I laugh. “Come on, they’re just kids.”
“Have you been stuck with a group of ankle biters before?” Kayla stares at me, wide eyed. “Sure, they toddle around quietly, but if they turn on you . . . it’s like in the movies. The ones that seem sweet and innocent are always, like, possessed. Or zombie spawn.”
“The kids are demons?”
“It would explain a lot. But hey, I get to use it on college applications. I want to major in psychology,” she explains. “And it’s fun watching the parents, trying to figure out how traumatized and messed up their kid is going to be.” She beams happily at the thought of all the future therapy the kids will require.
“Um . . . great.” Clearly, I’ve been underestimating Kayla.
She looks around at the fluorescent-lit room full of limp sale signs and people dejectedly picking through the remainder bin of underwear. “Oh, my God, this place is so depressing. I should go buy these before I change my mind. Or kill myself.”
“You’re not going to try them on?”
“And see just how bad they look?” Kayla backs away. “You’re way braver than me. See you!”
As I watch her walk away, I feel a strange pang. This conversation must be the longest one we’ve had in years, and right now, I can’t even think of the reason why.
“Kayla, wait!” I call suddenly. Then I stop, embarrassed, but she’s already turned. “Do you have plans?” I ask. “I mean, we could maybe get a soda or something. Exchange stain-removal tips,” I add, my face heating up.
Kayla pauses for a minute, then shrugs. “Sure, I don’t have to be anywhere.”
“Great!” I realize how eager I sound and dial it back a couple of notches. “I mean, OK. That’s cool.”
“Meet me out front when you’re done.” Kayla smiles. “I swear, I’m breaking out in an allergic reaction to all this polyester.”
“OK!” I feel a weird sense of achievement. “See you outside.”
“So, Totally Wired,” Kayla starts as we claim our monster neon Slushies from the food-court stall. The mall is busy with gaggles of preteen girls camped out on every bench and weekend shoppers drifting aimlessly down the fluorescent-lit fake streets. “Want to switch? You take tiny demons and I’ll serve coffee. That place has the cutest guys on staff.”
“It does?” I slurp at my drink, feeling a strange sense of nostalgia. Or is it déjà vu? Either way, this is a scene I must have played out with Kayla a hundred times when we were younger, back when a day at the mall and icy treats were pretty much heaven to us. “Like who?”
“Where do I start?” Kayla asks, flipping her sheet of blond hair over her shoulder. “The chef guy, with the messy hair? And that tall one who’s always in black.”
“That’s Denton.” I nod. He’s joined at the hip with Aiko, or rather, joined hip to thigh, since he towers about eighteen inches over her. “I don’t really know him — our shifts never overlap. He’s dating Aiko — they’re really cute together. But Josh, the chef guy, he’s nice. Kind of a goof.”
“Oh?” Kayla gives me a look.
“What?” Just then, I feel my phone buzz. Garrett! I sneak a glance at the screen. Nope, phantom buzz.
Beside me, Kayla keeps talking. “You know, he’s cute, and you’re working all those long shifts together. . . .” I look back in time to catch her giving me a meaningful wink.
I suddenly realize what she means. “Josh? No way. He’s like, old.”
Kayla smirks. “And?”
“And he’s always goofing around,” I tell her, and tuck my phone away. “Yesterday, he wore bunny ears the whole day. Not my type.”
She lets out a disappointed sigh. “I forgot, you don’t date.”
“Um, can you blame me?” I say, self-conscious. Is that my reputation — the nondater? “You know what Sherman boys are like.”
“Come on, there are some good ones!” she protests. Suddenly, her eyes brighten. “Ooh, maybe I could set you up with one of Blake’s friends —”
“Don’t!” I yelp. She looks startled. “I mean, that’s sweet,” I add quickly, “but I’m OK for now. Being single.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugs. “But those guys are a ton of fun. Trust me.” She winks again, and I’m reminded of what different high-school lives we lead. Me with Garrett, her with her table of peppy friends and weekends partying up at the lake.
“So what’s Blake up to this summer?” I ask, steering the subject away from me and my long dateless nights of solitude.
Kayla makes a face. “Mainly college prep. He’s heading to NYU in the fall.”
“Oh.” I pause. “Are you guys going to try and stay together, or . . . ?” I trail off, not wanting to bring up any potential angst. But instead, Kayla just slurps her mammoth raspberry Slushie, unconcerned.
“Oh, it’s going to be fine. We’ll do long distance, and vacations and holidays, and then in two years I’ll be at Columbia.” She says it casually, as if it’s a plan for the weekend, and not the next few years of her life.
“Wow, that’s . . . great,” I venture. “That you’ve got it all figured out, I mean.”
She shrugs. “We’re meant to be together. So we’ll make it work.”
“Oh.”
I can’t help but wonder about her resolve. I mean, sure, I’m certain that things will work out with Garrett, too, but we’re destined to be together. Kayla and Blake are cute, but can a high-school crush really last? “Good luck with that,” I offer. “It’s not easy to keep things together when you’re both off doing different things.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she says. “Garrett’s gone for the summer.” She pauses. “I’ve always wondered, did you two ever . . . ? You know.”
“Nope,” I say. At least, not yet.
“Really?” She crinkles her forehead in a frown. “Not even a ‘friends with benefits’ thing?”
“No!” I reply, horrified. “We would never risk our friendship for something like that.”
“Oh, sorry,” Kayla looks as if she’s mentally reassessing something. And that’s when my back pocket buzzes. For real this time.