I can feel the blush creeping over me. “Well … yeah,” I shrug. “Maybe I got teased a little.”
“I’m so sorry, Kenna,” she says. And then she gets a mischievous look on her face. The eyebrows are in motion. She’s got an idea. I can tell. It’s just like when she was playing Moxie. The thinking face followed by—
“I just had an idea!” Lorelei announces. She picks up the wig and twirls it on one finger. The long, dark strands spin out into a swirling vortex. “Want to play dress-up with me?”
lorelei
Kennaand I are standing in front of the mirrored wardrobe in my bedroom, trying on each other’s clothing. She’s got on my shiny, black, latex catsuit and a pair of platform stilettos that I wear to events when I’m working the Ember vibe. The catsuit is cut in a deep V, almost all the way to the navel, and if I’m being honest, it looks better on her. She’s a little curvier, with a more dramatic hip-to-waist ratio. I finish penciling on some brows and tug on the wig.
“Voilà!” I exclaim, as we both stand back to admire my handiwork.
“Holy shit!” Kenna gasps. Then she totters a bit. “And how do you walk in these?” She lifts a foot.
“Oh, you get the hang of it. The important thing to remember with the latex suits is that baby powder is your friend. Also, it’s a good idea to take the suit off in the shower because the sweat pools.” It feels good to have someone to pass down this wisdom to.
I flop sideways in the upholstered chair by my bed, legs flung over one arm. I’ve got Kenna’s tank top and jeans shorts on, and my hair is down, and I have to admit, it’s pretty comfy and carefree. I feel like a kid again. Kenna turns right and left, looking over her shoulder to admire herself from different angles in the mirror, while I scroll through old social posts, trying to find a photo of myself in the same suit.
It gives me an idea.
“Let me take your picture.” I toss her my sunglasses. “Put these on.” I point at the friendship bracelet on her wrist. It’s the one thing that’s wrong with the photo.
“Does that come off? Give it here.”
“You can look at it, but don’t lose it!” Kenna slips the bracelet off over her wrist. “My best friend, Georgia, made this for me in high school.”
“And you still wear it?” I ask incredulously, sliding it onto my wrist.
“Sometimes. I really like the colors.” The blue strings are faded, stretched, and worn, and the ends of the cotton thread are curling. There’s a little, red heart bead in the middle. It’s so incredibly cute. And sweet. I feel a stab of jealousy, wondering what this friendship bracelet-making buddy of hers is like. Probably just as apple-pie wholesome as Kenna.
Nobody has ever made a friendship bracelet for me. Ever.
“Okay,” I say, leaning precariously sideways to line up the phone at ground level. This angle makes Kenna look extra tall. Her legs are a little longer than mine, which only adds to the overall effect. “Nice, nice … bend forward a little. Snarl …”
I snap away from this awkward position, clinging to the chair with my knees. Finally, I sit myself up, turn to face forward, and go back over the shots.
“So good!” I flip the phone around to show her the results of our little shoot.
We’re both on our third iced tea, and we’ve been adding generous splashes of vodka into the mix for the last two. It’s strange how comfortable I feel around her. Two hours have passed, and it feels like we’ve known each other forever.
I, for instance, now know all about the guy Kenna dated for five years right out of high school. Some dirtbag named Cody. He sounds like a total piece of shit. I know that she has a penchant for Taco Bell drive-thru and that she really hates letting people down, especially her uncles.
She’s way into her photography and loves helping homeless pets at the local shelter. So much so that she does it for free. But she’s starting to make a little money taking pictures. A few of the pet owners who found their pets at the shelter have commissioned portraits.
And what have I told her? I told her about emancipating myself from the momager when I was sixteen. That I’ve dated a lot of men, but nobody serious. I let her know that I haven’t ever dated a Jonas brother … the rumors aren’t true. But a certain other kid celebrity still sends me dick pics.
And then she won my respect, admitting she has a gallery of unsolicited dick pics sent to her via dating apps. It includes one with freckles on it in the shape of a penguin. She called it the “penguinis,” and I laughed harder than I have in ages.
It’s not the first time I’ve bonded with another woman fast and hard. It’s happened a few times when I was filming in remote locations. It’s a fish-out-of-water phenomenon. A whole “since we’re stuck on this desert island together, we may as well be besties” effect. But these friendships rarely last. Six months later, we’re on to the next thing.
We swear we’ll stay in touch, but after all the closeness, confessions, and inside jokes, it never happens. We barely stay in touch. It sucks. That’s why I’m grateful for Rafe. He’s not exactly the same as having a close girlfriend, but we’ve known each other since we were kids, and I can tell him anything.
I wonder if I will stay in touch with Kenna after this summer.
“I can’t believe you walked around in public in this.” Kenna pulls at the latex suit to hitch it up, and it doesn’t budge. She frowns.
I frown.
I’ve been studying her for the last hour, mirroring her expressions. There’s a thing she does where she bites her lip and flares one nostril. It’s taken me a bunch of tries to get it right, but once I do, it’s filed away in my catalog. On average, it takes me ten minutes to learn a new facial expression. Once I’ve got it down, it’s almost like muscle memory. I don’t have to think about doing it. I just picture it, and my face justdoesit.
