Chapter 21 #2
“Well, if you want advice, you know where I sleep. Juliet and I have been together for almost three years. I’m very well versed in this sort of thing.”
Vendredi wags her eyebrows at me, and I snort. A question that’s been nagging at the back of my head all night creeps to the forefront of my mind now.
“Actually,” I start. “There was something I wanted to ask you. Not about relationships. But something you said earlier.”
“Hit me.”
“You mentioned not caring about family legacies or what your mom thinks of you.” She stiffens. I feel bad but press on lightly. “I know you didn’t want to talk about it in front of everyone, but do you want to tell me about it?
It’s uncomfortable to admit. Vendredi looks sympathetically at me. Maybe it’s what gets her talking.
“It’s complicated with my mom. She was never around, and even when she was, she wasn’t really there, you know?”
I swallow. I do.
“Luckily, I have an amazing dad. He’s all I need.
And he totally supports my goal of going into acting.
” Vendredi shrugs. “That’s the only reason I’m here.
To get my face out there, not to follow in my mom’s footsteps or anything.
I don’t even care about winning the prize after seeing how that kind of money changed her. ”
My mind whirs, trying to wrap itself around the idea of not caring. It’s impossible. I sit up on my knees. “You don’t want to win so you can rub it in your mom’s face?” I ask. “Not even a little bit?”
Vendredi laughs—the last thing I expect her to do. “No. I don’t think of my mom that much. I certainly don’t think of her here. Wherever she is right now, I know for a fact she’s not thinking about me either.”
My lung collapses, air oozing out of me like a deflated balloon. “Oh.”
She stands and offers me her hand. I take it, grateful, because my knees don’t feel as steady now. I probably overexerted my muscles hauling Carter and his mattress. Yeah, that’s it.
“Why’d you ask?” Vendredi says as we head toward the cabin.
I match her slow, leisurely pace, watching the way the grass flexes under our feet.
Suddenly, I’m embarrassed to explain how much it means to me that Appa sees me win.
How badly I need to prove him wrong. The only thing it proves is that I haven’t stopped caring about what he thinks, even though he doesn’t give a damn.
Admitting that, even just in the privacy of my head, makes me feel small.
Vendredi hears something in my silence I didn’t mean for her to. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s none of my business.”
She didn’t have to tell me either, though. I clear my throat.
“I had this best friend,” I blurt. Vendredi stops walking.
I realize it’s because I stopped first. My feet plant in the ground, toes digging into the cold soil, as if to bury myself under it.
Oh God. Why did I say that? Since when does the Agonizing Amelia Incident of Junior Year have anything to do with why I’m here?
“Yeah?” Vendredi encourages.
It was Amelia, by the way. She’s who I got the mattress prank from.
One time, I fell asleep first at one of our sleepovers, and she carried me and my sleeping bag into the backyard.
It became one of our longest running jokes, taking turns dragging the other person farther away from the house each time, then dying of laughter when the other would bolt awake in confusion.
I don’t know why I didn’t just tell Vendredi that when she asked.
“Yeah,” I say. Something blocks my throat, and I have to swallow a few times before I can get any words past it.
“She was a grade ahead of me. We became friends because she was the captain of my volleyball team. We were really close, we did everything together, including all the same sports. But, um… when I moved this year, we played against each other for the first time. My team beat hers. I’m really competitive, and I let it get to my head.
I was a dick, basically. We haven’t talked since that game. ”
Vendredi’s brows furrow. “That’s what broke your friendship?”
“There was… more.”
Not that Amelia would know. Because I didn’t tell her why I had to move.
Or about Appa leaving us. I never told her how the last thing he ever said to me was that I disappointed him, not that he loved me.
It wasn’t like she didn’t try to be there for me—but I didn’t let her.
She called about a million times, but I wouldn’t answer.
Why? Good question. I wish I had a good answer. But the reason is pathetic: I don’t like being the kind of person who needs a shoulder to cry on. That’s all. I hate being weak, someone one who needs help. A loser. It’s easier being the shoulder. The helper. A winner.
I don’t know why I’m like this. But it’s why I’ve always struggled to cross the boundary of friendly to friends with anyone besides Amelia. Maybe it’s why I’m only giving Vendredi a half truth now.
Vendredi steps forward and wraps her arms around me in a hug. I freeze.
“I get it,” she says. “I let my competitiveness get the best of me, too, sometimes.” Vendredi steps back. “It doesn’t matter what you’re trying to prove by being here, or to who. All that matters is you’re here now, right?”
The thing blocking my throat rises, coating my tongue in acid.
Guilt. I wish I wasn’t like this. Because I want to cross the boundary of friendly with her too.
I learned the hard way with Amelia that the only way to do that, though, is to give more than half truths.
I think of Umma. What would she want me to do?
I know she’s probably worrying about me here, just like I worry about her at home. She wanted me to make friends.
“Right. Thank you, Vendredi,” I say. “You’re… you’re a good friend.”
She beams, and it’s so bright, it washes away some of the bitterness. “I didn’t come here to make any, but you know what? You’re a good friend too.”
I want to be. I hope I can.