Girls Save the World in This One - Ash Parsons Page 0,6
see the picture afterward.
Also this smile is another reason why I practiced for the photo op with Hunter’s cutout.
Imani says I look great in every picture, that I always look “cute” or “so adorable,” and I’m like, sure, Imani, sure, because best friends are supposed to say those things.
But Imani hates lies, too, so maybe she means it? Still, I don’t want to make that face in my picture with Hunter.
“Let me try calling her,” Imani says. She holds her phone to her ear.
We start moving forward. Either the doors are open or the people in line in front of us can see activity behind the glass doors and we’re all pressing forward like Black Friday shoppers.
“She’s not answering,” Imani says, lowering her phone.
“Aaaaaaaarrrrghhh, Imani!” I groan, grabbing at my chest. “The doors are getting ready to open, the time is now, the moment’s arrived or it’s about to arrive, the train’s leaving the station, the boarding gate is closing, Elvis is at the fire doors . . .”
“Deep breaths, June,” Imani says, and she quirks that smile at me again. “It’s a good thing Siggy hasn’t answered. It means she’s almost here.”
“What?”
“You know, she feels bad so she doesn’t want to pick up the phone. I bet she’s almost here.”
The doors are definitely open now. We take six steps forward.
“This is supposed to be our big day.” I can’t stop the worrying once it starts. It just keeps getting bigger. “It’s already been screwed up ’cause we were late, and we’ll be even later to the opening session—”
Imani gives me the look, but I don’t stop.
“How are we supposed to make Special Memories without Siggy?”
Special Memories is what we call any big shared event, a joke from the yearbook pages that read Special Memories and are always a collage of pictures: friends sitting together at lunch, a teacher pretending to strangle a student, groups clustering together for a friendshot, the band in formation on the football field, various team members flexing or high-fiving or holding up number-one fingers.
I’d sold this whole day to the group on that big bonding premise: Let’s Make Special Memories. That this is our senior year, and we’ve been friends since elementary school, and now we’re just supposed to leave each other after graduation? How do you just do that?
I remember meeting Imani and Blair in kindergarten. Imani is still my best friend, even if Blair isn’t.
But I remember meeting Imani over those little multicolor plastic bears. Green and yellow and red and blue, you were supposed to use them for counting, but I gave them all names and arranged them in groups and Imani loved that.
I remember she looked at me, eyes wide, and she said, “You’re making them families?” like it was the best idea and no one had ever had it before.
She can still make me feel that rush of embarrassed pride, because I’m not that clever, but she likes the way I think sometimes, I guess.
How are you supposed to let go of Imani?
And how are you supposed to let go of Siggy, who we met in third grade when she moved to our school, who makes us laugh so hard, who is such an outrageous flirt, or was before she met Annoying Mark.
It makes my shoulders tight to think about graduation. To think about next fall when we’re all separated, to think about moving on, moving out, what if I can’t hack it? What if no one else likes me? Just these girls I met in elementary school, and the rest of the world doesn’t care. Or worse.
What if I’m fundamentally unlikeable, and I drive everyone away with questions like this?
How do you stop asking questions?
Okay, so even if I do let go, or if they go anyway, which they will, no matter if I’m ready or not, how am I supposed to start over without them?
It doesn’t matter if Siggy makes me so annoyed sometimes with her boyfriend and her occasional insensitivity. It doesn’t matter if Imani can