Day 2090

I come home after school on Friday and throw my backpack on the floor, just to make a mess, just because I can; it’s the weekend, who cares about cleaning and homework and all of that crap? Then I run back outside and call, “Kylie? You here?”

“Yeah!” comes the faint, but enthusiastic reply, and after a minute, and a series of painful-sounding knocking, Kylie’s head appears over the back fence. She spots me and grins. “Hi!”

“Hey,” I say, watching her closely as she clambers down onto my side�"not to be creepy, or look at her underwear (if she’s wearing any, which I sincerely doubt) or anything like that; just to make sure she doesn’t fall. I have no idea what I’d do if she got hurt�"I can’t call an ambulance from my house, Dad would find out�"I’d have to take her back to her house and call. And if she were really hurt, that wouldn’t be good enough….

But she doesn’t fall; she never does. She lands in a deft crouch, then runs over to me and gives me a bone-crushing hug. “How was school?” she asks me.

“Okay,” I tell her, returning her smile. “I think your thing is working.”

Her huge smile slips; she blinks, confused. “What thing?” she says blankly.

“The�"the being nice thing. I think it’s working!”

She blinks at me again, utterly confused. “Uh…oh…it is?”

“Yeah!” I heave myself onto the trampoline, balancing on its edge, not even caring that the metal feels like ice. Kylie sits next to me, also ignoring the cold; I don’t understand how she’s not shivering in her short dress, when I can’t when I’m all wrapped up. “I thought she’d like�"I don’t know�"think I was stupid or something, but she’s been sitting with me and talking to me all week, she doesn’t think I’m weird or boring or anything, ‘cause�"I guess ‘cause I was nice to her, like you said�"”

“Who?” Kylie demands, eyes widening. I note the expression on her face�"confusion mixed with disappointment�"but pay no attention to it.

“Victoria!” I tell her, puzzled. Who did she think I was talking about?

“Wh-…oh,” she says slowly. “Her.”

“Yeah, her.” I frown at her. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, but the disappointment is still there. “You mean…you wanted to…to date her?”

“Yes,” I say, losing patience. “Who’d you think?”

She doesn’t answer; she just stares at me in disbelief.

“What?” I say defensively.

“Her,” she repeats.

“Yes, her, who did you�"Kylie, I don’t know any other girls at school. I told you that.”

She just keeps staring at me. It’s like I slapped her or something. “Why her?” she asks once she’s found her tongue�"a little too aggressively, I can’t help but think. “What’s�"what’s she�"why her?”

“Because�"I don’t know,” I tell her, stunned. “I guess she’s�"she’s smart, and�"and nice�"and really pretty�"”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” she says accusingly.

“Well�"nothing, I just�"”

“You said you didn’t like her, you said, you said she was annoying�"and wrong about�"about stuff�"and that you didn’t know what to do about her�"”

“I didn’t know what to do,” I protest, utterly lost. “No one’s ever just�"just come up to me and talked to me like that�"”

“I did,” Kylie points out, with an edge to her voice that I can’t understand.

“Yeah, you did,” I say slowly, not sure what her point is.

“And you were mean to me.”

I look up at her, meeting her defiant gaze. I can’t believe she’s bringing that up. “I know I was,” I tell her, just as defiantly. “I said I was sorry.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Yeah I did! I know I did. Ages ago. And I’m not mean to you anymore,” I add quickly, because I can’t really remember saying the words “I’m sorry for being really rude to you when we first met because you were freaking me out and I kept getting in trouble because I’m not allowed to have friends” to her. But I meant them.

Kylie opened her mouth, looking angrier than I’ve ever seen her�"I stiffen and wince involuntarily, waiting for her to yell, “Oh, I beg to differ,” or something like that, because she’d be right, I think, because I’ve been lying to her, and what if she found out�"

But she doesn’t say anything. She just sighs, sitting back and staring at her knees, kicking her feet aimlessly back and forth. She lets her hair cover her face, but I’m not looking at her anyway. I can’t. It’s not like her at all to get mad about�"well, anything. I don’t get what her problem is. And I don’t know what to say�"I have no idea why she’d attack me like that…. What’s her problem with Victoria? It’s not like they’ve ever met….

“What’s she look like?” Kylie asks, probably to break the awkward silence.

“She’s, um�"Asian. Or something. Her skin’s almost the same color as yours, and her hair’s really dark and shiny, and she wears red lipstick, and�"” But I don’t finish that thought�"Kylie would definitely not understand the appeal that Victoria’s clothes had for me, especially not about the shirt, because to be honest it’s more about what the shirt was hinting at. I like v-necks. Girls should wear those all the time. “She looks really cool,” I improvise instead.

“Oh,” says Kylie lamely. After another pause, she asks, “How’d you know she was smart?”

“’Cause of the way she talks about books. She picked up stuff that people usually don’t. And she reads�"that’s something. No one at school reads, except for me.”

“So she knew stuff you didn’t?”

“Well, um. No. I already knew most of it. But I didn’t tell her that.”

“’Cause it would make her mad.”

“Maybe. I never really know what to say to her, she just keeps going on, and it’s interesting and all, but…I don’t know.”

“But she didn’t care about you,” Kylie guessed.

“No, that wasn’t it,” I say thoughtfully. “She asks me a bunch of questions, but I just don’t want to answer them. I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, maybe you should just…I don’t know,” she mumbles, sliding off the trampoline. “I don’t feel very good,” she adds, even more indistinctly; for a moment I’m not sure that I heard her correctly.

“What?” I slide off too, concerned. “You don’t?”

“No,” she mutters, not looking at me. “I’m going home.”

“Oh…oh, okay. Um, I’ll walk you back�"”

“No, that’s okay,” she says, turning away. “See you later.”

“Okay�"but Kylie, um�"”

But she’s not listening�"and before I can sort out what just happened, she’s gone.

Well, damn. It’s Friday. The day both of us look forward to, because I don’t have to do anything, I can just hang out with her. And if she’s sick today, and it’s what I think it is, all that gross girly stuff, I won’t see her for awhile, because Cherokees have this complicated belief about when a girl is at her “moon time”�"something about her being filled with a lot of natural energy that men will poison if they get close to her. So she’s stuck praying and feeling s****y, and I’m stuck being bored.

At least that explains why she was being so dramatic.

Nothing to do, then, but clean, and read…. The night ends with me laying back, staring at my ceiling, The Count of Monte Cristo abandoned. It’s not a very nice story anyway, and who needs more depression and violence and misery?

Maybe a romance. A realistic one. But most of those are written by girls, or at least for girls. And then guys get porn.

I wish…well, it’s just…I usually don’t get lonely, except on Sundays, but right now…. I wish Victoria were here. We could talk about…whatever. I don’t care.

And maybe she could explain what Kylie’s problem is….