I thought that it’d be hard to leave Mom at the end of Family Day. I thought I’d cling to her like a little kid, begging her to come home with us and not leave me again.
And yeah, it is hard to say goodbye, to not know exactly when I’ll see Mom next. But I know I’ll see her soon, and that’s almost as good.
After we say goodbye, after Dad and I hug and kiss Mom and promise that we’ll always be here for her, after we drive home in a contented silence, the music playing softly in the background, after we pull in the driveway and troop inside, a bag of takeout food in each of our hands, the house doesn’t feel so empty anymore.
It may not have Mom inside, but that’s only temporary.
Like this softball decision.
I could decide that I don’t like singing that much after all. I could watch my friends play on the All-Star team and realize I made the wrong decision.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
All I know is that right now, this is the best decision. Like Mom not pursuing being a partner at her law firm. It’s what works for both of us now.
And in the end, isn’t “now” all that we have?
My phone buzzes as I’m settling on my bed to do some homework. Two texts, one from Claudia and one from Libby.
Claudia: How’d it go???
Libby: How’s your mom?
I look at both their names. My best friend since forever and my new friend. The person who will always be there for me—if I let her—and the one who stepped up when I needed her. I know they’ll like each other. I just have to make it happen.
I write back to Claudia:
Can you meet me before the talent show tomorrow?
Then to Libby:
Let’s meet up early to rehearse one more time.
They both agree, and I lie back on my bed and smile. Then I turn on the radio and sing.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Libby and Claudia stare at each other, their eyes darting around like a bee trapped inside a mason jar. I know Claudia’s not mad at me anymore, but what if she’s mad at Libby? I imagine them yelling at each other like in one of those Disney Channel shows, where the girls screech and stomp around all dramatically. Will I have to step in to be the referee? Will I somehow get a bucket of paint thrown on me or we’ll all fall into a big mud puddle while canned laughter plays in the background?
I shake my head and force myself back to reality, just in time to see Claudia give Libby a warm smile. “Thanks for being there for Veronica.”
Tears prickle the corners of my eyes. Of course Claudia isn’t screeching at Libby. I almost feel embarrassed that I expected them to fight over me—like sisters arguing over a favorite doll or something.
Claudia and Libby are better than that. It’s why I’m friends with each of them. It’s why they’re friends with me. We’re all nice people.
I’m starting to realize, though, that when it comes to friendship, “nice” has a lot of different meanings. Nice isn’t just sharing your turkey sandwich with your friend when her mom packs her the dreaded egg salad. Nice isn’t just saving someone a seat on the bus.
Nice is telling best friends about the serious stuff your family is going through.
Nice is more than actions. It’s a state of mind, a willingness to let someone in. To know that they won’t abandon you, no matter what you—or your parents—do. To know that you’re okay just the way you are.
To know that you can make friends with your friends’ friends, too.
“Of course I helped Veronica.” Libby adjusts the shoulder of her top. We’re wearing matching outfits for the show, which starts in an hour—bright pink shirts, jean shorts, and black ballet flats. Libby’s mom added rhinestones to the shirts in this cool swirly pattern, which will hopefully catch the lights. We’ll dazzle the crowd—in more ways than one. “She needed me and I was there.”
“I would have been there, too—” Claudia starts to say, but I hold up a hand to stop her, then move out of the way of a few kids who’ve just arrived. We’re waiting in the back of the town hall, just outside the door with the big PERFORMERS ONLY sign on it.
“I know you would have been there.” The pit of guilt opens up in my stomach again. “And I should have told you.” I want to tell Claudia that she already forgave me. That she shouldn’t be—she can’t be—mad at me anymore. Then I remember the way I feel about Mom. How maybe I do forgive her, but I may also still be a little bit (sometimes a lot bit) mad for awhile.
I let Claudia’s comment go.
“I should have told you,” I say again. “And I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Claudia shrugs. “It’s okay.”
“She told me for a reason.” Libby’s voice is hesitant, but grows surer with each word.
I look at her with a question in my eyes. Are you sure you want to tell Claudia? Libby nods back, then continues.
“My mom’s an alcoholic, too,” she says simply.
“Oh.” Claudia’s hand flies to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” Libby shrugs. “It is what it is. And she’s doing okay now. I mean, I sometimes worry, but there’s no real evidence that I should worry.”
I put my hand on Libby’s shoulder. “I think we’re always going to worry.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Libby bites her lip. “But right now, I do. A lot. That’s why I understand what Veronica is going through.”
Claudia crosses her arms over her chest. “I would have tried to understand—” She takes a deep breath. “I am trying to understand. And it sounds hard.”
