Chapter 18 BEST FUTURE BEST FRIEND
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Kauffman asked as I drifted through the library that afternoon.
Yep, I’d still come in for my shift, but Parakeet and Ostrich were full of books, and the Winter Jolly-Days booth was sitting untouched in the back room.
My sole accomplishment so far was tucking in a chair at the big table.
“Everything,” I said. “I don’t know if I can do the booth by myself. Grayson was doing the art, but …”
She pressed her mouth into a line. “Yeah, he called and said he was sorry to back out. Did something happen?”
“I wish I could explain.” That was only mostly true. I wished I could explain without making Mrs. Kauffman hate me, too. “I’ll still make the booth,” I said quickly. “But I can’t make a winner without him.”
“Do your best,” she said. “I’ll help where I can. Let me know what you need.”
I made a noise that must have sounded like okay, because she returned to her computer.
Grayson:
What are you doing?
Can you talk?
Maybe you could show me your weaving?
Or do you have a picture for today? I could really use one
In the back room, I shot a photo of a bare corner of one of the cells. It was all texture and shadow. When I applied my favorite dark preset, the mood shifted into something abandoned and lonely.
I sent it to Grayson, half wondering if he’d recognize the space.
Grayson:
That photo is how I feel right now
Me:
I’ll be ready at 7 if you want to talk then
You could keep reading your story …
Maybe it was cowardly not to volunteer to talk about his trouble with, uh, me. But if we were doing a voice call, I didn’t think I’d be able to hold myself together.
Grayson:
Yes, okay!
Talk then
And thank you
As I got to work on the booth, I wished I really was “Cardinal,” a mystery person he didn’t know in real life and could be safe opening up to. Someone who wasn’t just waiting for the right time to break his heart again.
After I got home and finished dinner with the family, Zooms and I went to my room and shut the door.
She hopped right onto the bed, beelined (catlined?) for my cleanest pajamas, and got to work kneading.
Before I could think too hard about what I was doing, I texted Grayson to let him know I was here.
My stomach twisted into knots as I popped in my earbuds and pulled out my loom.
I’d finished threading the heddles last night, double-checked every warp yarn to make sure it was in the right place, and tied on to the front beam.
Most people thought weaving was just passing the shuttle through and making cloth, but the setup actually took a lot of time, even on a little loom like mine.
After all, you were getting half the threads ready!
As I checked the tension and wove a header, I started to feel …
not better, but less freaked out. I’d forgotten that weaving always did that to me.
Something about the rhythm of throwing the shuttle between the warp yarns, arranging the edge just so, and using the rigid heddle to tuck the weft into place.
And then do it over again. It was meditative.
I couldn’t believe I’d ever let anyone make me stop.
I finished the header and started loading the weft yarn onto my shuttle. That was when the phone rang.
It shocked me. First, because I’d forgotten it would happen. Second, because it was Grayson.
I answered slowly. “Hey.”
“Hi.” His voice sounded rough. “So, uh, how was your day?”
Rotten. The worst. Totally draining.
“Not as bad as yours.” That, at least, was true. “I’m sending a picture of my loom. I’m about to start weaving.”
I snapped the photo and shared it with him.
“That looks cool. I like the threads lined up like that. They’re so … orderly.”
“That’s one of the reasons I like it. It’s soothing, you know?” I ran my fingertips along the warp strings. “Are you going to read to me?”
“I thought … maybe we could talk about the story a little more first.”
“Yes!” Relief tore through me. I’d thought—for half a dozen words there—he’d wanted to talk about me again, and how I’d hurt him. I would have had to end the call, pretend like I just lost connection, and then disappear forever, maybe to another planet. Venus was nice this time of year, right?
What a relief we were just going to talk about his book.
“So this princess I added … what if she’s a villain?”
“Oh?” My voice squeaked.
“Yeah. Maybe the reason she refused the knight’s offer of help was because she’s hiding something—a dark secret. Like maybe she’s planning to betray him. Or she already has.”
I did a quick internet search for how to get to Venus, but NASA wasn’t offering rides. What a shame.
“Do you think that works? Does it make it more interesting?”
“I think … it can. If you believe she’s a villain, she probably is.” My throat was tight again. “But for the sake of your story, ask yourself why she would betray him.”
“Hmm.” His sigh crackled through his bad mic. “That’s a fair point. I don’t know yet.”
When he’d been reading last night, we hadn’t gotten to a part with the princess. Not a significant part, anyway. The knight had seen her in the distance and noticed she seemed sad, but that was all.
“I guess,” he went on, “she might have seen it as a way to prove herself to the royal court. Remember, the knight’s house is dishonored. He’s sort of an outcast.”
“I remember. And you said the small council was trying to remove the princess from the line of succession. So maybe you’re right. Maybe she’s trying to keep her place. But how do you think she’s going to betray him? And how does betraying him help her?”
“He must have something she wants. Not power. He doesn’t have that anymore.”
Oh gosh, the temptation to suggest that the princess didn’t intentionally betray him! It would be so easy. “Maybe,” I said instead, “she’s not such a big part of his story after all. Maybe his story moves in a different direction.”
“So you think I shouldn’t have added her.”
“I don’t know. But maybe … maybe she’s just a random side character who gets into a shocking and tragic situation, then she’s off the page. Maybe she’s not really part of the main character’s story.”
“I’m not sure I like that,” Grayson said. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.”
“That’s because you’re a kind person.” Was my voice shaking? It sounded like it was. “You can think more about what you want to do with her. You don’t have to decide right now.”
“That’s a good point. There’s no rush.” Paper rustled. “Okay, should I read?”
“Please!” I finished loading my shuttle and snipped the end.
“Okay. Chapter four.”
While he read, I began to weave, imagining his story sinking into the threads, becoming real and beautiful. He had a soothing voice, even through the questionable qualities of his phone. And his cadence was steady. Gentle.
By the time he was finished reading and Mom was knocking on the door for me to get ready for bed, I’d almost forgotten the nightmare that was today. Even Grayson seemed surprised to find himself in the real world again.
I was glad for him. He deserved to have a break.
“So,” he said, along with a soft whumph of his notebook closing, “I guess I should keep writing?”
“I hope you do. It’s really good.” I hesitated. “Hey, about all that stuff earlier. I just—I hate that that happened. That anyone said those things about you. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t kind. I’m positive she regrets it.”
There. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to tell him those things in person. I couldn’t imagine a world where he ever let me get near him again. But at least he could know it through phone-me. Cardinal-me.
And when I inevitably hurt him again … because I couldn’t keep this secret forever … I just hoped he knew how much I liked him—and how much I wished I could go back and undo the damage to our friendship.
“Thanks, Cardinal. You’re the best future best friend a guy could ask for.” The connection crackled between us. “Can we do this again tomorrow? Like, it could be our thing? I read and you weave.”
I choked a laugh. “I’d really like that.” My words sounded thick. Hopefully, he couldn’t tell.
“I might have to start reading other books. But I kind of like reading to you. You’re a good listener.”
I managed a faint squeak of acknowledgment.
“Talk to you tomorrow,” he said.
“Bye.” I tapped end and finally let my tears fall.
Because he wasn’t my future best friend. He was a friend I couldn’t keep.