“I don’t know why she cares so badly about being prom queen,” Emi comments, tugging on a wild piece of Daphne’s long hair. “It doesn’t even mean anything. A bunch of kids you’ll never talk to again check off a box on a list of names a week before prom, and if you’re the one with the most checked boxes, you get a cheap plastic crown and get to awkwardly dance with your guy counterpart. It’s not worth all this campaigning she’s doing.”
“You know how Kalani is,” I answer with a shrug. “This kind of stuff is important to her.”
Kalani is the effortlessly put-together girl who’s always sporting the best and hottest designer clothes and purses and never has so much as a hair out of place or a dark circle under her eyes, and she makes it her mission to know at least two personal facts about everyone at school. She even joined almost every single extracurricular activity and is on a first-name basis with pretty much everyone, which is an impressive feat considering I barely know the names of everyone in our grade, never mind all of Oakwoods. She likes being liked, likes feeling like everyone is her friend. So I wasn’t surprised when she said she’d signed up to run for prom queen; I only asked how I could help.
Daphne nudges Emi. “Lay off. She doesn’t say all the video games you play are meaningless.”
“Yes, she does! Literally all the time!”
Daphne only giggles. “You’re cute when you’re hungry.” She opens the menu and holds it out to Emi. “Let’s figure out what to order so we’re ready when the waitress comes back. Obviously nachos, but what about the potato skins? We can split those, and then what main do you want to share?”
They debate which dish to share, since they’re the kind of adorable couple who love splitting their food. I let them have their moment and quietly grab my own menu, trying not to feel like a total third wheel. Kalani’s phone is resting on top of it, so I pick it up to move it. Just as I do, it vibrates in my hand, and I glance at the screen out of habit. It’s a text from Maleah, Kalani’s eleven-year-old sister.
They’re at it AGAIN! I’m putting on my headphones to block it out so don’t scare me when you come in.
I set the phone down so I don’t accidentally snoop anymore and focus on finding something to order.
“That went really well,” Kalani says as she returns, sliding into the booth after Emmett. “It totally helps that I got Emmett to tell them about the community cleanup he’s organizing next month since they’re both super into the ecosystem and climate change like he is.”
Emmett started a community cleanup last year where, at the beginning of each new season, he and a bunch of volunteers go out into the neighborhood and pick up all the trash that the wind has blown into our parks and trails. He’s so thoughtful and kind and good and—stop it, Carina!
Now settled into the seat, Kalani picks up her phone and reads the text on the lock screen, immediately tensing up before dropping the phone and checking out the menu, trying extra hard to appear nonchalant even though her shoulders never lose their stiffness.
I set my own menu down. “Hey, Kalani, do you want to sleep over tonight? I got a few new face masks we can do, and we can binge-watch that new reality dating show that just came out. Apparently, one of the girls in it is from Toronto.”
The tension immediately drains from her body, and her eyes flick to her phone resting face down on the table for a nanosecond before she smoothly says, “Only if you let me do your eyebrows. It’s been a while since I’ve tweezed them for you, and they’re starting to look a little uneven. And I can braid your hair the way you like, that way it can be out of your face for when you paint tomorrow.”
I do hate having my hair in my face when I’m painting. Normally, I tie it up or put it in a bun. But then it inevitably falls out, and I get paint all over my hair trying to fix it, which only makes more hair fall out of the elastic, and the cycle continues. Kalani noticed how much time I waste fiddling with it and how it pulls me out of my creative flow. Now, whenever she can, she makes me sit still so she can twist two tight French braids down either side of my head. They stay put, keep my hair out of my face, and let me focus. I’ve tried to learn how to do them myself, but I can never get it right. Luckily, I have the greatest best friend who never complains about how many times she has to braid my hair, even if it’s twice in the same day.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” I say, just as a high-pitched microphone screech cuts through the air, making everyone flinch.
“Hello, everyone,” says a man on the stage wearing a Murphey’s T-shirt, speaking into the mic. “We’ll be starting trivia in a few minutes, so please take this time to silence your phones and put them away in your bags or pockets.”
Emi makes a joke about secretly keeping her phone out, most likely just to see what Emmett would say, and because he’s so good and pure, he immediately takes the bait and lectures her about following the rules. Kalani taps out a quick message on her phone, probably letting Maleah know she’s staying over at my house tonight, and her smile is light and unburdened when she slips her phone into her purse, ready to enjoy couples’ trivia night with her boyfriend and best friend.
Four
Sunday passes in a blur once Kalani leaves, and before I know it, I’m standing in the halls of school on Monday morning. Oakwoods is the largest and most up-to-date private high school in the district. There are three floors with state-of-the-art science and tech labs, brand new sports equipment, and, my favorite, a fully stocked art room. People get bussed in from out of town to attend school here, which means there are so many students that I’ve only ever had two classes with Kalani, neither of which was this year.
Kalani appears and leans against the locker beside mine. “You know, I’m still dreaming about those Belgian waffles your dad made us for breakfast yesterday,” she says without a greeting.
We had a great time Saturday night, and even though we got home late from Murphey’s and didn’t spend a lot of quality time together before bed, it was still nice to have a good, old-fashioned sleepover. They’ve happened less and less frequently over the year.
“We’re just lucky he didn’t have to rush in to work until later on,” I reply as Alexis, the head student editor of the yearbook, waves at me.
“Thanks again for that interview, Carina!” she calls as she passes me in the hall. “Ms. Maldeen loved it! The yearbook is going to print this week, so I really appreciate you looking it over so last-minute.”
“No problem at all,” I reply with a final wave as she continues toward her locker.
Kalani crosses her arms against her chest, frowning. “I can’t believe they wanted a whole page about you and art for the yearbook. I’ve been asking Alexis to interview me for something, but she keeps brushing me off. I mean, I’m ineightdifferent clubs!”
“I explained I didn’t have anything interesting to say, but she was adamant they wanted to feature my work,” I say with a shrug, unzipping my backpack.
Kalani turns thoughtful for a moment, looking down the hall where Alexis disappeared before straightening up, her attitude bright again. “So, I’ve been thinking.”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” I joke, grabbing books from my locker.
“Ha ha,” she says flatly. “I was thinking about how you’re always such a fifth wheel. Like this weekend?”