” Nicole said to Drew, who was unfortunately still holding the macaron box on his lap.

  “They’re gluten-free, Nicole.” Drew said, exasperated. “And . . . vegan. And made with agave syrup.”

  Nicole shook her head, the wings shuddering with the motion. “I meant, where are your . . .” Nicole mimed a bird flapping with her arms, her ankh rings glaring and casting sunlight into my eyes.

  “I left them at home?” Drew looked confused. “Was I . . . you don’t expect us all to wear them every day, right?”

  “Here,” I said, tugging down a strap. “You can wear mine, Drew.”

  Nicole seemed to notice my existence for the first time. “I appreciate your concern, Lily,” she said, her voice icy. “But Drew needs to own up to his lack of personal responsibility.” She shook her head again. “I’m sorry, Drew, but if you mess up one more time you’re out of NAMASTE.”

  “You can’t do that!” I said. I knew how much NAMASTE meant to Drew. “Don’t you have, like, a three-strike policy? It’s not fair to kick him out because of one mistake!”

  Nicole pursed her lips coolly. “Get ahold of yourself,” she said, as if I were a bawling baby instead of a high schooler talking in a reasonable tone. “That’s not the attitude we’re looking for in a NAMASTE representative. Your behavior is rather . . . normative.”

  “I think you mean ‘normal,’ Nicole. ‘Normative’ means something completely different. And what’s so wrong with being normal?” My voice was cracking, but I stood up and drew myself to the tallest height I could be. “There are worse things in the world then being normal! Like being judgmental and making everyone feel bad about themselves!”

  The words were out before I could stop myself, but instead of looking upset, Nicole just kind of shrugged and smiled lightly, as if I had just told her I liked her shoes. “It’s so sad when conformists try to pretend they’re something they’re not. In the end, they always show their true colors,” she said, addressing Drew. “I guess for some people, cafeteria hierarchies and America’s patriarchal beauty standards are still more important than what’s on the inside.”

  But Drew’s smile just became even more serene. He clasped his hands together and, without standing up, gave a mock-bow from the waist. “Nicole, I want to thank you for this humbling experience. You’ve really made me think and reflect on who I want to be and how to be a better person. Also? I quit.”

  Nicole rocked back on her heels, swaying like a charmed snake. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Andrew! When I found you, you were just a wannabe musician working part-time in the Grove!”

  “So?” Drew shrugged nonchalantly and stood up, his tall frame towering over both of us. “Who cares, Nicole?” He turned toward me as smoothly as if he’d just complimented someone on their alpaca poncho. “So, Lily, we still on for band practice tonight? And the show on Saturday?”

  I had a hard time tearing my eyes away from Nicole, who was almost shaking with fury. I started to back away slowly, the way I do with the bigger and more ferocious charges at PuppyTales.

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll see you! Oh, and Nicole? I quit too. I don’t think it’s a good idea to wear wings every day, not while they’re still so ‘trendy.’” And then, without another word or glance, I fled.

  I wish I could say everything went back to normal after my fourteenth birthday, that Lily transferred to Beverly Hills High and Tim fell in love with me and Jessica left her Nutella-scented lifestyle in France and flew home to be with Stephanie. That we all lived happily ever after. But, spoiler alert: Life never works out like that.

  Tim was still icing me out in an intense way. He had switched seats with Josh Davis in history and took the bus home, and whenever I passed him in the hallway, he shoved on his Beats and ducked into the closest bathroom. When I wasn’t watching him run away from me, I was catching him fake-laughing with some Kendall-y girl near his locker, refusing to meet my gaze or answer any of my subsequent texts.

  But at least some things work out. Just like Lily promised, I did get a do-over for my birthday: a brand-new, supersized PuppyBash do-over the Friday after we made up, which Lily helped me plan and everything. And I have to say, it was one for the books—and not only because Lily had arranged the best surprise ever: She’d managed to pull some strings with both the Jacobys and my parents and get me permission to be a foster mom for the most adorable three-legged pug for one week while Mom was away on business! Don’t tell anyone but I’m secretly planning on never giving that little puppy back. . . .

  Lily also had another big plan for the party: She was going to apologize to Beth-Lynne. She asked me to talk to the Jacobys beforehand to make sure Beth-Lynne would be there. It actually took a lot of convincing—Beth-Lynne was still pretty upset and her parents were a little worried about forcing her t
o be at the same party as Lily, who they now thought of as this big Nicole-level bully—but I set them straight, and they agreed to bring her.

