“It’s not like that,” I say softly.
“No. It is like that. It should be like that. How do you hang out with him all the time and not want to pounce on him? You’ve been holding back on me, haven’t you?”
“I swear, nothing has ever happened. And we’re just going to prom as friends.”
“You told me on Friday you thought he liked you.”
“I think I was wrong. I think it’s just a friend thing.”
“Can I have him then?” she says, like it’s a joke. But I can sense the sliver of truth in her question.
“Sure,” I say, feeling generous, because I’m going to have to find a way to let Lane down gently about prom anyway now that I’m back with Noah. Maybe I can maneuver Amanda into going. Maybe Lane can take Amanda instead.
Amanda reaches into her purse and reapplies her lip gloss, smacking her lips together. “For real?”
“For real,” I say, then I snort like a pig just for her and tell her it’s my totally honest snort.
“I just don’t get it. I don’t get how you guys can hang out and he’s so hot and you’re not into him. Are you in love with someone else? Do you have a secret lover I don’t know about? C’mon, now is the time to fess up.”
Like I said, Amanda will be a great reporter someday. She just has this way of sniffing out the story. But I’m like a sleazy politician who knows how to fool the constituents, because all it takes is one quick, easy fib. “Yeah, the headmistress at the Agnes Ethel School,” I say, and Amanda cracks up.
Lane returns with our drinks, doling them out with his winning smile before he sits down at the table.
“So, Lane, how do you feel about Kennedy finally bringing you out in public?” Amanda says with a wink.
He laughs. “Clearly, I’m thrilled that she’s no longer embarrassed of me,” he says, segueing so easily into the conversation with Amanda.
Soon the two of them are discussing everything from school to movies to the state of journalism, and it’s a volley rather than an inquisition, so I enjoy my espresso and the fact that I don’t have to navigate a new set of untruths. I join in from time to time, but mostly I let them do the talking and I let my mind wander to last night’s long-awaited reunion in Madison Square Park, to how wondrous it felt to be in Noah’s arms again, and to how I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care anymore about all the reasons I’m not supposed to do what I’m doing.
I finish my drink and head to the counter for another, a little bit buzzed from the highlight reel I’ve just watched in my head. As I wait for my drink, my eyes wander to Amanda and Lane, who are chatting like they were born to chat with each other. When my drink is ready and I return to the table, Amanda is telling Lane about our English teacher who claims to be from Stratford-on-Avon, but she overheard him at a restaurant talking in a standard American accent.
Lane laughs. “I wonder what other dark secrets he’s hiding.”
I expect Lane to give me a look when he says dark secrets, a wink and a nod to my shared secrets. But he doesn’t. The remark is real and he means it for her. A tiny bead of some strange foreign feeling – maybe jealousy? – snakes through me. Then I remind myself that Lane’s not mine, I have someone, and I don’t even know why I’d feel any envy at all.
“He’s probably never even read Shakespeare. He probably does his class prep with Wikipedia,” Amanda says in her own version of a British accent.
He leans in closer to her, narrows his eyes, and nods his head knowingly. “I have a feeling all the teachers in all the world are doing that very same thing. I’m convinced there is a vast conspiracy of Wikipedia-inspired teaching in all of high school.”
“We really should uncover it,” Amanda says, scooting nearer too as she folds her hands together on the table.
“Yes, let’s put your reporter skills to good use,” he says, and the weird, misplaced sensation worms its way faster through me, wriggling and squirming, and I tell it to stop, I shout silently at it to leave me alone because I don’t have feelings for Lane.
Then it hits me.
It’s not envy. It’s worry. It’s the fear of my worlds colliding. It’s the fear of Lane, who knows about Noah and my mom and all her affairs and all my lost friends, smashing into Amanda, who I’ve managed to shield from the dirty sides of my life. I’ve kept these two friends separate for so long, and now I understand why I erected a wall. Because I need them both, and I’m terrified of losing Amanda if she learns about my after-hours life, and my after-dark mother. I’m petrified of secrets leaking from the sordid side of my life into the clean side.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and as they chatter more about their hypothetical plans to unveil the laziness of academia, I seize the opportunity to look. It’s Noah, telling me he’ll pick me up in twenty minutes on the corner of Jane Street and Eighth Avenue.
I’m about to reply I’ll be there when another text pops up on my screen: Such a delight to have coffee with you, too, D. Until the next time …
Forget the snake of worry. Now, it’s a dragon of rage because my mom sent a text to me that she meant to send to Amanda’s dad. I close my eyes and let the ball of anger course through me, traveling through my body, until I am gripping my phone so tight, I want to throw it across the coffee shop.
“Excuse me.” I push back quickly, heading to the street, and call her.