A Tale of Two Besties (24 page)

“I'd ask if you come here often, but I feel like I already know the answer,” Red said, still grinning and pointing to my lack of fairy apparel. “So how about the next cheesiest line I know . . . what brings you here?”

“It's my birthday,” I said, surprised by how angry I sounded. I sought out Lily in the crowd of bodies crammed near the catwalk until I finally caught a glimpse of her shimmery wings as they fell into step with a harsh halo of silver and a swatch of metallic feathers. “Though this isn't my party,
obviously
. My friend invited me, and I think she just kinda forgot about my existence.”

“That's a bummer.” Red followed my gaze. “Are you talking about that fairy girl? She's a big deal around here. I hear her band is supposed to be excellent. I can't wait till they finally play a show.”

“I wouldn't know,” I sniffed. “I'm more of a pre-Pathways friend.”

“So you don't go there? I noticed you were wingless.”

I shook my head. “Nope. But I'm assuming you do?”

“Only school I've ever attended.” He puffed out his scrawny chest with mock pride. “I'm the president of our chess club and the corunner of our pickling and canning cooperative. I'm a unique frickin' snowflake, blah blah blah.”

I cracked a smile despite myself. “What, Pathways isn't turning you into the best you that you can be? Or whatever nonsense they tell you?”

“Oh yeah, there's some of that,” Red said, running his hand through his mop of hair. “But there are also people like her.” I followed his gaze past Lily to Nicole, who was flapping her arms aggressively at a waiter.

“Oh? Who's she?” I said, not letting on that I knew exactly who she was.

“My ex.” Red sighed and adjusted his glasses. “Worst three months of my life. That girl is a sadist, pure and simple. You could tell by middle school. I mean, who tells their entire eighth grade class that her boyfriend is suffering from a case of ‘facial gonorrhea' just because he doesn't want to take her to see
Perks of Being a Wallflower
?”

“Is that even a thing?” I felt bad giggling, but I couldn't help it.

“Yeah, it's this totally overly precious movie based on a totally overly precious book that's basically girl porn.” Red stopped when I gave him a
duh
look. “Oh, you meant is facial gonorrhea real? No. But try telling that to a bunch of grossed-out middle school girls. I was a pariah for the rest of that year, and then my entire freshman year after that.” I could tell this was obviously a sore subject for Red, because he then shoved two cookies in his mouth, spraying gluten-free macadamia nut crumbs into the stratosphere as he continued to rant. “The thing is, it would be almost okay if Nicole was this
obvious
mean girl. Like if she was a juice-cleanse-obsessed cheerleader or some spoiled actor's kid with a Bentley and a chauffeur vetted by her fellow Scientologists. But instead she walks around campus like a goddess, preaching all this peace, love, and NAMASTE nu-hippie crap, and everyone assumes that she's
nice
and
good
. And now that she's totally coopted your friend's ‘wings' look . . .” The gangly boy blanched, seeing my expression darken but misunderstanding why. “I'm sorry, I know I sound mean. I'm not sure if I'm explaining this right.”

Unfortunately, he was explaining things exactly as I feared they were. I knew exactly what Red meant. Nicole was a bully, plain and simple. Sure, she might be artistic, creative, and “vegan,” but she still used the same torture techniques found in the handbook of any run of the mill cafeteria despot. She didn't even have any creativity herself . . . she had stolen Lily's idea and made it part of her
image
.

Divide and conquer. Belittle and undermine.
Pressure others to do the same.
And push anyone out of the way who might be
even the least bit
threatening. Like me, for instance.

Over Red's shoulder, I could see Lily laughing with her new friends and felt a rush of ice-cold anger race through my veins. Not just at Lily, but for her, too. She had put so much faith in Nicole, seemingly sacrificed so much of who she really was, and what was she getting in return? She had been relegated to lackey status, like one of those sad eels that follow Ursula around in
The Little Mermaid
. Not even the main villain, just a disposable sidekick, there to do the dirty work, like calling out people who've kept your deepest darkest secrets for wearing fake leather.

“No, you've actually been really helpful,” I said through gritted teeth. “I think I'm going to find my friend now.”

“That's a good idea,” Red said, fluffing and fussing around with his coat as if it were made of feathers. “I hope it's not too late. Oh, by the way.” From underneath his coat appeared one freckle-spotted hand. “Minerva.”

My hand froze halfway out to shake. “Sorry?”

The boy rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “My name. Yeah, it's lame . . . and kind of girly. I guess my parents were really into Greek mythology or something. Most people just call me Min.”

