“Did he?” Brooke says.
“Yeah,” Sasha says. “But he wasn’t as hot as he is now.”
“You think he’s hot?” I ask. I think so, but I’m surprised that she does as well. Finny is so preppy, and he’s quiet and introverted instead of charming and outgoing like the boys in our group.
“Yes,” Sasha says, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to date him, but yeah, he’s hot.”
“He’s pretty hot,” Brooke admits.
“Okay, but we’re not friends anymore so I can’t take that quiz,” I say.
“Sure you can,” Brooke says. “Just answer what would have been true back then.”
“I can’t—”
“Number one,” Sasha says. “You call your best guy friend crying after a fight with your mom. The next day at school he, A, asks if you’re okay. B, doesn’t mention it, since he got off the phone really quickly. Or C, gives you a hug and remembers all the details of your conversation the night before.”
“Well, C,” I say. Suddenly the Goldilocks answers aren’t so clear anymore; I don’t know what the right answer is, just what the truth is.
A. He blushed when people asked if I was his girlfriend.
C. He never talked about other girls in front of me.
B. He seemed comfortable touching me.
A. He said I was his best friend.
I look over Sasha’s shoulder as she adds up my score. I’m relieved to see by the numbers assigned to my answers that they aren’t all to one extreme, but many of them still are. When she is finished, Sasha looks up at me triumphantly.
“Girl, are you blind?” she reads. “This guy is jonesing for you bad—”
“Okay, stop,” I say. “We were twelve. We didn’t even have hormones.”
“You were thirteen in seventh grade,” Sasha reminds me, “and you guys were still friends until Christmas.”
“Did something happen at Christmas?” Brooke asks.
“No,” I say. “We just grew apart during first semester.”
Sasha shrugs.
“Well, apparently he was in love with you,” she says.
“Oh come on, half of those questions couldn’t have really applied to us back when we were kids. I mean, ‘How often has he ever broken curfew to spend time with you?’ ‘What would it take for him to run back to his car to fetch your biology book even though his homeroom is all the way across campus?’”
“But you still had answers,” Sasha says, and she has me there. I did have answers.
“I was just guessing,” I say. “Like it matters anyway. He’s with Sylvie Whitehouse—”
“And you’re with Jamie,” Brooke says.
“Exactly,” I say. Sasha shrugs and we go back to flipping through the magazines.
17
The first day of sophomore year is going to be hot and muggy; I can already tell. I’m wearing a new tiara, purchased along with the rest of my back-to-school items. This one is black with dark stones. I’m wearing a red plaid skirt and black button-up shirt. Instead of last year’s book bag, I’m carrying an army green mail carrier that I’ve covered with buttons. Everything is new.
I’m ready to be a sophomore.
The group at the bus stop is smaller this year; there are only five of us now. Two are Finny and Sylvie. One is a junior named Todd who I have never spoken to before. The last is a nervous-looking girl who looks too young to even be a freshman. I’m fairly certain she is from a private school, and is terrified.
Finny and Sylvie are holding hands. The cheerleading uniform has been redesigned. I like it better than the old one, but I have no desire to be wearing it myself.
The new girl eyes me suspiciously when I stop at my regular spot at the curb. Like always, I am hit with the memory of flying down this hill on my bike. Finny was never afraid. I always was.
“Hi,” I say to the new girl and smile. She mumbles something and smiles back, a small grateful smile. “I’m Autumn,” I add. I’m feeling generous today. I also have a plan.
“We’re going to have so much fun in chemistry together,” Sylvie says.
“I’m Katie,” she says.
“Did you go to St. John’s?” I ask Katie the New Girl. She nods.
“Did you?” she asks, frowning.
“Oh, no, not me,” I say. For one moment, I have an urge to glance behind me at Finny. In fourth grade, my father wanted me to transfer to St. John’s, and it might have happened if I hadn’t cried every night at the dinner table and refused to eat. I wanted to stay at Vogt Elementary with Finny. At the time, I thought separation from him would be the worst thing that could happen to me. I lay awake at night wondering how I could survive without him. Knowing that Finny was there in the room with me made every test less scary, every taunt less painful. I would look over at him sitting at his desk and know that everything was okay. The thought of enduring every day without him took away my sense of self, of balance, of hope. It all finally ended when Aunt Angelina told my parents that Finny was just as distraught and begging to be transferred too.
I’m so distracted by the strength of the memory that it takes me a moment to realize that my plan is far exceeding my expectations.
“Yeah, he was in my class,” Katie the New Girl is saying.
“Oh really?” Todd the Junior says. “Did you know Taylor Walker too?” Katie the New Girl nods again. “That’s my cousin,” he says. They talk about Taylor, and then more people who they both might know. Somewhere behind me, Sylvie is talking too, but the plan has worked; it’s all a jumble of voices now and when I tune out Katie and Todd’s conversation, Sylvie’s voice fades to the background as well.
By the time the bus pulls up, I have not learned anything else about the fun Finny and Sylvie will be having this year.
18
I have Honors English with Jamie and Sasha, the only class I have with either of them. They’re both taking all Honors this year; I only have the one. Finny and Sylvie and several of their other friends are in our class.
Because we’re a small class, and supposedly the smart ones, our teacher lets us get away with a lot in there. It’s delightful to us, this special treatment, this freedom. Jamie is frequently hilarious. I’m more proud when the others laugh at his jokes than I would be if they were my own. He’s handsome and funny and mine.