Eleanor shut the book, and her cheeks reddened. “Sorry. I just wanted to finish the chapter before eating.”
“I feel like you’re always trying to finish a chapter,” I said, nudging my cousin.
“Says the girl always trying to finish a script,” she replied.
Touché.
The only thing Eleanor and I had in common besides DNA was our love of words and stories, which was enough to make us each other’s very best friend. Having an Eleanor in my life was like having a fresh bouquet delivered to me each day. She was smart, kind, and refreshingly sarcastic. I swore no one could make me laugh more than Eleanor.
The quiet ones always had the best under-the-breath commentary.
My phone dinged, then it dinged again—followed by about a billion more dings. Mom looked up at me with a knowing grin. “Tracey?”
“Sure is,” I replied. The only person who texted nonstop without ever receiving a reply was my close friend Tracey. We’d grown up together, and it was no secret that Tracey was chatty. She was the head of the cheerleading squad and the president of student council, and she oozed school spirit. I, too, had schoolspirit in my bones, but Tracey was on a whole other level. She lived, breathed, and ate everything high school.
It wasn’t shocking that she was one of the most popular girls at our school. She was smart, beautiful, and funny, too. It was just a shame that most of the guys were turned off by her oomph for life.
Tracey:Oh.Em.Gee! Reggie is going to the PARTY @ Land’s this SATURDAY! SHAY WE HAVE TO GO
Tracey:Before you say no (which I know you’re thinking) I NEED NEED NEED this!
Tracey:I need you to be my wingwoman
Tracey:Three words: Reggie will be there
Tracey:Kk, that was four words, but you get it!
Tracey:PLEASEEEE SHAY! I need you. Reggie is IT for me, and a party at Land’s will help him realize it.
Tracey:Say yes?
Tracey:I’ll make sure you don’t even cross paths with Landon, let alone breathe the same air as him.
Tracey:I’ll also buy you a pony or something. Plz?!
I laughed as I read Tracey’s dramatic comments. She was head over heels for this new kid, Reggie, who had transferred to Raine, Illinois, from Kentucky. He was the exact type of guy Tracey seemed to always lose her mind over: overly masculine, cocky, handsome in a ridiculous way, and very aware of his good looks. He also had an accent, which Tracey loved—just like the rest of the girls in town who had their eyes on Reggie.
Tracey:Does your silence mean yes?
Me:I want a blond pony named Marcy.
Tracey:That’s why you’re my fave human.
Going to a party at Landon’s house would be odd. We did pretty good at keeping our hatred for each other strong, and that meant I never went to his place for parties. Ever since his uncle passed away, it seemed he had a party every other weekend.
My hope was that the party would be big enough that I wouldn’t even have to interact with Landon at all. Even when we were kids, he hated me. Once, he called me a chicken because I wouldn’t smoke pot at a party. After that, Chicken became his nickname for me. I called him Satan—for obvious reasons. Over time, he’d shortened Chicken to Chick because he knew I hated when men called women chicks.
I kept his nickname the same, and from there, Chick and Satan were formed.
The two of us never got along. We’d only ever so slightly connected one time, and that was when Mima took me along to Lance’s funeral last October. The reception after the service was held at his house, and I came upon Landon by accident as I looked for the bathroom. He was sitting in his bedroom, sobbing his eyes out on his bed, wearing his suit and tie, unable to breathe.
I didn’t know what to do because I wasn’t his friend. We were hardly even acquaintances. If anything, I was the villain in his story, as he was the one in mine, but at that moment, he looked so alone, so broken. I might not have liked him much, but I knew the love he had for Lance. It was no secret that Lance was a father figure to him. He was pretty much Landon’s father, if you asked me. His actual father was just a man who deposited money into Landon’s bank account.
As I watched him cry, I did the only thing I could think of. I went and I sat beside him. I loosened his tightened tie and held him in my arms as he sobbed uncontrollably in my embrace. He fell completely apart, and I saw every piece of him shatter.
The next day, I stopped by his house to check on him. I felt the need to make sure he was OK. He grimaced, his head lowered, and he refused to look me in the eye as he spoke low and controlled:“This isn’t a thing, Chick—you and me talking. You never cared about my feelings before, so don’t pity me now just because Lance is dead. I don’t want your charity. Go give your words to someone who gives a shit because I don’t, and I won’t.”
After that, we went back to disliking one another. I felt silly for trying to comfort a guy I’d spent so much time hating. But I had a feeling he would never bring up the situation again, and neither would I... though parts of me still thought about it. I thought about how sad the most popular kid at school was, yet nobody even noticed.