“It is.” Libby and I say the words at the same time, then smile at each other.
“Anyway,” I say. “I wanted you guys to meet. Because … well, because you’re both my friends. And I think it’d be cool if we all became friends.” I look at Claudia pleadingly. I know we used to think Libby was totally conceited, but now I know that she’s changed. I want Claudia to see that, too.
Claudia smiles. “I can do that.” She bites her lip. “I was really jealous of you two.”
“And I was jealous of you!” Libby exclaims.
I speak up to break the tension. “Guys, you don’t need to fight over me. I’m not that amazing a friend.”
“Ehh, I guess not.” Claudia’s eyes sparkle.
“Hey!”
She reaches over and gives me a hug. “I’m just kidding.” Then she turns to Libby. “Friends?” She sticks out her hand.
“Friends.” Libby shakes it, a smile as bright as the sun spreading across her face.
Which immediately fades as Mrs. Pfeiffer, the lady who runs the talent show, sticks her head out the back door of the town hall. “Girls, are you part of the show? We need to start getting organized backstage.”
Sparks of excitement burst to life in my chest. I jump up and down like we do during our softball warmups and start running through the lyrics of our song in my head. “Ready, Libby?”
Libby doesn’t move, her sunshine now overshadowed by the darkest storm cloud I’ve ever seen. “Um. Yeah. Maybe. No.”
Claudia peers at Libby’s face more closely. “You don’t look so good.”
She’s right. Libby’s face is pale, almost greenish. She looks more like Elphaba from Wicked than a future pop star. I take a step backward. “Are you going to barf?” Claudia hops back to join me at a safe distance.
“Maybe.” Libby sinks to the ground. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” Even as I say the words, though, I know what she means.
“This.” Libby waves her hand around, encompassing the town hall, then the other performers streaming past, all of them bubbling over with excitement. Like me.
Not like Libby.
“I thought I could and I wanted to support you and help you, but I feel like my chest is about to explode.” Libby looks at the ground. “I guess I’m not a good friend after all.”
“Of course you’re a good friend!” My mind is spinning. I know that I can’t make Libby do the talent show. That would be the meanest thing ever. Especially after how relieved I am that my parents aren’t making me do the All-Star team.
I take a deep breath. “I guess I’ll just have to do it alone.” I twist around to look at the parking lot, which is starting to fill up with cars. A lot of cars. Each one with a lot of people inside it. My stomach begins to churn. I didn’t think I’d be nervous, too. I try to make myself look all confident and turn back to Libby.
I may be a good singer, but I must not be much of an actor, because her eyes open wide. “Your face looks a little green,” Libby says faintly.
My hands fly to my cheeks. “No. I’m okay. Really.”
“You don’t look okay,” Claudia pipes up.
“I am! I promise.” My voice wobbles, and Libby’s eyes widen. I can almost see the struggle in her brain as she tries to get up, her legs shaking beneath her.
“I can do it with you.” Libby closes her eyes. Her face looks super green. “Really. I’ll be okay.”
I can see how fast Libby’s breathing, though, and if I put a hand over her heart, I bet it’d be beating double time. I shake my head and summon all my courage. After all, if I want to be a singer, I have to learn to perform by myself. “I won’t make you do that.” I nod firmly, more to convince myself than my friends. “I can perform on my own. The act won’t be as awesome solo, and we probably won’t win, but that’s okay. I don’t need the money after all.”
“You don’t?” Claudia and Libby ask at the same time.
“Oh. Right.” My cheeks redden. “I decided not to do the All-Star team this year—”
“What?”
“Your parents won’t let you?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not them. It’s me. It’s my decision. I’ll explain more later, but I’m fine. Really. I promise.”
They look doubtful, and I smile to reassure them.
“That means that I don’t need the talent show prize money,” I add. “So we don’t need to wow the judges with our awesome moves for two.” I try to sound confident and sure, but my words flop out like a limp spaghetti noodle.
“You were so excited about our act, though.” Libby twists her hands together. “I ruined everything.”
“No way!” I shake my head. “It’s okay. Come on, let’s go!” I force a smile, then start walking around the building to the front of town hall.
I turn back when I don’t hear footsteps after me.
“No.” Claudia shakes her head.
“Huh?”
“I mean, no. Or, yes, actually. Yes, you can still wow the judges.” Claudia does jazz hands, then spins once, reaches for the sky, touches her toes and does a little shimmy. It’s the exact move that finishes off my and Libby’s dance routine.
My and Claudia’s dance routine?
“I’ll perform with you.”