“You must be cold.” Grandma’s words break the tense silence. “Come inside. I’ll make you tea.”
I pull Grandma into me. “You shouldn’t have done that. This isn’t a road we need to travel. She’s a dead end on so many levels.”
“Good you know that,” she replies. “You won’t be surprised.”
“Old woman—”
“Enjoy the birds.” She smiles at McKenzie. “How long have you been waiting?”
“Not that long,” she says, but her cheeks are wind-bitten and her fingers are the color of raw meat.
We get into the house, and I’m forced to be polite. “Can I hang up your coat?” All I want to do is strangle her with it.
“No, I’m fine.” She pulls the sleeves over her fingers.
“Come into the kitchen,” says Grandma. “I’ll make you some tea.”
“I’m not staying”—she gestures to me—“I came to talk to Nira. I’ll be quick.”
Grandma nods. “Maybe some other time.” She leaves.
McKenzie shifts her weight, her gaze ping-ponging around the room.
I’m frozen with anger and the added violation of having her in my house. “So?”
She jerks her head. “Yeah—um—”
She’s shaking. “Come away from the door if you’re cold.” Ever the hostess, even when I want to throttle her.
“It’s all my fault,” she blurts out. “What’s going on between you and Emily. That’s on me.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
She flinches.
“If that’s all you came to say—”
“I’m sorry—” She hiccups and starts crying.
I’m lost. I have no idea if her tears are real or not. If they are, I’m out of my depth. What am I supposed to do with a despondent McKenzie?
Someone raps me on the back of my head. I turn and find myself under Grandma’s glare. She holds out a box of tissues and waves them at McKenzie. I take them, and Grandma moves back down the hall.
“Here.” I hold out the box.
“Thanks.” McKenzie helps herself to a couple and wipes her face. “This is harder than I thought.”
I still think she might be faking it, but common sense says McKenzie doesn’t have the smarts to act this well. Now I’m disconcerted because her crying makes her more human, and I don’t know what to do with this new facet of her personality.
“It’s my fault.” She snuffles into the tissue. “When it all started happening, Emily wanted to be up front and tell you, but I told her not to say anything.” She crumples the sodden wads and shoves them in her pocket.
I hand her another tissue.
“I was scared of how you’d react.”
“No kidding. How did you think I’d react?” Poor choice of words. She starts crying, again. I’m trying to stay sympathetic, but she’s stolen my friend, and now she wants me to forgive her for it.
If I don’t shut her up, her wailing will get Grandma back here, and I’m not set for another whack on the head. I pat McKenzie on the shoulder. “It’s—stop crying.”
“I can’t,” she wails. “I’m so scared of you.”
My hand freezes in midair. “What?”
But she’s in full babble mode. “You’re intimidating.”
What?
“When it started happening, Emily wanted to be honest and tell you. She was all ‘Nira’s my best friend,’ but I know you can’t stand me, so I told her to wait, and we’d see, but then things got worse and—” She sobs into her tissue.
“What are you talking about?”
“The first time I saw you, you were so different, so together.”
I still don’t know what she’s talking about. “Take off your coat, and we’ll get you some tea.”
“No, I can’t—I want to be honest with you, to make amends. I have to start from the beginning, from the first time I saw you, and how scared I was.”
One of the most popular girls in school, frightened of the immigrant girl with the tuna fish sandwich. “You should sit; you’re obviously suffering side effects of dehydration from all the crying.”
“I’m serious, Nira. I want to be your friend.” She sniffs. “But it went wrong. It always goes wrong with you. I try, and I try, but every time I’m around you, you give me that look, and I get intimidated and say stupid things.”
I don’t even know what to say. The way I’m looking at her must be The Look because she says, “See? I’m pouring out my soul, and you’re just staring.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just—every time you talk to me, you just come off—”
“Racist and ignorant? I know. Every time—every time—I sound like I should be burning a cross or something. I know you’re not Hindi, I know what halal meat is, I know you’re not anorexic.” Her words pick up speed. “I’m trying to impress you with how culturally savvy I am, and it comes out wrong every time. Then I try to make a joke about it because humor is supposed to bond people together, and it goes horrifically sideways. The harder I try, the worse it gets. I’m babbling like a moron, and I can hear the voice inside my head screaming shut up, shut up, but I can’t. I keep going.” She reaches for another tissue. “And the thing is, I’m not, I swear I’m not racist. I’m a really good person. I’m kind and sometimes funny. I like it when it rains, and I love animals, and”—she watches me like it’s her last breath and I need to hear her words—“I’m not stupid.”
