“I took that pledge book from the fraternity to the print shop and asked them to match the font as closely as possible,” Syd said. “They got really close, don’t you think?”
They had.
“I wanted it to look really cool and old and traditional.” Her voice was earnest. “So the girls would feel like they’re part of something bigger than themselves. You know?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s great.” I was scanning the manifesto. There, in the middle, were a few unfamiliar lines. I glanced up at Syd.
“I added a couple of sentences in the middle,” Syd said. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah, of course,” I said, though my voice was tight. So it hadn’t been “perfect” after all.
“I’ve already dropped them off to everyone but the freshmen,” Syd said, and I felt a pang of guilt, my annoyance dissipating. I was supposed to have been helping her a couple of hours before. But one thing had led to another with Sam, and I’d shown up so late.
She’d done all this work. And the lines weren’t something I would have thought of or dared to write, but they weren’t bad.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Seriously.”
“It’s fine,” Syd said. “I swung by Alex’s while I was at it.”
“How’s that going?”
“Well,” Syd said. “If I’m honest, it’s not going apace.”
That made me laugh.
“Maybe you could put in a good word for me?” she asked. She had the window down and was weaving her hand up and down, up and down, through the warm night air.
“What do you want me to say?”
“That you want him to go out with me,” she said. “That I’m your best friend.”
“You don’t need any help from me,” I said. “You’re Sydney Freaking Thompson. Everyone loves you. But be nice to Alex.”
“I always am,” she said. “Nice. You know that.”
“I do,” I said. And she usually was.
Syd reached into her bag and pulled out an apple.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “Again? When does this end?”
“Never.” Syd grinned, polishing the apple on her white blouse. She peeled off the sticker and stuck it on the glove compartment.
“You’re so weird,” I told her. “Someday I’m going to actually peel all of those off my car.”
“For real, though.” Syd turned to look at me. Her face was aglimmer in the lights from the dashboard and the street. She took a bite of the apple and spoke around it. “So whoisyour best friend? Me or Alex?”
“Well, I’ve known Alex longer,” I said, trying to make it sound teasing. Because I didn’t know. Who did I love more, Syd or Alex? Who did I need more? What would it mean for me if they were together? Would I lose them both, or would it be fine?
“But I’ve known you better,” Syd said.
In some ways that was true.
Sydney and I slept in the same bed on cross-country and track trips, sometimes laughing until we cried, sometimes falling asleep midsentence. I knew what her legs looked like from the back when she started to sprint. I knew the curve of her cheek and chin when she turned away. On long bus trips, we’d fall asleep on each other’s shoulders. I knew what her face looked like when she smiled without knowing she was going to.
“Can you remind me where to turn?” I asked. “I’m not sure where everyone lives.” She didn’t answer. “Syd? Hello?”
Syd was staring out the window. She was gone, there with me in the car but missing for a moment. Then I saw her comeback to herself, reinhabit her body. But some of her electricity was lessened, the thrum and hum of her that had been there moments ago subdued, gone deep, even though she tried to make her voice sound mischievous. “You don’t have to do anything yet. Just stay on this road.”
