I was expecting—I don’t know. A little fanfare, maybe. More than total nonchalance. I mean, I am speaking! Words! Out loud! This is a huge deal!
Isn’t it?
“Disappointed the world doesn’t revolve around you?” Asha teases.
“That is so not it,” I say, and swallow, because suddenly I’m worried she truly thinks that. Because our friendship so far has been kind of one-sided. Asha doesn’t really talk to me about anything other than the diner and geometry and knitting, and I’ve never pushed for more—partly because I don’t know if I’m allowed, if she’d be okay with that, and partly because I haven’t put in the effort.
Let’s be honest. Kristen had a lot of sucky qualities as a friend, but it’s not like I don’t have my fair share of failings.
“So now that you’re speaking,” she says, “what do you want to talk about? Let me guess, Saaaam?” She makes fake kissy noises until I thwack her in the face with my pillow.
I don’t want to talk about Sam. I don’t want to talk about boys, or clothes, or shopping, or any of that. That was the problem with Kristen. Whatever we used to have in common, whatever was between us before, it all faded into…crap. Into nothing but gossip and makeup tips and parties and crushes and superficial crap. Talking about all that stuff is okay in moderation—but friendships should mean something more.
It’s hard to figure out how to explain to Asha that I don’t know what my life would be like now if she’d never talked to me that day in detention. How much worse these past weeks would have been. I want to show her how much she means to me—but everything that pops into my head makes me sound like the sappiest sap to ever sap.
Words matter—of course they matter, I know that better than anyone—but just telling her that wouldn’t be enough. If I really want her to be my friend, if I really want to get better at this kind of thing, I have to be better. Walk the talk, or whatever.
Finally I turn to her and ask, “How’s your mom doing?”