“Sorry,” I say, letting the bathroom door bump me on the butt. I hesitate for a second, trying to decide if I should leave her alone or step farther into the room.
“In or out, Collins?” she asks, her voice dry.
I take a few hesitant steps forward. “Are you okay?”
“Obviously not.”
I turn back around. “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, I’ll just leave you alone.” I open the door and begin to walk out.
“No,” she says, her voice small. “Wait.” It’s unsettling to hear her sound so vulnerable, like a little girl, like someone who doesn’t have full control of every situation. I close the door again.
“I’m gonna miss this place,” she says.
“I can’t wait to leave,” I say, but I know what she means. High school always seemed kinder to Danielle, everyone rooting for her, always on her side. But maybe high school was just as hard for her. Maybe she was just better at dealing with it.
“Did you know it was Ava?” she asks, fiddling with the tassel on the front of her graduation cap. “Writing the notes.” I shuffle over to her and climb up next to her on the sink, feeling water seep into the bottom of my robe. It surprises me that she’s still so upset about what Ava did—not because it’s silly to be, but because Danielle has always seemed so strong.
“I would have told you.”
“You wouldn’t have told me,” she says, her tone emotionless. I realize she’s right. I wouldn’t have wanted to get involved. Maybe I would have told Hannah instead, hoping that Hannah would do the right thing.
“Would you have believed me?” I ask.
“Probably not,” she answers. “You’ve never liked me much.”
“That’s not true,” I say, feeling defensive.
She looks at me pointedly. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve never liked you much either.”
Her words should hurt, but somehow instead of feeling insulted, I’m relieved. It’s nice to get it out in the open, to be able to stop pretending. “It’s nothing against you,” she says. “You just don’t like any of the same things that I like. I can feel you rolling your eyes at me every time I talk. You think just because I like doing my hair and makeup, and looking nice, and flirting with boys that I’m dumb.” She doesn’t sound angry or aggressive—just very matter-of-fact.
“I don’t think you’re dumb,” I say. “I think you’re . . . intimidating.” I pause before the word, nervous that she’ll laugh or throw it back in my face.
“It’s just so high school,” Danielle says. “Isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Pretending to like the people we hang out with. Hanging out with people we don’t like because we’re supposed to.”
“Well, there aren’t very many people at school to choose from.”
“But I like Sophie way more than I like you,” she says. “No offense. But for some reason I hang out with you way more. Because there are four of us. That’s just the way it is. I don’t even know how it started. Hannah, I guess. And Andrew. They liked you, so I had to like you. But all you did was act like you were so much cooler than me, because you could skateboard and liked old movies and were friends with the guys. And then, oh wow, this hot college guy liked you, and that just made you even cooler. What makes you so special?”
“But,” I protest, finding her hard to believe. “But you’re Danielle fucking Oliver. You’re cooler than everyone!”
She laughs, hiccupping a little bit. Even like this, even while crying and feeling sorry for herself, she still looks amazing. “I know,” she says, licking her thumb and wiping the mascara away from under her eyes. “You know,” she says, studying the smudges on her fingers, “I think this is the first real conversation we’ve ever had.”
“Some friends,” I say, laughing.
“I thought it could have been you,” she says, “writing the notes.”
“What?” I ask, my voice rising. “I wouldn’t have.”
“Yeah. But then I realized you’re a terrible liar. You couldn’t have gotten away with it.”
I laugh and flick some water at her.
“Hey! I’m in fancy graduation robes here!” But she’s laughing too, the mood between us light. It’s like we’ve spent all of high school in a bubble that’s finally burst. Now is the time to ask, if I ever want answers.
“So did you even like Andrew?” Even though he’s mine now, even though I’m sure of it—my chest still feels tight. I realize that this is what love is—this constant ache for the rest of my life that someone or something could take him away.
“Course not,” she says. “I’ve liked Chase for like ten years, Collins. I thought that was obvious.” She takes her graduation cap off and studies herself in the mirror, bringing her hands up to flatten the stray wispy pieces around her forehead. “Andrew was so jealous of your college boy he was about to explode. So I knew we could help each other out. I’m a manipulative bitch, remember?”
“You’re not a bitch,” I say, meaning it.
Our eyes meet in the mirror and she smiles. “Do you think we’ll stay friends after we graduate?”
“No.” It feels freeing to finally speak the truth. “And that’s okay.”
She sighs. I know she’s thinking about Ava.
“You guys will make up,” I say.
“I know I need to be nicer to her.” She stares down at her hands, her fingernails still shiny and black. “I think maybe we’re meanest to the people we love the most because we want to believe they’ll love us no matter what.”
Before I think about what I’m doing, I take her hand and squeeze. “Ava still loves you. Just give it some time.”
“Thanks.” She smiles, and it’s a real one—the kind that shines through her eyes.
“We should go back out there,” I say. “Face our future and all that.”
We get up off the sink and leave the bathroom together, still hand in hand, heading back out to the field to see everyone. When we reach the big white tent with all the chairs, she squeezes one more time and then lets go, veering off to where Chase and Ava are standing. Chase throws an arm around Danielle, pulling her close, and I see the flash of hurt on Ava’s face before she breaks into a resigned smile. I hope they make up eventually, but maybe they won’t. Maybe some friendships are meant just for high school. Maybe Danielle and Ava no longer fit together, no longer speak the same language.