No, but maybe I am.
“When it all started going down with Emily, she was so excited, and she wanted to tell you, but I said go slow. You didn’t like me, baby steps, right?”
“Uh, I guess.”
“Emily told you to call me Mac, not McKenzie, but you wouldn’t. You only give your nicknames to your friends, and that’s something we’ll never be.”
The light that’s in her goes out. I’ve hurt her, and the realization takes the light out of me. Tell me I haven’t been running around, wounding her the same way she’s wounded me.
“You don’t like me, and I get that, but I really like Emily, and I’m good for her, I promise.”
“I get you like Emily, but—” And then it hits. I’m an idiot. Jeez! I’m an idiot. “You’re dating Emily.”
She nods, miserable. “Emie wanted to tell you, but—”
“I didn’t realize you—I thought you liked Noah. You’re always touching him, sitting beside him. You don’t—I would never have guessed you like girls.” Farah will never let me forget she was right about this.
“It’s… easier for kids not to know about”—she waves her hands—“this. Me. I know how to put on a good show.”
I tug her coat, and she slips it from her shoulders. Grandma magically appears. “The tea is ready. I put out jam cookies and tartlets.”
“Thank you,” says McKenzie, “but I’m not hungry or thirsty.”
“Just the cookies, then,” says Grandma, then vanishes like an apparition.
McKenzie puts her shoes by the door and follows me into the kitchen. The mugs, milk, and sugar sit beside the teapot, and a circle of jam cookies is tucked to the side.
“My family doesn’t know. None of the kids at school, either. Most of them wouldn’t care, I guess. Noah for sure wouldn’t care. But my parents—they would—” She shudders. “It never mattered because there wasn’t really anybody for a long time. But then there was Emie—” She sighs. “She’s something else entirely.”
I pour her a cup of tea. “You said it.”
We share a smile.
“Do you take milk or sugar?”
McKenzie’s nose wrinkles. “I’m not sure. I’ve never had tea.”
“Sugar and milk. You always have that in times of distress and sadness.” I fix her tea and hand her a cookie. “I’m sorry you didn’t think you could tell anyone. You could have told me.”
“That’s what Emie said, but how do you share a secret with someone who can’t stand you?”
I wince. “I’m sorry. Emily told me I wasn’t giving you a chance, but I was so caught up in losing her—”
“You can’t ever lose her. She loves you to the sky and back.”
Her words should make me feel better, but I feel worse. “I should’ve trusted our friendship.”
“I love watching the two of you.” McKenzie takes a sip of the tea and smiles as the taste hits her tongue. “You guys are a real friendship, you know? I don’t have that. No one at school knows the true me. I’m invisible. You wouldn’t know what it feels like, but it sucks.”
I want to laugh. I want to cry. The most popular girl at my school is sitting at my table and telling me no one sees her. Shame heats my cheeks. “I thought you were taking my place as her friend. I didn’t realize she was in love and in a relationship.”
McKenzie sets down her tea. “I could never take your place.”
“If I’d known—I’m sorry. I’m sorry I was so caught up in my own damage, I couldn’t see the truth of you.”
“It’s not your fault. I sound like a fascist every time I talk to you.”
“But now we know, right? You sound slightly off when you talk to me; that’s okay. I’m used to quirky people. Look at Emily. She always drops her sentences and waits for me to finish them off.”
“You caught that, too?” Mac laughs. “It drives me crazy. Like, just say it, okay? Finish the thought!”
“I’m glad you’re together. If you make her happy, then I’m glad you’re together.”
Tears fill her eyes. “We’re not,” she whispers. “Not anymore. She was so mad at me last night. It’s been tearing her apart, not being able to tell you about us. She’s such an honest person.”
“But she’d never tell someone else’s secret. She tried to tell me to stop being such a judgmental idiot and give you a chance, but I was too busy being a judgmental idiot to hear her.”
“The look on your face when you came to the house—” She lifts her hand, as if to reach for me, then lets it fall back. “I never meant to hurt you. But I was scared, and now Emie—” She pushes the mug away. “She never liked being quiet about the relationship, and she thinks you’re mad at her for not sharing. And now she’s mad at me for, well, everything. She broke up with me. I’ve messed up everything.”
“No, or at least, it’s not all you. I’m sorry. This is on me.” I take her hand. “Finish your tea. We’ll fix this, okay? We’ll go and talk to Emily.”
“Thanks.” She wipes the tears from her eyes. “Thanks for giving me a second chance.”
“Me too. Thanks, Mac.”