And for me it was like each of them saw something different in me, and more than that called something else to the front.
With Blair it was intensity. She made me feel so immediate, a little unsafe, a little thrilled, being around her like being on a roller coaster that hasn’t been tested.
I don’t know what she liked about me. Whatever it was, I guess she didn’t like it all that much, in the end.
We were all still friends until a little over one week ago, which is when I found out that Blair had gone behind my back to go out with the guy I was dating. And when I say “dating” let me unpack how pathetic this all is, because Scott’s the one guy I’ve ever actually gone on a real date with, okay? And he’s only the second guy I’ve ever French kissed, and the second French kiss total. (When we kissed the first time at least. We kissed a lot after that.)
I mean, it’s not pathetic to not date. Plenty of people don’t date, and they don’t want to. And that’s great!
It’s just that I really want to. Despite all my complaining about Siggy and Mark. And my teasing Imani when she was with her ex, Ryan, who graduated last year.
Despite all of that, I just really, really wish I had a boyfriend, too.
High school for me has been one long, unending series of secret crushes from afar or boys who “think of you like a sister,” and I’m not good at flirting or any of it.
But then there was Scott! And we were flirting, effortlessly, and he was so fun and funny and when he looked at me, I felt like he saw me and saw someone awesome at the same time. He doesn’t go to our school; he actually lives in Peachtree City, which is thirty minutes away, and so it sort of gave me hope, too. That maybe boys just don’t like me here, but when I get somewhere else . . .
Anyway, we met at a comic shop event in Peachtree City. One of the artists for the comics adaptation of Human Wasteland was there signing. Scott started talking to me, about the show, about zombies, and the podcast he wanted to start, and we just clicked.
Scott was the first guy I really liked who liked me back. And okay, so he wasn’t my official, exclusive boyfriend. Not in that “going together” or “it’s serious” way, but I thought we had that potential. And it sucked that I got him so wrong, and that he was a two-timing jerk, but it hurt so much more because Blair was my friend.
Or so I thought.
Needles sting the corners of my eyes.
Blair has reached the separate VIP security station. She’s opening her purse for the guard, smiling and talking to him.
Okay, I better look away, because I don’t want to cry, and I definitely don’t want her to see us here in the damn plebe line, and I don’t want to miss her at all, which I do. Even though I hate her with the fire of a thousand suns that are also on fire and in a volcano. In space. A space-volcano.
I don’t want to think about how she really, really, really. Really, really, really. Really. Didn’t care about me or my feelings.
And that she didn’t hesitate to hurt me.
Because she didn’t think about me at all.
When I called Imani, crying about Scott and Blair, Imani picked up Siggy and came to get me immediately. We all went to Imani’s house, and I sobbed my heart out.
“That’s horrible,” Siggy had said, her voice absolutely aghast, and I knew she was thinking about how it would feel to stumble upon Mark in one of their favorite places with another girl.
Or worse, how it would feel if that girl was Blair.
“I can’t believe Blair!” Siggy added, her eyes blazing.
“Maybe it’s some sort of misunderstanding,” Imani offered.
“Sure,” Siggy scoffed. “They went on a picnic in the park and were making out by accident.”
Imani had turned to look at me, her eyes glistening, reflecting my hurt. “I’m so sorry, June.”
I hiccupped, and blew my nose. “I can’t believe I didn’t even suspect it!”
Imani had leaned forward then, and given me the biggest, tightest bear hug. Like she wanted to save me from something that had already happened, like she wanted to fix a bird’s broken wing, or tape a butterfly back together.
Siggy leaned in to hug me, too, and when she leaned back, fury sparked in her eyes.
“It’s not right,” she’d said. “How would either of us feel, Imani, if Blair had done this to us?”
“Horrible,” Imani breathed. “The worst.”
“We should teach her a lesson,” Siggy said. “Give her the cold shoulder. Just for a little while.”
“I don’t know . . .” Imani’s voice was sad and raw, but she didn’t let go of my hand.
So we talked about it. We sounded like parents, talking about putting a toddler on the naughty step.
But I was angry, and I was hurt, and Siggy was angry and hurt for me, and Imani just wanted me to feel better. So we agreed. Two weeks of no contact.
The four musketeers, now suddenly only three.
We’ve been giving Blair the cold shoulder for about a week. Less. None of us talking to her, moving away from her at lunch, not taking her calls, blocking her texts.
It feels harsh. It also feels pretty good in a twisting, dark way.
When it feels more twisting than good, I tell myself it’s not forever.
I duck, giving my head a little shake so some hair falls in front of my eyes. I’ll pretend I can’t see her.
Imani’s whispering soothing things, and we’re just curled in the general direction of away from Blair, trying to make ourselves small, and that’s when I hear Siggy’s voice, shrill as a band saw.
“Haaaaaaaay, sexaaaaaaaay ladaaaaaaays!” she calls.
“Kill me now,” I whisper to Imani, but we turn, and I can feel, without looking, not only everyone in line watching our friend finally arrive, but the call reaching out and catching Blair’s ear. I can feel Blair’s head swiveling like a tank gun. Her eyes sweep over us.
I have two choices: I can turn and look at Blair, let her know I see her and that I know she sees us, or I can keep pretending that I don’t feel her watching. That I can’t see out of the corner of my eye, how she’s stopped and is watching us.
Siggy dance-walks up to us, with her hands out, palms up, and her head pigeon thrusting on her long neck. The move of one of the guys in that viral dance clip “when you run into your friends.”
It’s hilarious, and it makes me laugh even though she knows we’ve been waiting for her. One thing I will say about silly, skinny Siggy, she knows how to apologize, how to make an entrance, and how to make you laugh all at the same time.