The music pouring through my headphones drowned out the whir of the sewing machine as I fed satin under the needle. I’d long ago learned to lock Sherry out of my room when I was sewing, as he had a habit of leaping up on the desk to see what was making all the racket and getting his paws tangled in the thread. My headphones blocked the sound of him scratching at my door, too.
I squinted against the glare of my desk lamp, watching as the machine serged the crisp Star Wars fabric to the slit I’d cut in the side of the black dress. I pinched the fabric until my fingertips went white with the effort of keeping the slippery satin from sliding away from me.
I didn’t really have time to waste on an extracurricular project. I could have been asleep already, like my parents. I could have been listening to an audio version of one of my schoolbooks—like the recording of The Cherry Orchard I’d downloaded from the library—instead of a loop of Doctor Who scores.
But, no. I was awake in the middle of the night, attempting to be my own fairy godmother and put some personality into a lifeless sack of black satin that—had I not cut open the side—could have easily paid for months’ worth of comics, Slurpees, and hummus-and-sprout sandwiches.
It was stupid—and pointless—to be disappointed by what had happened at lunch. For whatever reason, I had deluded myself into thinking that Ben West had asked me to the winter ball the way normal people got asked to fancy events. Like it was a real date. Like he was validating everything I’d overheard Meg and Harper talking about a month ago. But that wasn’t what had happened. He’d asked me to go because, like me, he didn’t actually want to have to go to this ridiculous showcase. I was moral support to keep him from being the fifth wheel on everyone else’s double date. Because we were friends.
Gritting my teeth, I yanked the dress more aggressively under the machine’s presser foot. After years of having only Harper and Meg, it was actually kind of nice that we’d branched out. I enjoyed spending time with the boys. I liked that Peter didn’t understand all of our references—and vice versa—and that Cornell always had an interesting insight into our homework. It was nice having more real friends, instead of just classmates to nod to between classes.
But being friends with Ben bugged me. Walking to class together, murmuring comments in the cafeteria, the buzzing of texts pouring into my phone—it was false advertising. It looked like friendship, but it didn’t feel like friendship. It felt like something else, like I’d been ramping up to something huge and found out that it was flat ground.
It was worse because it wasn’t even his fault. He hadn’t cornered me and professed his undying love. I’d heard about it third hand from two people who didn’t even know that I knew. And who was to say that Harper and Meg were right? For all of their musing about Ben being absolutely gaga for me, there’d been no sure sign of anything other than him being a fairly likeable dude—once you got past the rambling.
The problem was me. In the crushing guilt of realizing that I’d been hurting Ben’s feelings for years, I had opened myself up too much. I’d tried too hard. I’d gone from insulting him in the hallway to texting him from the second I got home until the moment before I fell asleep. I’d hunted for his good qualities and found them—he made me laugh and he pushed me to work harder and he always smelled like apples—Fujis, not Granny Smith. He was nice to Meg and Harper and didn’t abuse the froshlings. He’d returned my copy of Buffy clean and with the packaging taped so the comic wouldn’t bend.
The problem was that I actually liked him quite a bit. And the idea of him not returning that feeling in the same way was a new kind of awful.
I shut off the sewing machine and shook out the dress, which gave a crack of stiff fabric loud enough that I could hear it over the BBC orchestra in my ears. The added panel flared out of the mass of black satin, a pop of loud color and Lucasfilm intellectual property. It was everything I’d imagined it to be. I threw it on my bed as my phone bleeped, interrupting my music.
Pulling the phone out of the pocket of my pajama pants, I braced myself for another text that I wouldn’t answer. Instead, there was an email from the Mess administrative office waiting in my inbox. There was no chance that the office secretaries were sending out emails after eleven to announce Free Ice Cream and Puppy day. I’d unsubscribed to emails regarding sports, orchestral concerts, and drama club performances. This would not be good news.
To: Messina Academy Students
From: Administrative Services
Subject: Urgent Student Information
Due to a networking error on the part of the Messina Academy’s homework portal, the administration asks that all students turn in any and all assignments in hard copy. Deadlines for Tuesday’s assignments will be extended to Wednesday. The library and computer labs are available to those in need of printers. Please avoid use of your school email accounts until further notice.
Regards,
Dr. S. Mendoza, Ph.D., Ed.D.
I popped out my headphones. “Frak.”
[8:32 PM]
Ben
Two days and still no website.
[9:47 PM]
Ben
Thanks for bringing me those Daredevil back issues today.
Three days and no website. You’d think they’d change up the error code message.
[7:22 AM]
Ben
Four days and no website. What are you guys even doing in Programming Languages?
[7:23 AM]
Me
Worksheets. Why are you texting me when we’re standing across from each other?
[7:23 AM]
Ben
Testing a hypothesis.
[7:24 AM]
Meg
Who are you texting this early?
[7:25 AM]
Me
Will you do my makeup before the dance tonight?
[7:26 AM]
Meg
Of course. Like I trust you with your own face.
[7:26 AM]
Me
Thanks?
[7:26 AM]
Harper
You guys look crazy right now.
[7:27 AM]
Me
I needed to point out to West that it’s rude to hold secret conversations in front of your friends.
[7:28 AM]
Cornell
Did I miss a memo? When did we all take a vow of silence?
[7:29 AM]
Peter
Are you guys having a secret nerd conversation that I won’t understand? I learn best through immersion.
[7:31 AM]
Meg
Peter, will you pick us up at 6:45 tonight at Trixie’s? I don’t want to give my parents the chance to analyze you.
[7:32 AM]
Peter
No problem.
[7:33 AM]
Harper
This is a flagrant misuse of technology.
[7:33 AM]
Ben
I’m going inside.