“Roman,” I said, feeling my stomach plummet into free fall. “Minerva is Roman, but the owl is Greek.” Nearby, someone had started running a fog machine, or maybe it was a broken bubble machine. Soon the room got so smoky that it was hard to see anything not right in front of our faces.

Min shrugged. “Cool. Anyway, I hope it's not too late for you to help your friend.” Min gave me one last, ponderously curious look, and then disappeared into the machine-generated fog, leaving me alone, birthday-broken and too late to save even myself.

I wasn't even mad when Harper humiliated me in front of Nicole by acting so weirdly snotty and stuck-up. Even though I knew Nicole was just trying to help her be more conscientious about her footwear choices, it probably came off differently to Harper, who just stuck her nose up at her. Honestly, that one was on me. As a NAMASTE representative, I should have spotted Harper's shoes before we even left the house, but I'd been so distracted.

I was still hoping that we could work things out when I introduced Harper to Jane and Drew. They were less intense than Nicole, and I'd even thought about how much Harper would love talking fashion with those two. So when I saw Harper coming up to me, Jane, and Drew, I made a big production about introducing my really,
really
good friend from Hollywood Middle. I felt a little embarrassed that Harper was dressed so . . . low-key. Especially since Jane and Drew had really gone all out with their wings. Jane's were aureolin yellow and pointier than mine, made out of this beautiful beaded muslin fabric her dad had had shipped over from India. Drew's were cerulean blue and orange, aerodynamic and made out of plastic or plexiglass, so they looked like hard, shell-like wings, like the kind you'd find on the first lightning bug of the summer, rather than on a fairy. But I guess that still counted. I made a mental note to check that by Nicole . . . we couldn't have Drew bringing down the NAMASTE/Gawkward Fairy collaboration with something as innocently off-message as the wrong pair of wings!

“Hi,” said Harper, barely giving them a glance as she shoved a red plastic cup at me, nearly spilling it down the front of my dress. “Lily, I need to talk to you. It's important.”

I caught Jane cocking an eyebrow at Drew and translated the little accompanying thought bubble that I just knew was hovering above her head:
Basic
.

“Um, one second Harper.” I smoothed down my skirt and tried to bury the deep thoughts that were burning their way to the surface of my face. “Jane and Drew are the other members of our band.”

“Oh, right,” Harper said, shooting me a look while shaking Jane's bedazzled denim gloves.

“It's nice to meet you, Harper,” Drew said, sticking out an onyx-ringed hand. “Lily has told us so much about you!”

Lie.

“Lily, I really need to talk to you.” Harper ignored Drew's out-stuck hand and I felt a flash of something bigger than annoyance. “Can we just get out of here for a minute?”

Well, two could play her ignoring-people game. “Oh, and, duh, how could I forget? Jane is the woman of the hour! This party is for her blog, and she is our hostess with the most-est.” I waggled my shoulders, pretending to be sillier than I felt inside. Along with her wings, Jane was wearing a crocheted white minidress with a tangerine slip that matched her lipstick. I doubted anyone else in the world could have pulled off that look, but Harper barely offered her a glance.

“Right. FancyFashionFeminist. Cool,” said Harper in monotone.

“Actually,” said Jane, “we're just going by the new name now.” She pointed at her laminated 3-D button with the F³ logo of my fairy wings. “We might start selling these at Urban Outfitters.”

“Wait, really?” I asked, confused. “That's news to me. I mean, are we really trying to sell stuff to the general public?” I knew that Jane was a much savvier businesswoman than I'd ever be—Nicole didn't call me the “creative” in our group for no reason—but I felt uncomfortable with the idea that soon anybody with a credit card could purchase a piece of my grandmother's personal history. I didn't want to become mere merchandise.

“It was Nicole's idea,” Jane shrugged. “She said you'd be okay with it.”

“So . . . how do you pronounce that?” Harper asked, cutting in before I could ask anything else. “You know, when people ask? Is it F to the power of three? Or F-three? Or Eff-Eff-Eff?”

Drew grinned and acted like Harper had just said the most delightful thing in the world. He closed his eyes and swayed a bit to the music with a slow grin.

“Or what if it was like, Eff-Eff-Eff-Eff-Eff and it just went on forever?” he asked dreamily. “Like when your keyboard gets stuck?”

“Maybe I should just change the name to ‘Sound of Drew's Broken Keyboard,'” Jane said, poking him with an orange fingernail. Drew's hands flew to his sides in mock pain.

