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“Maybe I will.”
She studies me a little longer before standing up, her hands absently pushing her skirt down as she rises. “You wanna take a walk?” she asks.
“A walk?” I ask.
“Yeah, I think I’ll head back home.” She glances at the house behind her. “Doubt anyone will miss me, and if you go back in there, you’ll just have to clean something else,” she jokes.
“You’re not wrong,” I say, cringing at what else Courtney has probably dropped in the sink over the last few minutes.
“So, walk me home?” she asks. “There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”
The phrase lurches my gut; an instinctual tripwire. “O-kay,” I say, carefully.
“It’s nothing serious,” she adds quickly with a smile. “Just a... proposition between friends.”
“A proposition,” I repeat.
“That’s right.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It’s not,” she says, that little smile curling up again. “In fact, it’s probably going to be stupid and embarrassing — for me, specifically — but I’m banking on the idea that we’ll be laughing about it. Eventually.” A pause. “Hopefully.”
“Are you sure this isn’t serious?” I ask.
Dana exhales softly. Then, she starts across the lawn toward the sidewalk without a word, her slow gait expecting me to follow her.
One more peek at those smooth legs and I do just that.
We reach the road, habitually falling into step together on the path toward their house. The Kirbys have lived three blocks away for as long as I can remember. I still know the quickest route between our backyards. The quietest route, too. You know, for the nights when we were all supposed to be fast asleep, but Alex, Ben, and I snuck out for bouts of childhood mischief.
And Dana watched safely from her bedroom, little eyes shining through the branches of the big tree outside her window.
She never tattled, though.
Her throat clears, barely audible over the summer breeze rustling the trees around the neighborhood. “So, we’ve known each other for a really long time,” she says.
I chuckle. Understatement. “Since birth.”
“Right. And since then, since our births, I would say that you and I have become... friends.”
“Friends?”
She stalls her stride. “Aren’t we?”
“Yeah. Of course.” I pause as she does. “Dana, what’s this about?”
“Nothing,” she says, the word quick, stiff. “We’re friends.”
“We are...”
“And, as your close, personal friend, I would like to ask you for a favor.”
I nearly laugh. “All right. What is it? I’ll do it.”
“Well, now, I haven’t told you what it is yet.”
“Won’t matter.”
