One morning I was flipping through the events section of the paper when something caught my eye. “Oh my God. Oh. My. God!”

I grabbed the phone to call Rachel.

Then I remembered.

While we were walking to school, I told Jacob about what I’d seen, and how I wished I could invite Rachel. He wore his dog hat and I wore my cat hat. It was sunny and mild; cherry blossoms were starting to bud on the trees. “So do it. Just ask her,” he said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

I tried to conjure up something terrible. But the worst I could come up with was “She says no?” I turned left to avoid the construction site.

“Exactly. It’s not life or death. And neither is this.” He didn’t turn left. “Come on, Petula. Walk with me.”

“No.”

“You can do this. Just like you can talk to Rachel.” He reached for my hand. “We’ll do it together. If you want, you can close your eyes.”

My breath started coming in short, sharp bursts.

“Breathe in,” he said. “Breathe out.”

I did. Then I took his hand and closed my eyes. I leaned into him. I focused on the sounds. Cars. A child wailing. The cries of seagulls overhead.

“There,” Jacob said.

I opened my eyes. We were on the other side of the construction site. He smiled at me. “See? You are much more capable than you think.” He started to walk, but I held him back.

Gripping his hand, I turned and made us walk past the construction site again.

On the third time past, I kept my eyes open.

—

I caught up with Rachel at lunchtime. My palms were moist and my heart was racing, like I was about to ask my crush to the prom. “There’s a huge craft fair at the convention center this weekend.” Beads of sweat formed on my upper lip. “Guess who’s going to be there.”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Yes. She’s doing a demo. I was wondering if you’d like to go.”

Rachel started to laugh. “Are you kidding? I’m in.”

—

The convention center was crowded with fellow craft lovers. Rachel and I had dressed for the occasion; I wore my blue batik skirt and patchwork vest, and she wore a crocheted sweater and matching crocheted tam. We wandered up and down the aisles, our heads practically exploding with new ideas. I barely gave a second thought to the germs, the lax security, or the fact that there weren’t enough fire exits.

“We have got to design our own lampshades,” Rachel said at one point, and my heart soared because she had said we.

Just before noon we found seats in front of a makeshift stage at one end of the enormous space. Our crafting idol, Wendy Russell, stepped out to a warm round of applause. Rachel and I spontaneously leapt to our feet. I think we even screamed just a little, seeing her in the flesh.

Wendy wore a shimmery white blouse and jeans with red cowboy boots. Her accessories—a large butterfly brooch and multicolored cufflets—were her own creations. We knew, because we’d seen her make them on TV.

She gave a demo on how to create a DIY earring holder from an old cheese grater. Rachel and I took notes.

When it was over, Rachel and I moved to the lip of the stage. Wendy was packing up her supplies. She smiled when she saw us. “Hi, girls. Did you enjoy the demo?”

We both nodded. “We’re your biggest fans,” said Rachel, her voice quivering.

“That’s so nice to hear. You like to craft?”

“We’re crafting fiends,” I said. Then I started to giggle uncontrollably, which made Rachel giggle, too.

“Can we have your autograph?” asked Rachel.

“Of course.” Wendy signed our craft fair programs. Then she reached into her supply kit and handed us each a bottle of high-quality fabric paint. “It was a pleasure meeting you both.” She held out her bare hand. And I shook it.

When she was gone, I didn’t take out my bottle of sanitizer. I didn’t run to the bathroom to wash my hands through two rounds of “Happy Birthday.” Because whatever germs Wendy Russell had, they were Wendy Russell germs, and I wanted as much of her to rub off on me as possible.

—

Rachel and I were buzzing with excitement when we left the convention center. “We have to make those earring holders,” said Rachel. “Like, today.”

I looked at her. “You mean, together?”

“Yes, dorkus. Together. We just need to buy cheese graters. I have everything else we need at my house.”

Her house.

My bowels clenched.

“Um. I just remembered.”

Her pace slowed. “Remembered what?”

“This thing. With my mom.”

She stopped. Hands on hips. “Oh, really? What thing?”

“A movie.”

“What movie?”

“That one. With the dark-haired actress. You know.”

Rachel’s tone shifted. “Okay. Whatever.”

“I’m sorry, Rachel.”

“Hey. No worries.” She gave me a sad smile. “See you Monday.” She walked away.

I wanted to shout at her to come back. I’d missed her so much, and the day had been so awesome, and now it was falling to pieces, all thanks to me.

But seeing her happy, intact family, seeing Owen…

I just couldn’t do it. In spite of all the steps I’d taken, this one felt enormous, insurmountable. Just the thought of it made me nauseous with anxiety, even though I badly wanted Rachel’s friendship again.

So I turned in the other direction. Stupid you. Stupid, fearful you.

The gulf between me and my former best friend had finally started closing, and I’d just torn it open again.