“Oof,” he said.

I took a deep breath and started to relax. The thing about Jane and Drew was that they weren't so serious about everything, the way Nicole and the NAMASTE “bbs” (our name for the younger kids who worshipped the ground Nicole walked on, and who I was sure had parents who bought into Karen “MomTips” Carina and her lecture series) were. Jane and Drew knew how to keep themselves entertained, so there wasn't as much pressure to make a good first impression. Which was good news for Harper—as soon as she stopped playing Alice in Wonderland, I knew everyone was going to love her.

“So, Harper,” Drew said. “Where do you go to school? Lily said you guys met in, like, second grade or something.”

“Actually it was fourth,” I mumbled, not loud enough for anyone to hear me.

“You tell me,” Harper said. “You're the one who has heard so much about me.” Harper was sucking in her cheeks in that way that made her look exactly like her mother. “I guess you're the expert.” Jane raised an eyebrow and even Drew, ever the peacemaker, took a step back to avoid Harper's venom.

It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion. I wanted to clap my hands over Harper's mouth. I wanted to travel back in time to before I ever tried to meld my two friend groups together. I wanted a button that would erase everyone's memories. Unfortunately, none of those things were in the Gawkward Fairy's bag of tricks. So instead I just did what I do best: make everyone so uncomfortable that they stop fighting.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” I yelled over the very loud music . . . that had stopped playing the moment I opened my mouth. If my life had a soundtrack, it would just be a series of
womp-womp
s.

“Come on, Harper,” I said, grabbing her elbow. “I need you to come with me to the bathroom.”

“To do
what
?” Harper protested.

“To do . . . whatever it is that girls do in the bathroom together!” I exhaled impatiently. “Tampon fights. Cuticle selfies. Whatever!”

I turned to Jane and Drew and smiled extra wide. “Guys, I'll catch up with you in two seconds!” I dashed off with my BFF—if that's what she still was—at my elbow. Hopefully I hadn't just ruined my entire life at Pathways by bringing Harper to this party.

Once I'd managed to drag Harper into the bathroom, I took a breath and surveyed the room, which was decoupaged with old food magazine photos, a lot of which featured a sort of meatlike substance suspended in gelatin.
Cool,
I thought.

“Gross,” Harper said, surveying the same walls with judgmental eyes. “This place is just too much. I'm getting a headache. I think I'm just going to go home.”

“What?” I sputtered.

“I'm not having a good time,” Harper said, making eye contact for the first time in . . . forever, actually.

“Well, that's because you won't give anyone a chance!” I heard myself pleading, and prayed that no one would have to use the bathroom anytime soon. I knew Harper was having a terrible time, and that I'd really messed up on her birthday, but she couldn't just leave me here alone!

“Look, I don't want to take you away from your friends,” Harper said. “And you're obviously
really
popular at school, and that's great. I love how your . . .
look
 . . . has really caught on. But I don't really think this is my scene, and it's getting late, and I really don't want to . . .
burden
you with having to keep
babysitting
me all night.
On my birthday!
”

I knew Harper meant this whole speech to come off sarcastically, but it actually made a whole lot of sense. I was feeling torn between my two worlds, the one that Old Lily used to call home and the one that New Lily was trying to make for herself. If Harper left, then I could just be New Lily, and never look back. I wouldn't have to worry about that stupid pact we made on the beach, the one I'd been dreading thinking about ever since I had entered Pathways. The one where I said I would never do anything to fit in, that I'd never be a bully to someone like Beth-Lynne (forgive me, Beth-Lynne!) to make friends.

But . . . the idea of facing those crowds—and Nicole—alone seemed really overwhelming right now. Plus, it was
Harper's birthday
.

“Don't leave me,” I said. “Seriously, I need you here. For emotional support, if nothing else. Can you wait just a little while and we'll do a little birthday thing after? This night is really important for me . . . and for us! Please, PuppyGirl, help out a gawkward girl in distress!”

Harper shook her head. “I think we're getting a little too old for nicknames. And just so you know? My birthday never had to wait before.”

I was so stunned that I couldn't come up with any response, but it didn't matter, because before I could say anything, she streaked out of the bathroom like an
haute couture
blur.

And now for a recap of this crappy evening thus far, folks: I was now stuck in a bathroom stall, friendless, and too chicken to go out and face the party alone. Like I was some friendless Gawkward mascot, instead of a real person.

And I didn't even have to go.