“Is it weird if I say barely?”
She shakes her head. “We couldn’t be friends if you said anything else,” she says with a smirk. The idea of being friends with her disarms me. We smile at each other just as her mom comes back into the room with a basket of snacks and sodas.
“Don’t ruin your appetite,” she warns Deanna as she plops it down between us.
Deanna rolls her eyes as her mom leaves.
“I haven’t had one of these in forever!” I shriek, pulling a brownie with candy pieces from the pile.
Deanna looks at me strangely, probably for being so excited about an everyday snack, then turns her attention to the basket. “I shouldn’t even be eating this stuff.” She sighs, throwing a candy bar back. Her mood has changed.
“You’re gonna make me eat this alone?” I hold the brownie up like a prize.
After some thought, she picks up a brownie too. “I guess it’s okay since we’re sharing the guilt.” She moves her brownie toward mine.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I reply as our brownies touch.
“You can start,” I say, picking up my journal. I’ve decided to let her go first to hear how she answers the questions. That way, I’ll know how deep I have to go with mine. Her mouth is full, so she gives me a thumbs-up. I scan the list of questions for an easy one to open with. “Where were you born?”
She swallows what’s left of the brownie before she speaks. “Victorville, California.”
“When’s your birthday?”
“May thirtieth.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Obviouslyblue,” she says, gesturing around her very blue room. “Pastel blue, to be exact.” She pauses and looks at me. “Aren’t you supposed to be putting the answers somewhere?”
She’s right. I haven’t written anything down. For a moment, I forgot this was a school assignment and not just us learning more about each other. “I’ll use my phone.” I grab it from the floor. “Okay, ready again?” I open a voice memo as I get back into my spot.
Deanna leans toward the phone balanced on my crossed knee. “Subject: Deanna Lowe, sixteen years old, born in California, birthday’s May thirtieth, and my favorite color is pastel blue.”
I snicker, trying not to ruin the recording with laughter. “Okay! Next,” I say, glancing at the list. I want to ask her something that might get her to say more. “Who are you most grateful for in your life?”
“Oh, you wentdeep,” she says dramatically. “I should have looked at the rest of these questions first!” Her expression becomes more serious. “I mean, I feel obligated to say my parents so I don’t sound like a horrible person.”
“You can say whatever you want,” I tell her. “I won’t judge you.”
She looks skeptical. I get it; we don’t actually know each other.
“Yeah, it’s definitely my parents,” she reassures herself out loud. “They are always breathing down my neck, but at least they care, you know?”
“Yeah, I sort of do,” I mutter, thinking about my mom.
“I guess they just don’t want to see me waste my life or, like, mess it up, since they’ve worked hard to give me a good one. So I’m grateful.”
She seems to be talking more to herself, so I don’t respond. I think about my mom, who never let me forget all the sacrifices she and my dad made “even though they weren’t ready.” How they had both dreamed of adventurous lives, but I came the year after they graduated so they both settled for the “stable” life they gave me. I once overheard my mom say that my dad leaving kind of ruined the life she’d grown to love and the possibilities they were working toward.
When Deanna snaps back to the moment, she seems readyto move on. She picks up her page of questions and declares, “Your turn!”
I nod, understanding the instinct to change the subject when things get too heavy. We both seem concerned about saying the wrong thing.
I pause my voice memo. She starts hers.
“Subject: Jasmine Cooper,” she begins. “Wait, how old are you?”
