Kassie has always had a weird thing against dorm life, especially since Nori and I found out we’re going to be dormmates. She’s always turning her nose up at the prospect of common bathrooms and shower shoes. But I suspect it’s less that she hates the idea and more that she’s missing out, not going to college.
I tilt my head in consideration. “Agreed. He should be more excited to get a place with you.”
“That’s what I thought. But he’s being so weird about the whole thing lately. He’s heading to the college next weekend to meet with the coach, and he doesn’t even want me to come with him. I don’t know what to do. I feel like he . . . sees me as some cling-on? I don’t chase guys, Char. They chase me.” Her blue eyes well with tears.
Normally, I’d be tempted to take the opportunity to commiserate with Kassie about Ollie. Anything to make me feel closer to her. But after experiencing kind and generous Adult Ollie, bad-mouthing him feels wrong. “Ollie wants you there,” I assure her, unable to stop envisioning Adult Yoga Kassie, sipping her smoothie, telling me she’s over long-term relationships and that she’s living her best single life.
“He doesn’t. He made that pretty clear.”
“Maybe he wants it to be a family thing?” I ask meekly. “I dunno, Kass. Maybe tell him it hurts your feelings that he’s being so meh about your future together. And that you’re feeling a bit left out.”
She considers this as she moves the salad around her plate. “Maybe. He’s at practice now.”
“Yeah. Don’t creep outside the locker room again. I’d wait until you’re feeling more chill. Like, maybe after school.”
Her eyes light up and she squares her shoulders, her confidence locked and loaded. “True. He kinda deserves the silent treatment for the afternoon anyway. It’ll keep him on his toes.” She pats my hand across the table. “You always know what to say. I’d be lost without you, honestly.”
“Same. Who else would work so tirelessly to find me a prom date?” I tease, trying to distract myself from telling her about my ladder fall. It probably isn’t the right time. Though let’s be real, it’ll never be an appropriate time to share that one.
Kassie’s smile turns serious. “For real, though. You’re always there when I need it. I’ve been shit. Nori and Renner did all the decorating last night.”
Her statement catches me off guard. “I thought Renner was busy?” It was the anniversary of his sister’s death, after all.
She shrugs. “With you down for the count, we needed an extra hand. He volunteered.”
I nod. Nori told me this morning that Kassie didn’t lift a finger. Not that they needed her help.
“I want to be a better friend,” she continues, gathering her hair over one shoulder. “How can I improve?”
I don’t know why, but my first instinct is to crack a joke. “Well, you can stop airbrushing yourself in group pictures. Leaving the rest of us with yellow smiles and oily foreheads is messed up.”
She snorts. “Noted. It is a toxic habit of mine. But what else can I do?”
“It’s fine, Kass. You can make it up at the Senior Sleepover tonight. There’s lots of setup to do.”
“Yes. Totally. It’s gonna be a girls’ night like old times. I’ll even bring the mini Reese’s Cups and Funyuns,” she adds, wiggling her brows up and down suggestively.
I cringe at the thought of her stinking up my sleeping bag with the smell of onion crisps. “You can leave the Funyuns at home.”
“Shut up. They’re God’s gift to humankind.” She rolls her eyes and pulls her phone from her back pocket. “Anyway, I made a new list of prom date contenders during stats class. Thoughts?”
I smile and nod as she presents her case for each guy on the list. This is the Kassie I became best friends with years ago. And even though things have been a little rocky lately, I’ll be damned if I let us drift apart.
TWENTY-NINE
When I get home, Mom is rooting through our kitchen drawer of takeout menus, nails encrusted with soil from gardening yesterday.
“Want to order from Smith’s tonight? I’m craving their mac and cheese.”
I’m bombarded with images of Adult Renner standing in the doorway of our house, two steaming bowls in hand, and my heart aches. I shake myself. I need to get a grip. Stat.
“Um, I don’t know about mac and cheese. What about Chinese? From Kozy Korner. You like their wontons,” I say, flinging my still-ripped schoolbag on the bench.