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JOSIE
Four Years Ago
Islide the strap of my school bag over my shoulder as I follow Elise out to the courtyard. My shirt clings to me, and I dab the back of my hand across my forehead, removing the sweat that has gathered.
Nick, John, and Eric are sprawled on top of the tables. Eric’s arm is folded behind his head as he reads. John is scrolling on his phone, and Nick is doing homework. I can’t imagine what homework he is doing, considering we mostly get time to do it in our free periods. That’s the thing about Nick. He always has to be ahead. Organised. Neat. Prepared. Unlike me, who realises we have an assignment the night before it’s due.
“Hi, friends,” Elise says breezily, plopping down on the seat beside John.
All boys turn to her with smiles and waves. Nick turns his head to me and stands. He curls an arm around my waist and draws me to him. I lean in, expecting him to kiss my lips, but he gently grazes my cheek before releasing me.
I slide in beside him, absently picking at my chipped nail polish.
“That’s an interesting colour choice,” Nick comments, his soft brown hair a little longer than usual, with a few light wisps in it from the sun. I love it long, but he always clips it super short. His mum likes it that way.
Glancing at the black polish, I shrug. I’ve never worn this colour. I always opt for light colours, rarely straying from pink or nude.
“I wanted to change it up.”
He frowns for a moment before looking back to his notebook. “I prefer what you usually do.”
I slip my hands underneath my thighs and lean forward.
“Can we go eat?” John asks, not looking up from his phone. “All I had was an apple for lunch, and I’m starving.”
“Why did you only have an apple?” Elise questions, tucking a piece of her long hair behind her ear, her multiple bracelets jingling with the movement. Every part of Elise is long and slender. She sweeps her hair back into a messy bun on the top of her head, the muscles in her arms dancing. I glance down at my own arms. Pale. Freckled. Chubby.
“I forgot my lunch money.”
Exhaling, I rock side to side. “Well, let’s go, then,” I agree. “This is boring.”
Eric groans as he reels into a sitting position, shaking his long hair out of his eyes. He stretches, bones cracking in his back, before he pushes to his feet, looming over us.
“Lessgo,” he says.
Nick slams his notebook shut and places it in his bag before standing. He reaches for my hand, and I slip mine into his, curling my fingers to hide the dark polish, suddenly wishing I never painted them that dark.
We pile into Eric’s grandfather’s car. The heat washes over me in a stifling wave. I wind the window down and stick my head out of it, trying to capture a breeze. The trip is short and bumpy. The air-con is busted, and the radio won’t turn on, so we are stuck listening to John recapping the latest TV show he’s been watching.
Elise is more polite than me, asking the right questions and feigning just enough interest to keep him talking. I can’t pretend to have any interest in what he talks about. It’s quickly becoming this way with all my friends. I don’t know why, but it’s happening more and more.
We arrive at the diner, and I rush inside, seeking the coolness. It isn’t much better, but anything would be better than being crammed inside that car with three teenage boys and Elise, whoalwaysshotguns the front seat.
“Hello.” Mr. Brown, the owner of the diner that has been here since before any of us were born, smiles. Mr. Brown has grey hair that’s almost white. His eyes are kind and his smile is welcoming as he passes out menus and gestures to one of the many vacant booths as if we don’t sit at the same one each time.
We all take our seats, and Nick throws his arm around the back of the leather seat. I lean so that my head rubs his arm, and he smiles.
“Your usual?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
“Do you want to share wedges?”
“Sure do!” John replies before I have time to.
Elise is sitting between John and Eric, like always. Both of them are half-turned in her direction. It’s almost comical how transparent they are with their feelings for her. She is either totally oblivious, or fantastic at faking that she doesn’t notice. Maybe she does, and she simply doesn’t care.
Mr. Brown appears with a notepad in his hand. “What can I get you folks today?”
