You Knew Me When (14 page)

“You look exactly the same.”

“What?!”

“You do, seriously. Still skinny and gorgeous.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, Laney, I know . . .”

“Don't.”

“I just want to tell you . . .”

“Seriously, Kitty. It was a different lifetime.” Laney snapped the album shut. “We're not those girls anymore.” She stood up abruptly. “I have to get home to Gemma. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“A
re you ready?” Laney was bouncing up and down on her bed with a long rectangular box in her hands, which quite clearly she had covered in Santa Claus wrapping paper, despite the fact that my birthday is at the end of May.

“I'm ready. Would you sit down already? You're making me nervous.” It's hard not to be seduced by Laney's infectious enthusiasm.

“Shut your eyes.” She plopped onto her butt, holding the gift in her lap.

“Okay.” I closed them halfway.

“They're not shut.” She folded her arms across her chest and made a pouty face. “Put your hands out.”

“Fine.” I closed my eyes for real this time and extended my arms in front of me, palms facing up.

“Here you go.” She placed the present in my hands. “You can open them now.”

“Thanks!” I looked down. “Wait. Why was I closing my eyes?”

“It's part of the fun.” She sighed dramatically. “You're so suspicious sometimes. Go on. Open it.”

I tore at the paper to find an Absolut Vodka box. “You're giving me liquor? I don't even drink.” I'm probably one of the only juniors in our class who doesn't. I just don't see the point of being out of control.

“Would you look at it more closely?” Laney was bursting with excitement. She'd only been talking about this gift for the better part of a month, dropping little hints here and there.

I examined the box. Laney had very carefully and creatively replaced the word
vodka
with
best friends
, so it read, “Absolut Best Friends.” “Cool!”

“That's not it. Take the bottle out. Jeez, it's like giving a gift to a chimp.”

“Shut up! I'm getting there.” I freed the bottle from inside the box. “Oh, my God!” Laney had done the same thing on the front of the bottle, and she'd also affixed a list of ingredients on the back with adjectives describing our friendship:
loving
,
caring
,
kind
,
trustworthy
,
fun
, and on and on. She'd printed it in the neatest of handwriting, which I know must have taken a great deal of time and precision on her part. Inside the bottle were little pieces of colored construction paper and glitter, lending to its festive appearance.

“Empty it out. Don't worry about the glitter.”

I dumped the pieces of paper and glitter onto her pristine white bedspread. “Your mom is going to kill us.”

“Okay, now open each piece of paper.”

“Mrs. Kotler?” I read the first one aloud. Mrs. Kotler was our ninth-grade math teacher.

“Keep going.”

“Annie's sweet sixteen?” The night Laney dumped a Coke on Mike Tanner's head because he'd tried to grope her on the dance floor, and I had to run interference while she escaped to the ladies' room. I looked up at Laney, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“They're all of our memories from the last six years!”

“Oh, my God, Lane. I love it!” I hugged her tightly. I may have even gotten a little teary eyed.

“I spent, like, forever on it. I think my dad was pissed when I emptied out the vodka, but my mom told him it was for a worthy cause.”

“This is really amazing. Thank you so much.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to get you diamond earrings, but, you know, what with the budget and all . . .”

“This is way better.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely!” I laughed at my own joke. “Get it?”

“What?”

“
Absolut
ely.” Sometimes Laney is a little slow on the uptake.

“Oh, ha ha. You're a crack-up.

“Okay, so it's your birthday. Your choice for movie night.” She jumped off the bed and darted over to her closet in her white cotton short shorts with little red hearts and matching camisole. Laney just got the “Rachel” haircut from
Friends
, with all the layers, so now she's straightening her crazy curls with a flat iron every day, and it looks really good. I definitely couldn't pull it off. “I've got your favorite snacks too. Sourdough pretzels, Cool Ranch Doritos, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, the big ones.”

“Wow, you really thought of everything.” Friday nights are always movie night at Laney's house, which typically means Laney picks the movie and then conks out twenty minutes in, leaving me to suffer through the entirety of something we've already watched ten thousand times, like
Thelma and Louise
. Laney thinks she's Louise, only rather than driving off a cliff, she plans to escape to New York City. “I'll go with
Beaches
.”

