That afternoon I pocketed the debit card my mom had left out for me and headed toward Old Town, intending to take full advantage of the one good thing about not quitting soccer altogether: shopping.
Waiting for the gates of the harbor bridge to lift, I was filled with a sort of bubbly excitement, the familiar and wonderful feeling that with the right outfit, anything is possible.
But it wasn't sweaters or jeans or jackets that were filling my brain. Strangely, it was the doorway kiss. Being mouth to mouth with Tristan had been, well, remarkable. A whole new experience. Which, when I stopped to analyze it, drove home my suspicion that my ex had been a dud in the kissing department.
But to keep things in perspective, I knew it wasn't the boy or the up- close action that I'd liked, as much as it was what that kiss had signified: hope.
The bell in the doorway tinkled when I entered Anna Banana's, and I made a beeline to a colorful table of V-necked sweaters, thinking how great they might look with a T-shirt underneath.
A momlike voice broke me from my musing. “Parker?”
I looked up to see Anna herself, dressed in her customary airy gauze clothing and too many necklaces.
“Looking for a back- to- school outfit?” she asked, her German accent so watered down from years in the U.S. that all that remained were some harder- than-usual syllables.
I nodded. “I kinda have my eye on that gray skirt in the window.”
“Oh—oh … on you? Perfect! You've got the long legs to pull it off.” She took me by the shoulders and turned me until I faced a dressing- room door. “You—there. Me—right back with everything in your size.”
I let out a laugh and followed her instructions. Anna was great. And it had been a while since I'd gotten a compliment. Chrissandra had this theory that truly confident people—like we were supposed to be—didn't need the gratuitous support of others. That we could stand on our own two feet. And she felt that some compliments were actually backhanded insults, meant to demean previous outfits or hairstyles or other friends.
Her philosophy seemed a real stretch to me, maybe even a little paranoid, but rather than rock the Chrissandra boat, I'd learned to bite my tongue when she or Elaine wore something new or Mandy did some new streak in her hair. And to sort of frown at people and wave my hand dismissively if they said nice things about my looks in Chrissandra's presence.
Of course, with Chrissandra snubbing me, all that had changed. And how raw was the irony that now I didn't even have friends to trade compliments with?
Anna came back with a huge pile of clothes, including some long- sleeved tees that she swore would “make any day special.” I loved her attitude, not to mention most everything she had me try on. Seeing the cash-register total, on the other hand, made me feel a little sick, but I punched in my mother's PIN, knowing she was cool about my clothing allowance. I figured it was payment for forcing me to “accept” the JV position.
I grabbed my receipt and was just turning to leave when I had a near collision—with Becca. I was hardly surprised to see her. She was, after all, an Anna Banana junkie, too. But I was surprised to almost knock her over and hoped my fancy-seeing-you-here expression thawed any ice.
“You're the last person I expected to see,” she said, neither smiling nor frowning, showing not much of anything.
“Why? I shop here all the time.”
“I mean, now. Chrissandra and some people are across the way, headed into the new Matt Damon movie.”
The world spun before my eyes. Rationally, I knew my friends’ lives hadn't stopped. I'd figured that phone calls and text and instant messages were firing around DeGroot, connecting people with plans that did not include me. But what I hadn't known for sure hadn't hurt me.
Now I knew.
And wow, it hurt.
“Why aren't you with them?” she asked.
I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. The truth seemed too easy—and yet too hard. And I had no idea how she'd react. I mean, sure, we used to have that unconditional BFF thing going on, but that was back when my idea of a great summer day was a blue raspberry slushy after a bike ride to the east side of the lake.
So, out of desperation, I did what any self- respecting loser would do: I laughed. And added an “Oh, yeah, well …,” which could have meant anything from I'm totally over Matt Damon to I am an alien just visiting this planet in the body of Parker Stanhope.
Becca studied my face. “You guys have a falling- out?”
“No!” I said, then paused, wishing I could recall my too- loud yelp. “No. I mean, not really. Okay, there's this little issue of me not getting promoted to varsity. You know,” I said, like she or anyone would have a clue how dig- a- hole- in- the- ground humiliating it felt, “a temporary problem until Coach finds a place for me on varsity.”
“Temporary.”
“Totally. Over before you know it.” If I lived that long. I shuffled my feet again. “Um, so, I guess I'll see you at school.”
“You keep saying that.”
“What?”
“ ‘See you at school.’”
I shook my head. “What? You won't be there?”
“I will. It's just, well, it's not like we really see each other there.”
Huh? Couldn't she tell that this was no time to split hairs? Didn't she see that I was dying here?
I must have looked pissed or confused or something, because Becca shrugged, flashed something close to a smile and walked away.
I cruised on through the doorway, dragging my spirits and my chin behind me on the ground.
Outside, I headed toward home—not about to go anywhere near the movie theater. Wondering if I was still on Chrissandra's speed dial and in Mandy's and Elaine's Top Five. And if any of them had even once stopped to put themselves in my shoes, to try to imagine what I was going through and how it would have felt if the world had continued rotating without them.
But of course, I thought, it wouldn't have been one of them. Mandy and Elaine were the stuff college soccer scholarships were made of. And even though Chrissandra had gotten in Hartley's face a few times as JV captain, she could practically kick a ball into the solar system. I was a solid player, but with Legs of Steel Rachael returning and that new girl transferring in, solid just wasn't enough.
Until now, our fearsome foursome had had nothing to do with talent and positions and everything to do with heart and trust and, well, loyalty. We were there together, with each other, for each other. Friends to the end.
I thought.
My breath caught in my throat as it really sank in for the first time. Was this the end? Like a ref giving me a red card that took me out of the game … forever?