  So, all in all it was a successful birthday re-do . . . except for the fact that a certain nerdy, comic-drawing someone whom I’ve known all my life ignored all my calls and invitations and didn’t show up.

  Then, on Saturday night, I agreed to see Lily’s band play at Art Rebel. I had no idea what to expect, and though I didn’t tell Lily, I was secretly kind of dreading it a little bit. The last time I’d been to Art Rebel was my birthday, which had been an epic disaster to end all epic disasters, so it’s not like I had great associations with the place. But Lily had been on my case all week about going, and it was kind of hard to say no to her, especially when she’d done so much for me the past few days. Like listen to me cry about the Derek fiasco, and even a little bit about how I was worried that I’d irreparably hurt Tim, who, despite my constant attempts, refused to accept my apology. I’d finally admitted to myself that he was the guy I liked, the one I had liked all along. I had just been too confused and scared about hurting Lily’s feelings—and still kind of was, to be honest—to realize that I’d been falling for him ever since school started.

  “Hey, you made it!” a voice called from across the floor.

  Lily was unmistakable even amidst the mish-mash of people stuffed into the room. She had on a lace baby-doll gown in teacup blue and white tights—not leggings—that fit into her soft, embroidered pink booties. Her hair was up in two big buns on the side of her head, which she held in place with two blue strings of ribbon. But most important . . .

  “You’re not wearing your wings!” I shouted, trying to make myself heard above the din.

  “Nope!” Lily wrapped me in a giant hug and then began dragging me by the hand to the stage. “Come on, let’s get you settled in the front row so you can see everything! And you can come say hi to Jane and Drew before we go on!”

  “Oh, Lily, I just got here,” I said, eyeing the closest exists. I did like Jane and Drew, but the last time Lily tried to mix me in with her new friends, it hadn’t gone so well.

  Lily deposited me at the front of the stage where Drew was working the mic. He was wearing an odd-fitting suit in dark material and no socks.

  “Hey Drew!” Lily said happily. “You remember Harper, right?”

  “Oh, totally,” he said. “Thanks for coming!”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I said. I was so distracted trying to figure out what was weird about his suit that I couldn’t help myself from staring.

  “Black tie,” he said, forcing me to look up from his pants to his face.

  “Sorry?”

  “My suit,” he said. “It’s black ties. Get it?”

  Oh! Another necktie suit. Clever. He was wearing this one with tweed slippers, like the kind you’d wear at home, but boy did they look comfy.

  “Ha! That’s really cute!” I said. “Did you make it yourself?”

  “Drew makes all his clothing himself with a sewing machine,” Lily chirped proudly, then looked over my shoulder. “Hey, Stephanie! Hey, Jane!”

  “Hey guys,” Stephanie said, squeezing through the crowd along with Jane, who had a fancy camera hung around her neck. Seeing our reactions, Stephanie made a face and looked down at her outfit. “Before you say anything, I know.”

  “I love it!” I squealed, clapping my hands. Stephanie, the ballerina-twin-turned-skateboarder, was now standing in front of me wearing the most adorable shift dress I’d ever seen. It was white and starched, and had little blue anchors that almost matched her galumphing white snow boots. Her blond hair, usually shoved into a beanie, was today done up in elaborate French maid braids.

  “Don’t say it, I’m begging you,” Stephanie said.

  “Don’t say what?”

  “That I look like Swiss Miss.” She stuck her thumb out at Jane, who seemed oblivious to our conversation as she snapped photos of the life-size American Girl doll that Stephanie had become. “Jane made me wear this get-up.”

  “I told you, once your friend Jessica sees these photos of you, she’ll be begging her parents to switch her out of that ski school,” Jane said. Apparently after meeting Stephanie at her house, Jane had decided she’d found her new F³ muse, and the two of them had been taking photos after school almost every day this week.

  “Can you believe she almost didn’t let me dress her for the show?” Jane rolled her eyes conspiratorially. Even though she was dressed like a slinky cat goddess otherwise, Jane had on a pair of suede chestnut moccasins that looked vaguely familiar.

  “Lily, Jane! We’re about to go on! I need my other Judies!” Drew plugged in the microphone, and Lily gulped and nodded. Jane stopped taking photos and joined Drew backstage for a final sound check.

  “Are you scared?” I asked Lily, peering into my friend’s eyes and putting my hands on her shoulders. “Nauseous? Headachey? Do you need Tylenol? A pre–rock show nap?”

