I shake my head again.
“Sadie!” Kayla sighs as we head back into the kitchen. “You’re oblivious. Anyway, she was dating Chris Leeds last year. They’d hung out a little, nothing serious. He goes over there to “study,” walks into her room, and finds pictures of her ex everywhere. Like, everywhere! He dumped her like that.” She snaps her fingers. “Now everyone thinks she’s a psycho bunny boiler.” She goes to the fridge and pulls out a jug of lemonade.
“Charming.”
“But true.” Kayla shrugs. “Anyway, don’t worry, we’ve saved you from that fate.”
“For which I’ll always be grateful.” I laugh. “No, seriously, thanks for helping out with this. I know it’s not the ideal way to spend your Saturday.”
“No problem.” She shrugs again. “These days, if it doesn’t include an army of evil brats, I’m in.”
“Didn’t you have plans with Blake?”
She shakes her head, following me out into the backyard with the drinks. “He’s with his family on some trip to Philadelphia this weekend.”
“Oh, that sucks.” I head for our usual spot under the far tree — sunny enough to get some tan on our legs, shady enough for those epic games of Connect Four we used to play or, today, to cool down after all that manual labor. “Every minute probably counts, before he goes away, I mean.” I settle on the grass.
Kayla nods slowly. “I’m not thinking about it.” She gives me a weak smile. “Otherwise, I’ll just get sad and mopey for the rest of summer.”
“Denial: the ultimate coping tactic.” I grin and clink my glass to hers in a toast.
We stretch out, relaxing beneath the sun-dappled canopy. It’s one of those perfect cloudless summer days: cool breeze rustling the leaves above us, the distant comforting hum of a lawn mower somewhere down the block. I slowly relax, feeling a strange sense of belonging to be back here with Kayla after so many years.
“Can I ask you something?” I prop myself up on one elbow to look at her.
“Sure.”
“Don’t take offense or anything, but I’m curious. . . .” I bite my lip, trying to find the right way to ask. “What is it you see in Blake? I mean, I don’t know him all that well,” I add quickly. “I’m just wondering. Most people our age don’t make those kind of plans.”
Before, I always figured Kayla was being naive and predictable, thinking she could make the high-school golden couple thing last in the real world, like those prom king and queen couples who get hitched after graduation and start having kids right away. But now that I’ve spent time with her, I just can’t make those pictures gel. Kayla is smart and sensible — not the kind of girl to buy into that happily-ever-after vision of romantic perfection.
Kayla stares into the canopy, as if organizing her thoughts. “I don’t know how to describe it, but we just fit. He’s my best friend, and I . . . I can’t imagine us not being together.”
“But tons of people date in high school and then split up,” I point out. “I’m not saying you will. It’s just that you seem so certain you won’t.”
She gives a small shrug. “He knows me better than anyone. It wasn’t love at first sight or anything,” she continues. “I mean, when we started dating, it was just fun, you know? Movie dates and parties and making out in the back of his truck.” She laughs, but then something else drifts across her face, something more somber. “But when my dad got sick, Blake was just amazing about it —”
“Wait. What?” I sit up in surprise. “When was this?”
“Last year. We didn’t tell anyone,” she explains, “and he’s in remission now, so . . .” She trails off. “But Blake, he was, like, a rock. I expected him to back off, you know, because I was being all emotional, but he was so supportive.”
“Really?” I suddenly feel bad for all the times I wrote Blake off as a dumb jock with zero depth.
“I know he doesn’t seem like it,” Kayla adds, as if reading my thoughts. “But away from all the guys, he’s really sweet. He dropped all that player crap, was there whenever I needed to talk. Or just cry. That’s when things got real.” She smiles — the calm, secure smile of a girl in a long-term relationship. “I knew I could count on him.”
“That’s great,” I say quietly.
“He even did a stupid home karaoke version of ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ on my birthday, to cheer me up,” she adds, grinning at the memory.
“Like in 10 Things I Hate About You?” I laugh. “I haven’t seen that movie in . . . I don’t know, forever!”
“What?” Kayla cries. “You were the one who made me watch it every month all through sixth grade.”
“You’re exaggerating,” I tell her, then crack a smile. “It was every other month.” I pause. “You know, I bet I still have all that stuff stashed away,” I say, leaping up. “Come on!”
We head back inside, this time going to the storage closet under the stairs, aka the Cupboard of Doom.
Kayla blinks as I tug on the overhead bulb, illuminating approximately ten years of clutter crammed into boxes, spilling off every available shelf.
“Whoa. Hasn’t your mom cleared this out yet?”
“It’s her guilty little secret,” I answer, scrambling up onto a broken chair and reaching perilously for the back of the top shelf. “Every time she opens the door, she chickens out.” I stretch as far as I can, fingertips nudging a shoe box closer. “OK, got it!”
I clamber down, holding my trophy aloft.
“What’s in there?” Kayla asks.
“Only every teen movie we ever used to watch.” I grin, pulling off the dusty lid. The DVD boxes are stacked inside, remnants of my childhood I packed away when Garrett came around and deemed them teen-girl trash: Josie and the Pussycats, Clueless, Bring It On . . .
“What are they doing locked away in a dark corner?” Kayla demands. “These are classics! I have them out on my main shelf.”
I laugh. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to deny myself all these years.”
“Hell, yes, you were.” Kayla pauses. “You’re free tonight, right?”
“I guess. . . .”
“Perfect! How about a sleepover movie marathon?”