“Ugh, sooooooo depressing.”

“Don't worry. You won't make it to the depressing part. Plus it's a touching story about the depths of friendship. Kind of apropos. Don't you think?”

“I have no idea what that means. Sorry, genius.”

“
Apropos
means ‘fitting.' Like, it's so fitting for two best friends to be watching a movie about two best friends.”

“Whatever you say.” She opened the bag of Doritos and stuffed a handful in her mouth. “Want some?”

“How could you possibly be eating right now?” Laney's mom went all out for my birthday, cooking my favorites—fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and sautéed mushrooms. She even baked me a two-layer, all-chocolate birthday cake with a big pink 17 on it.

“I'm a growing girl,” Laney declared, her mouth overflowing with chips.

“Actually, you're not, which is completely maddening. Those babies go right to my thighs.” I squeezed a hunk of my very unattractive leg fat. “See that? Cool Ranch Doritos.”

“Oh, stop. Come on, let's watch.” Laney was already under the covers, and patted the place beside her. By traditional standards, we're probably too old and too big to be sleeping in a twin-sized bed together, but we don't care. I climbed under next to her.

And sure enough, by the time Hillary Whitney and C. C. Bloom were meeting under the Atlantic City Boardwalk, Laney was snoring away.

“Lane?” I whispered, to make sure she was sleeping. She didn't reply. “I'm going downstairs.” After dinner, Grant had suggested meeting in the living room once Laney was out, so we could talk and probably watch one of his stupid shows. We do that from time to time, whenever he's not out with the guys. I just like being around him, even if it does make me anxious.

I tiptoed down the Drakes' creaky stairwell to find Grant waiting for me under a wool blanket, with a bowl of chips and two sodas.

“Hey, come on in.” I was wearing the new purple silk pajamas my dad had given me for my birthday, with the hope that Grant would want to hang out. Stupid, I know. Grant is pretty much a god among men, while I'm a mere peon. He's so cute and so smart, and I don't know. He's kind of perfect. If I didn't know better or if I were prettier, I'd actually think he was interested. Luella is convinced he has the “hots” for me, but Luella is—for lack of a better way to put it—old. She doesn't get the fact that guys like Grant simply don't have the “hots” for girls like me, especially ones they consider a little sister.

“What are we watching?”

“Saturday Night Live.”
He peeled the blanket back for me to get under, which I'm sure made my face all hot and red. “Madonna is on.”

“Cool.” I actually like
Saturday Night Live
, and, anyway, it's a drastic improvement from the cop shows and legal dramas he usually picks. Sometimes we talk about current events, like the fact that Nelson Mandela just became South Africa's first black president. Grant's very smart. Not that Laney is stupid, but she's not exactly into knowing what's going on in the world. At all. I'm not even sure she knows who Nelson Mandela is.

“Want some?” He held the bowl of Ruffles in front of me. If nothing else, this family can eat.

“No, thanks. I'm stuffed from your mom's birthday dinner.” He put the bowl down on the glass coffee table.

“So, uh, speaking of your birthday.”

“Yeah?” I looked at Grant, who suddenly seemed a little nervous. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Everything's fine.” He moved the throw pillow on the couch to reveal a small, neatly wrapped gold box. “I got you something.”

“You got
me
something?” A chill went up my spine and my heartbeat commenced its stampede.

“Well, it's your birthday. Isn't it?” He smiled, flashing the dimples that make my knees weak. “Open it.”

I took the box and stripped off its gold skin. My hands were shaking a little, and I really hoped he didn't notice. “What is it?” Why do people ask stupid things like that when they're opening a gift? I have no idea. I can only cite complete and utter apprehension coupled with steep joy at the fact that a boy—and not just any boy—was giving me a birthday gift. One he'd presumably selected all by himself, since Laney definitely would have told me. I lifted the lid.

“Do you like it?” He was watching me expectantly.

“Oh, my God, Grant.” There nestled in the little black box was a delicate silver chain with a silver, cursive “K” dangling from it. “It's beautiful.”