  Lily laughed and put her hands on top of mine. “I’m fine,” she said. “Promise. After enduring the first month of high school, how hard could it be to get up and sing in front of hundreds of people? Plus,” she added slyly, pulling out something from underneath the front of her dress, “I have my good luck charm.” She opened up her hand to reveal her half of the BFF necklace.

  “Yay, me too!” I said, hugging my best friend. “I’m so excited for you! You’re going to be a singer! My little Lily is all grown up!”

  “A real adult lady singer!” Lily exclaimed in a nasally voice. “Why, I never! Next thing you know, we’ll be getting the vote.”

  A sound like a loud train whistle screaming through a long tunnel blew from the stage.

  “Okay, that’s my cue.” Lily looked pale but brave. “I love you so much, Harper. Wish me luck!”

  “You don’t need luck,” I said. “You’ve got talent. And magic!”

  Lily wrapped me in the biggest hug ever before bounding up to the stage. “Welcome, everyone!” she called into the microphone. “My name is Lily Farson. This is Jane Cooley and Drew Sawyer, and we’re the Jug Judies! But before we get started tonight, I just wanted to say hi to one awesome girl in the audience tonight. Beth-Lynne, are you out there?”

  There was a murmur from the center of the room, and suddenly a blushing, mortified Beth-Lynne stood completely still, like maybe we’d go away if she didn’t move, the way it worked in Jurassic Park.

  “Now, Beth-Lynne, I said some pretty mean things about your shoes last time I saw you, but I want you to know . . . that’s not me.” Lily was on the verge of tears, and the audio feedback whined. “I need to let you know . . . I would never judge someone by how they express themselves, because I know what that feels like. Well, actually, they say you can’t know what it’s like till you walk a mile in someone’s shoes, so for tonight, my friends and I have tried that out.”

  No . . . she couldn’t have! Suddenly Steph and Jane and Drew and Lily’s footwear all made sense . . . they were all wearing different kinds of Uggs in solidarity.

  “You know what? These are pretty freakin’ comfortable!” Lily shouted. “Beth-Lynne, do you maybe wanna come up onstage and help us sing?”

  Beth-Lynne, a big smile on her broad face, couldn’t rush to the front of the room fast enough, to where Lily was waiting with outstretched arms. Lily grabbed Beth-Lynne with one arm and then launched into Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Were Made for Walking” with her other hand on the mic.

  Lily looked amazing up there, the bright lights creating a sparkly, fairylike halo around her face. I clapped and whistled as loud as I could, and Lily winked at me. I winked back, and watched her face turn from smiley-happy to surprised-excited as her gaze moved from mine to a spot just beyond me. I started to turn around to see what she was reacting to, but before I could—

  “Hey, Harper.”


  I turned. Time stopped. I know, I know, that’s a cliché, but wow, how else do you express that thing where it’s like you’re watching a movie of your own life, and suddenly the camera just zooms in on that crucial detail that you otherwise would have missed?

  “Tim,” I said, not even sure if my voice was working, let alone whether I was even moving my mouth. There he was, in a white V-neck and jeans and totally perfect in every way. “You’re here.”

  “Looks that way.” He still didn’t look happy, but at least he was talking to me. “Let me guess, Lily told you to wait by the stage.”

  “No . . .” I said, confused, but then I remembered how she had just dragged me up to the front. “Oh, maybe. You?”

  “Yeah.” He pinched the back of his neck and shook his head. “I should have known she’d meant for me to run into you.” He looked up. “I guess, I deserve it, after playing match-maker with you two.”

  “Oh.” From about a million miles away, I heard Lily’s voice over a cacophony of cheers, jug xylophones, and ukulele strums. I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know what to say,” I said.

  Tim smiled wryly, showing off one of his dimples. “Dog got your tongue?” I groaned, and rolled my eyes at his lame pun. Some of the tension seeped out of my body, and I could see that Tim was relaxing a bit, too.

  “I want you to know, that whole Derek kiss was nothing!” I strained my voice to be heard above the crowd. “I think he’s totally gross, but like, pathetic, too! I just felt bad for him. He reminds me of how I used to think about you!”

  Tim snorted, his hands folded across his chest.

  “Not that I think you’re gross or pathetic!” I babbled. “I mean, maybe before, when we were growing up! But come on, you were like my little brother! And now, you’re like . . . someone I don’t want to be related to, because that would be gross in a completely different way!”

  If there was a bubble caption above Tim’s head like in one of his comics, it would have read: