Sara
A week later, Vicky and I grab boba after school.
I haven’t hung out with her since my birthday, which feels like a million years ago. It’s rare she doesn’t have to work today, so I cherish this time with her. There’s so much I need to tell her—stuff I haven’t even had time to write about on my blog—so I start by filling her in on my fight with Patrick.
Yes, we’re still not talking. But it’s not like I haven’t tried. Patrick’s so stubborn, it’s childish. Did hereallyexpect me to do his homework? I barely do my own homework most days. That’s why he should’ve had a plan B. Or a plan C or D, for that matter.
Vicky stays neutral whenever Patrick and I get into disagreements, and it’s no different this time. She tells me to apologize for real, because it’s clear our friendship is bigger than a homework assignment. And she’s right, of course. Because she’s always right about these things.
It’s times like these I wish Vicky and I went to the same school, but she goes to Brookside High, a public school closer to her neighborhood. When I asked Dad if I could go there for high school, he said no. Brookside is in a different school district from us, an entire twenty-minute subway ride away. I can walk to Eagle Gate in ten minutes. Seven, if I walk fast.
I like the Brookside uniforms more, though. They’re deep maroon and gold instead of navy and silver, and when I told Dad those colors were more flattering on me, he laughed like I’d told a joke before saying,Oh, you’re serious? Sara, uniform color isn’t a good reason to pick a school.
But imagine if Vicky went to Eagle Gate and joined Newspaper Club with me. We’d have so much fun! Then I remember she has her job at Kiki’s, so it’d be an unlikely scenario. Still, a girl can dream.
Vicky’s always been good with money, unlike me, who makes silly bets and spends the rest on hot pot. She’s saving for college, which is why she works so many hours. I haven’t thought that far. About college, I mean. Although I really should, seeing as it’s our senior year.
After Vicky fills me in on her classes and the funny work drama she’s not involved in but hears about anyway, I tell her about my tiff with Oliver—specifically how I don’t have a tutor anymore.
Vicky’s dark, glossy hair shifts in the breeze as we walk. “Subwayboyfor sureremembers it was you?”
“You should have seen his face,” I say, then take another sip from my drink. Brown sugar boba, my favorite. “His reaction was so obvious, which probably means he knew all along but never said anything.”
“Well, that’s a jerk move. Why wouldn’t he say anything?”
“Ugh, I don’t know. I guess I never said anything either—but who cares. All I know is I need a tutor.”
Vicky thinks for several seconds, stirring her strawberry boba around with the thick straw. “Patrick can’t help?”
“I told you, we’re fighting.” Then I try my best to make big doe eyes at her. “That’s why I need you, my prettiest, smartest, kindest cousin ever.”
“I’ll help you, no need for all the flattery.” She laughs.
Vicky’s also taking calculus at Brookside and, I hope, absorbing more than me. Which is perfect, because this proves I don’t even need Subwayboy anymore. Take that!
“How long do you plan on fighting with Patrick?” she asks, all casual.
“Ugh, it’s not like I wanted to make him mad, Vicky.” I slurp the last of my drink. “I tried apologizing. He’s just stubborn—I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately.”
Vicky gives me a sidelong glance, as if telepathically reminding me I should offer him a real apology.
“Anyway,” I say, moving on. “I’ve got bigger problems right now.”
“At least you’ll get to go to the school festival with Joe. That’s good, right?”
“True.”
After my first Newspaper Club meeting, I texted Vicky to tell her about the festival and how I’d get to hang out with Joe if I went, since we’re supposed to interview students together. She was so excited for me. Not about the Joe part (although that still is a big bonus), but about my writing. She said this was a great way to start letting more people read my work, and how brave is that? I’d never let anyone besides her and Patrick read my blog, so her encouragement meant a lot.
Vicky peels off the sidewalk and stops under a forest-green awning. I follow her, noticing we’ve temporarily paused at the corner store.
“I have to run in here real quick,” she insists. “Mom asked me to grab some stuff for her.”
“Then after we’ll study for calculus? I have so much to learn, I’mhopeless.”
She releases a gentle tinkling laugh. “Just wait out here, I won’t be long.”
After she disappears inside, I find a nearby trash can and toss my empty boba cup inside. Then I slump onto a bench outside the store, right near the big glass window.
