Audre & Bash Are Just Friends(3)

Sparrow gasped, sitting up poker-straight in the tub. “Tell us.”

“We’re in the middle of a session!” Audre loved Reshma to death, but she always did this. Showing up and sucking all the air out of the room.

“First of all, this is my house. Secondly, this is urgent.” She draped herself over Sparrow like a blanket, entangling their feet together. Sparrow’s eyes practically crossed, she was so mesmerized. Reshma had never spoken more than five words to her.

“You don’t mind if I cut in, do you?” purred Reshma in her permanent rasp. She’d had bronchitis last October and kept the voice.

“I don’t mind,” gushed Sparrow, who had a nail stuck in her bangs.

“Great,” sighed Audre. “To protect your confidentiality, let’s finish tomorrow, okay?”

Audre knew when to pick her battles. And Reshma was a force of nature. They’d been besties since Reshma showed up in her fourth-grade class and Audre was assigned to be her “buddy.” She was Indian by birth, adopted by British pop star parents, and was posh, beautiful, and five steps ahead of everyone. While most Cheshire girls were reading Dork Diaries, she was reading Mafia boss romances.

Though they were only nine at the time, Audre and Reshma were socially savvy enough to know they’d been buddied up because they were The Only Kids of Color in Mrs. Jones’s Class. It didn’t matter, though. Because they’d bonded in seconds! They both loved pink Simply Lemonade, poetry, and roller-skating. Reshma taught Audre how to eat with chopsticks and do winged eyeliner. Audre taught Reshma about horoscopes and horror movies. They decided they were a dynamic duo.

Their biggest trait in common? Both girls wore confidence as armor. The second-biggest one? They kept their deepest emotions to themselves.

If she were being honest, Audre wasn’t sure she trusted Reshma with intimate secrets. Reshma was so self-centered (a result of her parents both spoiling and neglecting her), and Audre saw how she plowed through crushes, clothes, and interests. She didn’t want to be discarded, too.

“Here’s the story,” continued Reshma. “Remember when Coco-Jean told us she missed her period? That same day, someone saw Bash Henry buying Plan B at CVS.”

“My Bash Henry? Coco-Jean got to him first? They had actual sex?” Sparrow looked crushed. “God, why am I this upset about a boy I barely know? I’m so broken.”

Before Audre could answer, Reshma jumped in.

“Everyone’s broken, baby. It’s about being just broken enough to seem sexy and interesting.” She took Sparrow’s hand. “Look. You’re a bad bitch. You speak fluent Latvian…”

“Latin,” corrected Audre.

“… and you’re brilliant on the tambourine.”

“Trombone,” corrected Sparrow.

“… and it seems like pulling a cishet boy would be easy. Just be mean to them.”

“Easy for you. But I’m not you.” Clumsily, Sparrow disentangled herself from Reshma and climbed out of the tub. “Look at you! Perfect body. Perfect clothes. Your parents are goals. Mine hate each other and hate me. How am I supposed to understand functional relationships?”

Reshma snorted at this. “Goals? My father’s fucking his plastic surgeon and wears violently skinny jeans. Mum’s in a baby food weight loss cult and hasn’t eaten anything solid since 2016.” She pointed at Audre. “Her life is perfect. Fine-ass stepdad. Cool mom with the most incredible, random facts. One time, she told me that if you see a huge cluster of mushrooms out in the wild, it’s growing over something dead.”

“I hate mushrooms,” sighed Audre, marveling at how quickly this conversation went left.

Sparrow was scowling. “Why am I talking to you two about boys, anyway? Reshma, you’re extremely gay.”

“I’m a child of God,” she said.

“And Audre? I’m saying this as a friend, not a client.… You’re anti-romance.”

Audre gasped. “Not true! I’m just currently in my self-partnered era, that’s all.”

“I think I’m too drunk for this conversation,” squeaked Sparrow, making her first reasonable statement of the night. “I’m going home, lighting my abundance candle, and doing my manifestation ritual. Bash will be mine by the summer solstice.”

Audre and Reshma watched her stagger out of the room and then looked at each other with deadpan expressions. Reshma burst into throaty laughter.

“You really take that chaotic Swiftie seriously?”

“I support all women,” said Audre. “Well, most. And secondly, stop interrupting my sessions! I love you, but advice is not your thing.”

She giggled at this, knowing it was true. “Speaking of advice, how’s your book going? What’s the title?”

“One, Two, Three, Four… THRIVE! A Teen’s Rules for Flourishing on This Dying Planet.”

Reshma paused. “Can I be honest with you?”

“No,” said Audre quickly. “It’s just a placeholder title! And I haven’t started writing the book. Every time I brainstorm, I get all insecure. Like, am I even qualified to do this?”

“Oh, stop stressing.” Reshma climbed out of the tub and linked her arm in Audre’s. She led Audre out of the bathroom and into the rowdy crowd. “You don’t have to write your book tonight. Wanna come with me to the after-party?”