Kath stood with her back to a wall of file folders, looking a little confused. “What’s going on?”
Lily spoke in a rush. “I wanted to catch you before Christmas—I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately. Shirley’s taking up all my time with Miss Chinatown.”
“I know,” Kath said. “You told me.”
The fluorescent light made Kath’s pale skin look even paler and turned her blue eyes into a faded gray. Kath had cut her hair, Lily realized. Not to an extreme; it had just been a trim, but it was more closely shaped around her head now. Lily could see how Kath could comb it differently, and it would make her look almost like a boy. The thought was surprising, and as if Kath could read her mind, she slid her hands into the pockets of her jacket and shifted her posture, almost like a boy.
“Has something changed?” Kath asked. “Are you running for Miss Chinatown too?”
Lily’s eyebrows shot up. “Me? Oh no. I’m no beauty queen.”
Kath smiled a little. “I don’t know about that.”
Lily’s face heated up. She looked past Kath’s shoulder at the stacks of manila folders and bit her lip. She couldn’t remember what she had wanted to say anymore. She thought wildly of Rhonda and the Nutcracker dancers and her awareness of Kath’s sudden boyishness—or had it always been there?
“What’s going on?” Kath asked again. “Is something bothering you? I know you’ve been busy lately . . .” Kath gave her an uncertain look.
“I’m sorry,” Lily said awkwardly. “I feel like—like something’s wrong. Is something wrong? Between us?” She twisted her hands together, her flushed face going even hotter.
Kath gave her a funny look, wariness combined with surprise. “I don’t—why do you think something’s wrong?”
“Is it because of Shirley? She’s very demanding, and I don’t want you to think that I don’t want—don’t want to be your friend.” Lily flinched at her clumsy phrasing.
Kath shifted, readjusting the strap of her book bag, and her wariness seemed to increase. “To be honest, she doesn’t seem like that good of a friend.”
“She’s my best friend,” Lily said, and then sighed.
“Okay,” Kath said. It sounded like a question.
“It’s just that I’ve known her my whole life,” Lily said, trying to explain. “I don’t—I can’t—it’s not easy to—to be around her sometimes, but I can’t turn my back on her. It’s our senior year.” She didn’t know how to make Kath understand the way Shirley had always been there; the way Lily knew Shirley always would be there, even if Lily went away to college and Shirley stayed in Chinatown. Lily would always have to come home. “It’s our last year together here.” Lily realized she was quoting Shirley back to Kath.
“So, what are you saying? You’re going to be busy until after Miss Chinatown’s over?” Kath frowned and shook her head. “I guess I don’t understand. I thought we were—” Kath cut herself off, sounding frustrated.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I . . .” Lily trailed off. It was as if the English language had failed her. She couldn’t find the right words for this dammed-up feeling inside, as if she were denying herself something absolutely vital, and she didn’t know why.
And then, abruptly, she realized this had nothing to do with Shirley at all.
She missed Kath. She missed having Kath to talk to, yes, but she also missed having Kath listen to her. Rockets to the moon didn’t seem so far-fetched when Kath listened to her. She made previously unimaginable things seem possible.
She had wanted to ask Kath when she could go back to the Telegraph Club, but now she felt as if she had made everything worse, and she stared down at the floor miserably.
“Maybe I should go,” Kath said quietly. “I feel like I’m making you upset.”
“No, I’m doing this all wrong,” Lily said. A rush of longing came over her. She needed to fix this. To show Kath what she couldn’t say.
Lily reached out and impulsively took Kath’s hand in hers. Kath started, but then she let Lily hold her hand.
Lily knew immediately that this was different. It wasn’t like grabbing Kath’s hand to pull her into the supply room. Instinctively, Lily ran her thumb across Kath’s palm, feeling the swell of Kath’s flesh and the delicate thread of the vein in her wrist, the fluttering of Kath’s pulse beneath her fingertip. She heard Kath catch her breath.