really, really. Really, really, really. Really. Didn’t care about me or my feelings.
And that she didn’t hesitate to hurt me.
Because she didn’t think about me at all.
When I called Imani, crying about Scott and Blair, Imani picked up Siggy and came to get me immediately. We all went to Imani’s house, and I sobbed my heart out.
“That’s horrible,” Siggy had said, her voice absolutely aghast, and I knew she was thinking about how it would feel to stumble upon Mark in one of their favorite places with another girl.
Or worse, how it would feel if that girl was Blair.
“I can’t believe Blair!” Siggy added, her eyes blazing.
“Maybe it’s some sort of misunderstanding,” Imani offered.
“Sure,” Siggy scoffed. “They went on a picnic in the park and were making out by accident.”
Imani had turned to look at me, her eyes glistening, reflecting my hurt. “I’m so sorry, June.”
I hiccupped, and blew my nose. “I can’t believe I didn’t even suspect it!”
Imani had leaned forward then, and given me the biggest, tightest bear hug. Like she wanted to save me from something that had already happened, like she wanted to fix a bird’s broken wing, or tape a butterfly back together.
Siggy leaned in to hug me, too, and when she leaned back, fury sparked in her eyes.
“It’s not right,” she’d said. “How would either of us feel, Imani, if Blair had done this to us?”
“Horrible,” Imani breathed. “The worst.”
“We should teach her a lesson,” Siggy said. “Give her the cold shoulder. Just for a little while.”
“I don’t know . . .” Imani’s voice was sad and raw, but she didn’t let go of my hand.
So we talked about it. We sounded like parents, talking about putting a toddler on the naughty step.
But I was angry, and I was hurt, and Siggy was angry and hurt for me, and Imani just wanted me to feel better. So we agreed. Two weeks of no contact.
The four musketeers, now suddenly only three.
We’ve been giving Blair the cold shoulder for about a week. Less. None of us talking to her, moving away from her at lunch, not taking her calls, blocking her texts.
It feels harsh. It also feels pretty good in a twisting, dark way.
When it feels more twisting than good, I tell myself it’s not forever.
I duck, giving my head a little shake so some hair falls in front of my eyes. I’ll pretend I can’t see her.
Imani’s whispering soothing things, and we’re just curled in the general direction of away from Blair, trying to make ourselves small, and that’s when I hear Siggy’s voice, shrill as a band saw.
“Haaaaaaaay, sexaaaaaaaay ladaaaaaaays!” she calls.
“Kill me now,” I whisper to Imani, but we turn, and I can feel, without looking, not only everyone in line watching our friend finally arrive, but the call reaching out and catching Blair’s ear. I can feel Blair’s head swiveling like a tank gun. Her eyes sweep over us.
I have two choices: I can turn and look at Blair, let her know I see her and that I know she sees us, or I can keep pretending that I don’t feel her watching. That I can’t see out of the corner of my eye, how she’s stopped and is watching us.
Siggy dance-walks up to us, with her hands out, palms up, and her head pigeon thrusting on her long neck. The move of one of the guys in that viral dance clip “when you run into your friends.”
It’s hilarious, and it makes me laugh even though she knows we’ve been waiting for her. One thing I will say about silly, skinny Siggy, she knows how to apologize, how to make an entrance, and how to make you laugh all at the same time.
“Forgive me, babies?” she says when she reaches us. “I’m sorry. I’m hopeless.”
“Should have been your middle name,” Imani says, but she’s smiling, too.
Siggy’s dressed in her usual boho-chic style. She’s wearing a halter-top