“Are you sure? You can exchange it for something else if it's not your taste. The lady at Mancini's said initials are really in now. It's like the kind from Tiffany, she said. Whatever that means.”

“You got this at Mancini's?” Mancini's is only the fanciest jewelry store in Manchester.

“Yeah, my friend's cousin works there. She helped me out too.”

“I just can't believe . . .” I was literally speechless staring at the necklace. No one's ever gotten me anything like it. My dad isn't one for frills, and there certainly aren't any other boys lining up, proffering jewelry.

“Do you want me to help you put it on?” He still looked nervous, which was making me even more nervous than I usually am, which is a lot.

“Sure. Yeah.” I turned around and lifted my hair off my neck, praying it wasn't sweaty. He fumbled a little to get it hooked. “So, do you get all your girlfriends—I mean, friends that are girls—necklaces for their birthdays?”

“No, I don't.” He looked down, fidgeting with his hands. “Listen, Kitty. Speaking of that, I have to tell you something. I've been waiting a long time, and I just, well, I don't know. Maybe because of Laney . . .”

“What is it?” I nodded eagerly.

“I really like you.”

“I like you too,” I blurted.

“No, I mean . . .” He leaned forward, cupping my cheeks in his hands, and placed the gentlest kiss on my lips. “I want to be with you. I want us to be together.”

I must have been in shock, because all I remember thinking is,
This is not happening to me. Things like this do not happen to me.
And then we were kissing again, this time with tongue.

“What about Laney?” I pulled back suddenly. “She's going to kill me. And you.” Not that I really cared in the moment. All I wanted, yearned for, were his lips back on mine.

“Don't worry about Laney. I'll take care of her.” He moved in to kiss me again.

For hours, we sat on the Drakes' couch, unable to get enough of each other, until the dim light of day was peering through the curtains and it was time to return to bed with Laney.

The following morning I wasn't even exhausted, despite the fact that I'd gotten no sleep at all. If I hadn't stayed awake, I would have thought the whole thing was a dream. I wanted to see him again as soon as possible, but not this morning. What if Laney realized something was up before Grant had a chance to tell her? I was legitimately scared to see her reaction and was hoping he planned to break the news while I was not around.

“Lane?” I whispered.

“What?” she croaked, yanking the bedspread over her head.

“I've gotta go. I told my dad I'd have breakfast with him.” It was a lie, which made me feel guilty, especially since Laney's birthday gift, listing
trustworthy
as one of the main ingredients in our friendship, was taunting me from on top of the dresser. It was really more of a white lie, though, which I justified by telling myself it was in her best interest.

“Okay. Call me later.” Thank God she let me off easy. I got dressed as quickly as possible, grabbing my stuff in a hurry and making sure Grant's necklace was safely tucked in the inside pocket of my overnight bag, where I'd put it when I returned to Laney's room in the wee hours of the morning. I couldn't exactly let her see it.

Somehow I made it out the front door without waking anyone. I was bursting to talk about what had happened. Normally, I would have woken Laney, who would have been cranky about it at first but then thrilled to hear every last detail. Obviously, in this particular situation, that was not an option. Nor was my dad, who'd probably take the opportunity to lecture me on birth control, a sermon I'd succeeded in avoiding up to this point, most likely because my dad figured I wasn't cool enough to be having sex. Still true. Instinctively, I turned in the opposite direction of my house, toward Luella's. It was early, but I knew she'd be up. I walked up her stone path and rang the bell.

“Hello, darling.” She appeared within seconds, looking like Grace Kelly at eight a.m., in a long orange linen dress that hugged her slender but shapely figure. “To what do I owe the honor at this hour?”

“He kissed me!” I announced, still standing on her porch.

“Who kissed you?” She ushered me inside, as if the paparazzi might be camped out in the bushes, waiting to catch wind of the big news. “Breaking Story: Grant Kissed Kitty!”

“Grant.” I fished through my bag for the necklace. “And he gave me this.” I held it up like an Olympic gold medal, even though it was silver.

“Well, now, that's lovely. And it's about time, I'd say.” She smiled and pecked me on the cheek. “Happy birthday, darling. Come in for a little breakfast.”