“It’s been so long,” said myex–best friend.
I’ll say.Three years without a single word. When Dad banned me from going with Livy to the Beatles concert, she turned around andinvited that liar Marianne Gentry to usemyconcert ticket, even after learning Marianne was the one who had passed around the nasty rumor about her and blamed it on me.
Mad and hurt by her betrayal, I could hardly function. I kept waiting for an apology, but the phone never rang. It didn’t help that Livy’s parents transferred her from Central High to an all-girls college prep school way out on Ridgeway. I’d heard she had all-new high-society friends.
She stepped forward to hug me, but I kept my arms by my side. I was still hurt. And mad. “How are you?” I forced myself to ask, resisting the urge to yell,You’re damn straight it’s been so long. Three years!
Livy seemed fine, unfazed by the past. “Groovy,” she said. “Working at Dinstuhl’s for the summer. Can’t believe I’m running into you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.”
Is that so? Are you finally sorry for what you did to me?I wanted to say. Instead, I said nothing.
“What are you doing these days?” she asked.
It felt strange and awkward, but somehow, I pushed through the uneasiness. And my anger. “Working at Goldsmith’s for the summer.” I stopped short of telling her which department I worked in. “I get a great discount,” I said, pinching the fold on my favorite skirt. “But I end up spending too much of my paycheck.”
Livy’s gaze traveled the length of my body, but she never said anything about liking my outfit. She was dressed differently. Hip-hugger bell-bottom jeans and a wide leather belt with a peace sign buckle. A sleeveless yellow peasant top grazed her belly button. She’d gone hippie.
“Can you wear that to work?” I asked.
“No way, man. Mrs. Dinstuhl would never allow us to wear jeans. I’m off today.” Dinstuhl’s was Memphis’s fine candy store, around the corner from Kress. I couldn’t help wondering why she had a job in the first place. Her parents gave her all the money she needed.
“Goldsmith’s has a lot of neato things right now,” I told her, for lack of something better. And to ease the tension. The old Livy would have loved everything Goldsmith’s had.
“Cool. I’ll have to check it out.” Not a single note of sincerity threaded her voice. I was just about to walk away when she asked, “Where are you going to college?”
After an awkward pause, I answered. “Union University.” Just hearing my own words made my muscles stiffen. Livy wouldn’t even know Union U existed.
Just like I thought, she tilted her head to the side. “Huh. Where’s that?”
“Jackson. It’s a small church school. You know my parents. I didn’t have a choice. Where’d you go?”
“I’m at Radcliffe.”
“Radcliffe?Wow.” Livy had always been smart. I couldn’t remember her ever making less than a B-plus on anything, and that was rare. Even so, Boston sure was a long way to go for college. Vanderbilt was much closer. “How did you end up way up there?”
“Don’t you remember? Daddy went to Harvard. Just following in his footsteps,” she answered with a confident glow. “Regardless, it was time for a change. With all the racial injustice here, I didn’t wanna go to college in the South.”
I knew what she meant, but leaving would not have been an option in my family. I cleared my throat, feeling even more humiliated.
“After Dr. King’s assassination last year, I’m glad I’m in Boston. It was awful seeing all the tanks on Poplar Avenue, and our city undermartial law. Damn.”
“Yeah. It was bad.”
“Daddy talked about moving our family to Boston, but he didn’t want to relocate his law practice. He’s doing too well here.” After a loud gasp, she changed the subject. “This cool movie’s filming on our campus calledLove Story. The lead is so dreamy. Remember Ryan O’Neal? FromPeyton Place?”
“Of course I do.” I was forbidden to watchPeyton Place. I had watched it at Livy’s.
“I got to meet him!” Her voice lifted the way it once did when she was talking about a new crush.
“Cool,” I said, tingling with envy.
She threw her head back. “It wassocool. Hey, wanna grab a bite? I’m starving.”
I glanced at my watch, then over at the lunch counter. A few stools were open and two booths. “I ... guess I could,” I stammered. “I don’t have much ti—”
“You’ve got to eat. They’re quick here.” Livy peered at me with that same old bossy stare, which, of course, made me relent right away.
We strolled over and sat down at the back of the Whirly-Q Luncheonette. As we scooted into the booth, I mused back to the last time we lunched at the Whirly together. All was well. Still best friends.
