I do feel guilty. Obviously. But I couldn’t handle making my breakup with Chord into a big, dramatic thing—I’ve had plenty of those as it is—so I just told him in a text that he’s great but I didn’t think it was working out and I was really sorry.
Oh, he texted back.Could you explain why exactly?
It felt like a homework assignment. Or a standardized test.
I did not respond.
But hey, I could’ve not texted at all. I could’ve just ghosted the guy!
I’m not a bad person.
Am I?
I might be a bad person.
“He’s not passing messages, Maggie,” Shana says with this firein her eyes that scares me. “He’s expressing his feelings to a friend, who is then mentioning them toherfriend. You don’t have to be so mean about it. You dumped the guy in a text, what did you expect?”
I know there are probably legitimate points buried in what she’s saying, but I’d prefer not to dig them up. “I’m not sure, Shana. I guess I didn’t expect one of my best friends to so vehemently defend this random dude instead of me. But maybe that’s too much to ask.”
Now Shana looks like I’ve smacked her with a dueling glove, and I’m straight-up terrified. Ember, seated behind their drum kit, looks pretty freaked too.
“I have been here for you in every possible way,” Shana says, her left hand gripping the neck of the guitar so tight, it looks like it might snap. “Keeping your secrets. Cheering you on. Having your back. Trying to stop you from having any interaction with Carter, including when he showed up at my stupid party. So don’t talk to me about not defending you.”
“Fine,” I say, trying to seem like a tough, brave person. “I won’t. Can we start rehearsing some of these songs?”
“I dunno.” Shana shakes her head. “I might be too annoyed by you right now.”
“I’m sorry! I’m an annoying person, what can I say?”
“Yeah, okay.” Shana pulls the guitar strap over her head, kicks open the case on the floor, and places her acoustic inside it.
“Uh. You’re leaving?” I feel tears quivering, threatening to jump ship.
“I am.” Shana clicks shut the case’s latches one by one, a devastating barrage of snaps.
I look to Ember for help. They look petrified.
Is it weird that I had minimal awareness of what a shitty friend I’ve been? Maybe being with Carter has led me to develop my own strange disorder. Of the brain.
“I’m sorry I offended you, Shana,” I say, standing up from the keyboard. “I really am. Don’t leave. The wedding is like a month from now! You haven’t even heard this new song yet.”
“Thank you for that very genuine-sounding apology”—she sounds sarcastic, so I must not have sounded as genuine as I was trying to—“but I can’t rehearse right now. The vibes are wrong. And bad.”
“Are you quitting the band?”
“No, I’m notquitting the band,I just don’t want to be here right now! Stop talking!” Shana walks out of the storage area of the basement with her guitar. We hear her marching up the carpeted steps.
I turn to Ember again, still frozen behind the drums, drumsticks crossed on their lap. “You couldn’t have tried to stop her?”
“I don’t know, man,” they say. “You’re both in full beast mode right now.”
“Yeah.” I sit back down at the keys. “That’s fair.”
“I do think it’s cool that you and Carter are back together,” Ember says.
“Thanks. I think so too. But I’ve—”
“Hey there,” Mom says, popping her head in and totally startling me. “Are you already done rehearsing?”
