MY FUTURE BOYFRIEND

“RELAX, DEES.” Madison popped the last bite of her second Twix into her mouth, carbo-loading before she got home and her mom reduced her calorie intake to skinless chicken breasts and steamed asparagus. “Your parents already said you could spend the night at Aimée’s.”

“But they don’t know she’s having a boy-girl party. You know how my dad is about boys.”

“Then don’t tell him,” Madison replied, like it was the most obvious solution in the world, pulling back her natural strawberry-blond hair into a long ponytail.

“You could whine to your mom about your dad and get sympathy permission,” Aimée suggested. “You know, pit them against each other. That always works with your parents.”

I grimaced even though she was right. Maybe because she was.

I pointed a finger at my chest. “Worst liar ever, remember?”

Madison shrugged. “So leave the boys part out.”

“That’s the same thing as lying.”

Madison lowered her new sunglasses, which matched mine but covered half her face, and peered at me over their tortoiseshell frames. “You have so much to learn. You are beyond lucky you have me.” She hugged me tight, squeezing out a giggle. Madison always knew when I needed a laugh.

Aimée reached up to pluck a heart-shaped leaf from the purple-blossomed tree we were walking under as we turned onto her street. “Listen, you have two full days to figure out a way to break it to your dad that boys live in the world. We’re high schoolers now—or almost—and soon every party we go to will be boy-girl.” She spun the leaf between her fingers, pointing it at me. “Which, by the way, is why you should stop saying ‘boy-girl party,’ Dees.” She winked at me, and I shoved her. True to form, she stumbled off the edge of the sidewalk, dumping her backpack. Aimée was the only fourteen-year-old in America who carried a fully stocked backpack around in July.

As we waited for Aimée to gather up her things, I practiced my turn-out by running through the basic ballet positions. I pressed my left heel into the arch of my right foot, forming third position.

“Besides,” Madison started, “how else am I supposed to meet and fall in love with my future boyfriend if we don’t have this party?”

“I’m sorry, who are we talking about?” Aimée asked in a teasing tone.

“Yeah, Mads, your list of future boyfriends is hard to keep track of lately.”

Aimée stifled a laugh as Madison thrust her arms out, very melodramatic. Aimée’s teasing increased with each name Madison mentioned. Before long, Madison’s naturally rosy cheeks were painted a furious shade of red.

I stepped in, playing peacemaker. “Ethan Keys.” I repeated the last name Madison had said. “He was in our English block. He’s friends with that hockey player who made out with that girl in the rink locker rooms. You know him, Aims. He’s cute.”

I nudged Aimée with my elbow, and she hooked arms with Madison, silently apologizing for giving her such a hard time. “Ethan, yeah, I can see how you’d think he’s cute.”

“Um, duh!” Madison almost yelled. “It took me five days to work up the courage to ask him to come.” She turned to me with a devilish expression. “I invited your future boyfriend too.”

“Who?” My eyes bugged out in surprise. The idea of Madison setting me up made my stomach churn.

“Caleb Turner,” she drawled suggestively. I pointed my left foot, shifting from third position to fourth and then fifth.

Aimée bumped my heel with her foot, interrupting my nervous habit, and groaned. “I thought you were over Caleb.”

I bent down and picked up one of the heart-shaped leaves from the sidewalk as we resumed walking. They were sprinkled across the neighborhood. Someone’s tree must’ve thought Valentine’s Day came late this year. I bent the leaf in half. “I can’t talk to him anymore. He’s so…”

“Greasy?” Aimée offered.

“I think the PC term is herbal,” Madison said jokingly.

Aimée came back with, “I think it’s the herb that’s making him greasy.” They both giggled.

I shook my head, unfolding and refolding the leaf until it cracked at the center and split in two. “Don’t be mean. He’s going through a lot right now. I feel bad about ignoring him this summer.”

“I’m sure his new friends have kept him busy,” Aimée said. “He ditched you. Don’t feel bad about it.”

I nodded even though what she’d said wasn’t entirely true. Yes, Caleb had started hanging out with a new group of friends who were “less than desirable,” as Mom would say, but we’d been friends since kindergarten. I felt racked with guilt for letting our friendship waste away, but every time I even thought about calling him, my throat tightened up. I knew his family as well as I knew Aimée’s or Madison’s. I didn’t want to think about what going to his house would be like once his mom or dad moved out. Two Christmases. Visitation rights—it was too scary. Especially since my parents fought as much as, if not more than, his.

“He probably won’t even show up,” I said, knowing Caleb would have plans with his other friends, the ones who actually talked to him.

“Then you can meet someone new,” Madison chimed in, her voice high and optimistic.

“Maybe even cute Ethan,” Aimée added with a tinge of sarcasm that was meant for Madison. She didn’t seem to notice, suddenly lost in a far-off thought.

Aimée fished her house keys out of her backpack and started grilling Madison about how many people she’d invited. I wandered across Aimée’s yard, mesmerized by tiny spots of black wobbling in the late-afternoon sky. They danced like drunken birds in a fog, dangerous and free.

“Dees?” Aimée’s voice broke my trance.

“You have to see this,” I called to my friends, eyes still locked on the spectacle in the sky. “What is that?”

“Bats,” Aimée answered. “My dad said they’ve roosted under the covered bridge.”

“Ew!” Madison squealed.

Aimée scoffed. “Bats are a sign of good luck.”

Madison turned her head to give Aimée a proper are-you-nuts look. “Says who?”

“Roughly 30 percent of the world’s population.”

“You’re such a nerd.” Madison flicked her extra-long ponytail in Aimée’s face. Aimée swatted it away.

“Let’s watch them from your roof tonight,” I suggested. Something about how fearlessly the bats dove toward the trees lining the river fascinated me. I couldn’t turn away.

“That sounds awesome,” Madison said, shifting her opinion of the bats on a dime. Aimée rolled her eyes at how blindly Madison agreed with me. “I’m up for livin’ on the wild side,” Madison continued, “but if either of you falls and breaks your neck, it’s not my fault.”

“If anyone’s falling, it’s from me pushing you,” Aimée joked.

“Ha-ha.” Madison stuck out her tongue at Aimée. “You’re just jealous I have dibs on the cute boys.”

“We’ll see.”

We watched the bats a while longer, dipping and diving in their dance until thwack! One of the bats crashed into the hipped roof of the old covered bridge. The three of us gasped. Aimée grabbed my arm so tightly it hurt. I glanced between my two best friends so I wouldn’t have to see the poor wounded bat flapping its last breaths into the grass.

Aimée shared my frozen expression of shock. Madison was staring unflinchingly at the bat, crying behind her sunglasses.