What a friend
Chapter 34
SOPHIA
After convincing James—and kind of myself—that what happened back in the hallway was a stupid mistake that meant absolutely nothing, and after bribing him with the promise of ice cream, we find ourselves sitting with Maria in the small, cozy café from last time.
But to my surprise, she is slightly stressed.
More than slightly, actually.
She discovered approximately an hour ago that there is a history exam tomorrow and has been in a state of controlled panic ever since, cursing under her breath because apparently nobody told her.
She is entirely convinced her teacher hates her personally.
Right now, she is buried in her phone, texting what appears to be every single person she has ever met in her academic life, trying to collect enough notes to learn an entire semester's worth of material before midnight.
How she plans to pull this off is something I genuinely cannot explain.
"Maria," I try to get her attention, pointing at her bowl. "Your ice cream is melting."
She doesn't even look up.
"Let her be," James laughs, scooping a large spoonful of vanilla ice cream into his mouth. "She's entered the zone where she believes she has the superpower to somehow absorb all the answers for tomorrow's test through sheer willpower and a group chat."
"I can hear you," Maria mutters, her thumbs still flying across the screen.
And I smile.
Because right now, at this very moment, despite everything that happened today,
I think I'm happy.
No.
I know that I am.
I am so incredibly grateful to have them with me, and even more grateful that James decided not to bring up what happened in the hallway. Not here. Not in front of Maria. Not to anyone.
In the short time I have known him, he has always been like this.
Kind, without making a performance out of it.
Helpful, especially when I struggle to find my footing around new people.
At the party, when Maria had too much to drink, he was the one who took care of her.
He made those worried phone calls after Maria told him what happened that week.
I still remember the heavy guilt that sat on his face afterward, just because he hadn't been there to protect us.
My smile grows even wider.
It's not because I have romantic feelings for him.
I mean, I like him, genuinely, but strictly as a friend.
Just a friend. He is simply so effortlessly kind that I want to hug him every time he smiles.
He has this specific effect on people; when James smiles, everyone around him kind of has to smile back, whether they planned to or not.
"Ugh." Maria lets out a dramatic groan and drops her head straight onto the table with a dull thud.
"I hate this. I hate it so much." She lifts her head just enough to look at her ice cream, which by now is more soup than anything else.
"Instead of shopping or getting my nails done, I have to do this."
She holds her phone up for us to see, the screen displaying an impressive, endless wall of outgoing messages sent out into the world.
"I think I'm sick," she announces.
It sounds less like a possibility and more like a final conclusion she has arrived at and fully intends to commit to.
"No, you're not," James says smoothly, raising a hand to signal the waitress.
"Feel my forehead, Sophia...I'm burning up, right?" Before I can even respond, Maria grabs my hand and presses it firmly against her skin. I decide to play along, adopting my most serious, clinical expression.
"Oh, yes. High fever. Extremely concerning," I diagnose solemnly. "You need immediate bed rest, young lady. Absolutely no school tomorrow."
"See?" She turns to James with the smug satisfaction of a confirmed medical patient. "The professional says no school."
"The medical professional suggested ice cream twenty minutes ago," James says, checking his watch. He stands up and leaves money on the table before I can say anything. I open my mouth anyway.
"Next time," he says simply, cutting me off before I can get a single word out.
I close my mouth. Next time is mine.
"Guess I'm meeting the catering company alone tomorrow then," he says, pulling on his jacket. "What did you want for the celebration again... beef sticks? Burgers?"
Maria's head snaps up immediately. "Don't you dare. It is going to be an excellent party with proper finger food, and I will not have it otherwise."
"But isn't it just a school party?" I ask, getting up and gathering my things.
The look Maria gives me suggests I have just said something deeply unreasonable.
"No, Shopi. It is the party. And when the football team wins, it's not just the party...it's THE party," she explains firmly as we make our way out of the café.
On my way out, I wave goodbye to the old couple behind the counter and thank them for the ice cream.
"But we don't even know yet if we'll win," I say, stopping on the pavement outside.
"Shopi." Maria turns to James with an expression of genuine disbelief. "Tell me you've taken her to watch practice at least once."
James holds both hands up defensively. "Try getting her anywhere near the sports field, and then we'll talk."
It was true.
James had tried to convince me to watch him practice many times, but I never felt like it. To be completely honest, I had picked swimming class for the sole reason that it was easier to skip than most of the other sports classes...because, you know, women's problems.
But Maria was not happy about the fact that I had never watched a single match.
"Right," Maria says, making a decision on the spot with the absolute certainty of someone who has been waiting for exactly this opening. "Tomorrow s an open practis . And we go. No discussion."
"I don't think that's really..."
"No.No. You go to Weststarr, you are part of this school, and that means you show up," she says, leaving absolutely no room for debate.
"Okay, let's get everyone home," James says, spinning his car keys around his finger.
"Yes, let's go," Maria agrees, already walking toward his car.
"I'm taking the bus," I announce.
They both stop dead in their tracks.
"Don't be silly, I'll drive you," James says.
"No, honestly, I'm fine." I smile at them both and point across the street where, with surprisingly good timing, a bus is pulling up to the stop. "See? Perfect."
"Shopi..."
"Bye!" I check for traffic, jog across the road, and catch the bus with seconds to spare.
I am lucky enough to snag a window seat near the back. It is almost a thirty-minute ride through the city, but it is also, genuinely, the most peaceful thirty minutes I have had all day. I press my forehead against the cool glass and close my eyes.
What a day