* * *
• • •
They do not say no. Connie is especially sympathetic (I may have neglected to mention that Melissa was the one who did the dumping) and even lets me drive myself on the condition that I bring her van back so she can drive Yasmín in the morning.
Melissa’s parents are asleep at this hour, like normal pushing-fifty-year-olds but unlike my dad, who had some big case keeping him up, and Connie, who’s always too restless to sleep. Light seeps out from under her brother’s door, but Matthew hasn’t interacted with us since he started seventh grade, so I ignore him as usual and head to the upstairs den/TV room. Melissa is wearing her comfort pants, the pajama bottoms she made at Girl Scouts camp before eighth grade: bright yellow sunflowers on blue flannel held together with wobbly maroon seams, still too big on her five years later. She’s already broken into her emergency stash of Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies, which she buys in bulk every February and then hoards for special occasions. Despite her bravado, she’s not feeling entirely cavalier about this breakup.
“Is Xiumiao mad at me?” Melissa asks as soon as I poke my head through the door. “I feel like I’ve barely talked to her all summer.”
“Oh, what, hmm, really?” This is not what I expected, and my improv skills are rusty.
“And I thought it was just because you got grounded and we haven’t been doing hangouts, and maybe I wasn’t reaching out as much as I should. But now she’s not responding to my texts—not even to say Brave isn’t as good as Tangled. Plus you were weird the other day when I said I was going to message her.”
“I . . . wasn’t weird,” I say, weirdly. I’m not great at keeping secrets, but this one isn’t mine to spill. Melissa raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know, dude,” I say, carefully choosing a half-truth since I know an outright lie isn’t going to fly. “I’m kind of mad at her right now. I think she’s blowing us off. She said high school was done, and I guess she’s just . . . over it?”
Melissa looks me up and down suspiciously. “She told you this?”
“Kind of? She’s barely responding to me, either.” I’m actually relieved to let Melissa in on this part of the story. I should have told her immediately—I would have if the disconnect hadn’t been wrapped up with the secret crush. “She’s been chatting with her new roommate.”
Melissa nods, sighs, and reaches for another cookie. “Wow,” she mumbles with her mouth full. “Are we that easy to replace?”
Actually, I do not say out loud, you’re too difficult to replace. I’m the one she didn’t think twice about throwing out with the bathwater.
Then Melissa laughs. “Wait, no, you know what? That totally makes sense. She’s just moving on. That’s fair. People are allowed to do that.”
Makes sense? Moving on? The relief evaporates.
“I mean, obviously it feels crappy.” Melissa shrugs. “But that’s what I just told Chris, so it would be pretty hypocritical of me not to accept it back.”
“I guess,” I say, joining Melissa on the pink futon couch, determined to regain my rightful place in the loop. “What happened with Chris?”
“I already told you,” she says through a mouthful of chocolate crumbs. “Can you hit play?”
The DVD menu of Brave plays on the TV, the same twenty seconds of music repeating over and over and the same movie clips flying across the screen. The remote rests on my side of the couch, a fact that I exploit fully by grabbing it and taking it hostage.
“We can watch once you tell me why you’re so upset.”
“I told you everything already. And I warned you a long time ago that this was coming.”
I tilt my head. “You mean when you said the thing about not wanting to kiss him ‘specifically’? That was ages ago, and you said you were over that.” Hadn’t she? She implied it, anyway, by acting like everything was normal. “Anyway, if you’ve been so over him, why are you freaking out now? Don’t say you’re fine, I know you’re not.”
For a second Melissa looks like she’s going to argue, but I guess she knows better than to deny her feelings when the proof is falling out of her open mouth in chocolatey crumbs.
“It’s not . . . it’s not about Chris,” she says, forcing me to attempt (and fail) a single eyebrow raise, which makes Melissa laugh. “I mean, yeah, it’s about Chris. But I’m not, like, heartbroken about him. I’m just worried about everything, you know?”
I really don’t know, so I guess. “You mean college? You’re going to be great. You never wanted to start college with a boyfriend anyway.”
Melissa sighs and pushes the box of cookies toward me, which is a polite but effective way of shutting me up. “Not college, you goof. Jeez, I’m not even thinking that far. I mean with quidditch. It’s . . . going to be awkward, I think. I don’t know if Chris will ask me not to play anymore.”
“Hmm . . .” Maybe it’s just the mint-chocolatey (and marvelously, astonishingly, blessedly vegan) goodness in my mouth, but I’m not particularly fazed. “I mean, he probably won’t. And you wouldn’t have to quit anyway. Apparently this happens all the time. And there are other quidditch teams. Like the ones in college.” I grab a second cookie before Melissa can snatch the box back. Melissa is very protective of her Thin Mints.
“Never mind. Will you just turn on the movie?”
Her tone, on the other hand, fazes me. “Hey, wait, I’m sorry.”
Melissa stares at the TV like that DVD menu is an Oscar winner, and she chomps straight through three cookies in a row.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Yes, it would be crappy if you—if we—couldn’t play anymore. Because you know there’s no way I would go without you.”
Melissa makes a face like she might consider acknowledging my existence, so I go on.
“If Chris tries to get you to quit, we can tell him to shove it, because you’re an important part of the team and you have potential—Karey said so.”
Melissa responds with an “Uggghhh” and falls sideways into my lap. I take this as a mostly positive sign.
“Is that really what you were worrying about?” I ask. “Also, did you ever tell me why you actually broke up with him?”
Melissa springs up like some kind of wildcat and snatches the remote out of my hand before I can stop her. “Haha, sucker! The oldest trick in the book! Brave is happening now!”
She hits play, and the menu disappears, replaced with the opening scene. I groan and laugh, but Melissa keeps dodging my questions, and now I’m really curious.