“Two minutes,” I say. “I promise.”
I duck into Hunan Kitchen before Lindsay—and her attitude—can come back online. A bell jingles on the door as I walk in. Alex looks up, worried for a second, and then plasters a smile on his face.
“What’s up, Sam?” he drawls. Idiot.
I ignore him and go straight to Anna. She has her head bent, pushing the food around her plate. It’s a lot safer than eating it, that’s for sure.
“Hey.” I’m nervous for some reason. There’s something unsettling about her quietness, the way she lifts her eyes and stares at me with no expression. It reminds me of Juliet. “I just came by to give you something.”
“Give me something?” She curls her lip back, skeptical, and the resemblance to Juliet is no longer so strong. She must think I’m crazy. As far as she knows we’ve never exchanged a word in our lives, and I can only imagine what she thinks I want to give her.
Alex is looking back and forth from Anna to me, as confused as she is. I’m aware of Lindsay watching me through the grimy window, and the fact that three people are staring at me like I’ve lost it is a little overwhelming. I reach into my bag, hands trembling a little bit.
“Yeah, listen, I know it’s weird. I can’t really explain it, but…” I pull out a big book of M. C. Escher sketches and put it on the table next to the bowl of sesame chicken. Or orange beef. Or cooked cat. Or whatever.
Anna freezes, staring at the book like it’s going to bite her.
“It just seemed like the kind of thing you’d like,” I say quickly, already backing away from the table. Now that the hard part is over I feel a thousand times better. “There’s over two hundred drawings. You could even hang some of them up, if you had a place to put them.”
Something tenses in Anna’s face. She’s still staring at the book on the table, her hands resting on her thighs. I can see how tightly she’s curling her fists.
I’m just about to turn and jet out the door when she glances up. Our eyes meet. She doesn’t say anything, but her mouth relaxes. It’s not quite a smile, but it’s close, and I take it as a thank-you.
I hear Alex say, “What was that about?” and then I’m out the door, the bell sounding a shrill note behind me.
Lindsay’s still standing there exactly as I left her, eyes dull. I know she’s been watching through the window.
“Now I know you’ve gone crazy,” she says.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feel exhilarated now that it’s over with. “Come on. I’m fiending me some yogurt.”
Lindsay doesn’t budge. “Lost it. Flipped your lid. Gone bat shit. Since when do you bring Anna Cartullo presents?”
“Listen, it’s not like I got her a friendship bracelet or something.”
“Since when do you even talk to Anna Cartullo?”
I sigh. I can tell she’s not going to give up on this. “I talked to her for the first time a couple days ago, all right?” Lindsay’s still staring like the world is melting away before her eyes. I know the feeling. “She’s actually pretty nice. I mean, I think you might like her if—”
Lindsay makes a high-pitched squealing noise and claps her hands over her ears again like the very words are torture. She keeps on shrieking like this while I sigh and check my watch, waiting for her to finish her performance.
Eventually she calms down, her squealing dying away to a gurgling noise in the back of her throat. She squints at me. I can’t help but giggle. She looks like a total freak.
“Are you done?” I ask.
“Are you back?” She peels one hand off her ear tentatively, experimenting.
“Is who back?”
“Samantha Emily Kingston. My best friend. My heterosexual life partner.” She leans forward and raps once on my forehead with her knuckles. “Instead of this weird lobotomized boyfriend-dumping Anna Cartullo–liking pod who’s impersonating her.”
I roll my eyes. “You don’t know everything about me, you know.”
“I apparently don’t know anything about you.” Lindsay crosses her arms. I tug on the sleeve of her jacket, and she trudges forward reluctantly. I can tell she’s actually upset. I put my arms around her and squeeze. She’s so much shorter than I am that I have to take mini-shuffling steps so our paces are matched up, but I let her set the rhythm.
“You know what my favorite flavor of yogurt is,” I say, hoping to appease her.
Lindsay heaves a sigh. “Double chocolate,” she grumbles, but she’s not pushing me off of her, which is a good sign. “With crushed peanut butter cups and Cap’n Crunch cereal.”
“And I know you know what size I’m going to get.”
We’re at the door to The Country’s Best Yogurt now, and I can already smell the deliciously sweet chemical-y aroma wafting out to us. It’s like the smell of the bread baking at Subway. You know it’s not the way nature or God intended it to smell, but something about it is addictive.
Lindsay looks at me from the corner of her eye as I pull my arms off her. Her expression is so mournful it’s funny, and I choke down another laugh.
“Better be careful, Miss Jumbo Queen,” she says, tossing her hair. “All that artificial yumminess is going straight to your hips.”
But her mouth is crooked up into a smile, and I know she’s forgiven me.
FRIENDSHIP, A STORY
If I had to pick the top three things I love about each of my friends, here’s what they would be.