“He is a good boy.” Layla rubs her nose against Chester’s one last time before sitting up and shifting the view back to just her. “So, look, Carter, I’m sorry I didn’t respond sooner. You sent that first message, and I saw it, but I thought maybe it was someone impersonating you or something, and I just let it be. But then you wrote back again and I realized it probablywasyou, and I’d been leaving you hanging for so long. I felt bad. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” I’m shocked that somehow she’s the one apologizing to me. “That’s completely fine. Like, beyond fine. I mean, the whole reason I wanted to talk actually was to apologize toyou.”
“To me?” Layla says. “Oh god. That’s very sweet, Carter.”
“Of course. I heard that stuff with us, years ago... ended with me being kind of a dick. And I’m sorry about that.”
“Well, apology accepted. And not even necessary. You’ve gone through enough over the past years without having to worry about that too. We had our thing, it ended, I was kind of annoyed, and I got over it. It’s seriously all good.”
“Oh. Okay.”Kind of annoyed.That’s like how I feel after I losea race I know I should’ve won inMario Kart. I can’t believe apologizing was this easy. I look over to Maggie, and she seems pretty surprised too. “That’s great. Thanks, Layla.”
“Of course! And, if you don’t mind me asking—are you doing okay otherwise? Do the doctors... you know...”
“Think I’ll ever age again?”
“Right, yeah,” Layla says, smiling sheepishly. “I guess that’s what I was going for.”
“They have no idea. But, I mean, I feel hopeful.” I shoot Maggie a smile likeMaybe this very conversation is going to help me age!but she still has that shell-shocked expression on her face and doesn’t smile back.
“I’m glad,” Layla says.
“Yep.” I nod. We sit in a few excruciating seconds of FaceTime silence. “So I guess—”
“You know, Carter. This is an embarrassing story, but...”
“I love embarrassing stories,” I say, wondering what the hell she’s about to say.
“Okay.” Layla smiles big. Her teeth are so white. “When we were in second grade, Ms. Berkovich’s class, we were in the same reading group. Do you remember that?”
“Kinda, yeah.”
“So, there was this one day—remember I said this was embarrassing—when I was, well... picking my nose when I thought no one was watching. But Ollie Fusco-White saw, and he was loudly like, ‘Ew! Gross! Nose-picker, nose-picker! Layla’s a nose-picker!’ And the rest of our group was also horrified, so they joined in, and I was, like, collapsing into myself as I prepared for it to spread to the whole class. I saw this new future identityunfolding before me. But then you were like, ‘So what? I pick my nose all the time.’ And then you started picking your nose right there in front of everyone.”
“Ohmigod, yes!” I say, laughing. It’s such a relief to actually remember a moment someone is talking about. “And then they started sayingIwas gross, so I put a booger on my finger and started waving it in their faces.”
“Yes!” Layla says.
“Ew,” Maggie says.
“And then Ms. Berkovich got mad and made you sit at a desk by yourself while reading group finished. And no one in our group brought up my nose-picking again. Ever. I was so grateful to you for that.”
“Oh,” I say. “Wow.” I never realized I was being heroic in that moment. I just liked chasing people with my boogers.
“So, honestly,” Layla says, “that’s what I remember about you even more than what happened between us sophomore year. Hopefully that’s not insulting or anything, but—”
“It’s not insulting at all,” I say. It’s like a backpack filled with boulders has just slid off me. “It’s really great. Like, really. Thanks, Layla.”
“Also worth mentioning,” she says, “I don’t pick my nose anymore. Just to make that clear.”
“All good with me either way.”
“But I really don’t.”
“Okay.”
“Great. And, by the way, Ollie Fusco-White is apparently in some FBI training program now. So, go figure.”
“Well, that’s unsettling.”
