“I think…nervous? Maybe a little anxious too.”
“Why?”
“Because…” I have trouble saying the words, ones I don’t know how to admit and say out loud. Because if I do, I can’t take them back. The ugliest, most shameful parts of me will be out in the world, no longer hidden in the lower pit of my stomach where I will always remember they’re there.
“I’m listening,” she coaxes.
My lips purse, letting out a shaky sigh. “Sometimes, it’s the only thing that feels familiar.”
CHAPTER TWO
Kendall
THEN
Whoever invented commercially manufactured
HAPPY BIRTHDAY signs should’ve thought of a better way for them to be hung. Two flimsy strings on both ends are just not efficient. And not to mention, completely unfriendly to those with a height disadvantage.
“It’s crooked.”
I look over my shoulder with a flat look of disapproval. Sylvia’s smug smile greets me along with her palms braced to her hips. Her hair is up in giant pink rollers, and one eye is lined with black eyeliner.
“You are not supposed to be here,” I remind her. “This isyourparty, and it’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“It’s not my fault Tommy can’t keep a secret.”
“Hey,” Tommy argues. “I can keep a secret.” His side of the HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign starts to slip.
“You literally told her the second I texted you we were throwing her a surprise party,” I remind him. “A puppy at a dog treat buffet has better self-control.”
“Wha—” he starts to argue.
“Come on,” I interrupt. “This sign isn’t going to put itself up.” I motion my chin at his corner, urging him to maintain his focus. I turn to Sylvia and add, “And you. Finish getting ready for your party.”
Sylvia turns toward her room, muttering under her breath, “Gosh, she’s so bossy.”
Tommy and I manage to finish our sign. The edges are even enough that we can hide it behind some curled ribbon and balloons. More people arrive. Some from Joss Elementary, checking their academic hats at the door and plucking figurative party hats under their chins. As his punishment, and as a part of his boyfriend-of-the-birthday-girl responsibilities, I assign Tommy snack duty. Refilling chip bowls when they’re empty, making sure the drinks in the coolers are cold, keeping a constant eye on the playlist we have hooked up to an amp.
When Sylvia comes out dressed in her party dress, one she picked out during an after-school shopping trip I took her on, everyone cheers. Shot glasses are filled, party wings are passed around, and rambunctious music fills Sylvia’s small one-bedroom apartment.
I’m nursing a plastic tumbler filled with wine, despite Sylvia’s protest I should be opting for something more daring like vodka or tequila, when she stumbles into me.
“Have I told you how much Iloveyou?” she slurs, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Uh, yeah,” I answer. “You told me about eight minutes ago when I got you the last chicken wing.”
“Because you know how much Ilooovechicken wings!” The tip of her tongue curls over her top teeth when she says “love,” making me wonder whether she’d choose a chicken drumette over me if we were to call her from opposite corners of the room.
I laugh at her unfolding affection as she disappears back into the party, looking for more people to pour her adoration over.
The cupcake display is bare, with the exception of the last red velvet cupcake, cream cheese frosting and all. After stuffing myself with chicken wings and salty potato chips, the craving for something sweet hits my tongue like a fresh wave of thirst. My mouth starts to water at the thought of sinking my teeth into a large bite of equal parts cake and frosting.
But it seems I’m not the only one ogling the white swirls. Just as my fingers carefully wrap around the near translucent wrapper, someone else’s hand curls over mine.
“Excuse me,” I say to the faultless, innocent eyes surveying my cupcake as if they’ve already licked the tip to mark their territory.
“No problem,” he answers politely. Too politely. His jaw squares when it’s obvious I have no intention of stepping aside and gracefully relinquishing my dessert to him. As if I’d be so kind to someone who’s trying to steal what is so obviously rightfully mine.
