He had to go there. “Boring? I could get a really thick book of my own and join his cause.”
“Oh no, did I just lose my zombie hunter?”
“Are you offering me the job?”
“Well, there’s one more step. Friday night a group of us are going to watch a movie at the Cineplex. Coincidentally enough, it’s the newest zombie one. It will be your official study guide.”
I notice he made a point of saying a group would be there; it wouldn’t be just the two of us or anything. He’s definitely not interested in me. So this confirms the fact that he is perfect best-friend material.
“Are you up for it?” he asks.
I have a very sensitive gag reflex and watching maggot-eaten skin for two hours probably isn’t the smartest idea. “Yeah, sure. What time?”
“The movie starts at eight.”
“Okay.” It’s silent for a few moments.
“Addison? Can you hold on a minute?”
“Sure.”
“What’s up, little man?” I hear him ask. I’m not trying to listen in on his conversation, but he’s not attempting to hide it.
“Will you play catch with me?” the voice of a young boy says.
“I can’t today. Sorry.”
“But the doctor said this week, right?”
“Two more weeks.” Trevor’s voice sounds tight. The little boy lets out a disappointed groan, and Trevor says, “You’re tellin’ me.”
My eyes wander to my bare walls. They’re an empty canvas, waiting for me to decorate.
The boy continues, “Oh, Ma called and said to tell you to put dinner in the oven because she’s going to be late.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.” To me Trevor says, “Sorry about that.”
“What happened to you?” I ask.
“Excuse me?”
“Why can’t you throw?” I think about the two purple scars down his right shoulder. “How did you get hurt?”
“Playing football.”
I keep a groan from voicing its opinion. “You’re a football player?”
“I was last year, before I got hurt.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, pretty much. So, anyway, I have to go, but did you need a ride to the movie or did you just want to meet us over there?”
“I don’t have a car yet.” Another casualty lost to the move. Even though my car is ancient, it’s still more advanced than anything they have here, so I had to leave it behind. My dad promised to get me a Norm-friendly car soon.
“Okay, I’ll come get you then.”
“Thanks. I’ll just text you my address.”
I hang up and pocket my phone with a smile. I have a friend. I’m proud of myself. I spin around and nearly trip over the basket full of clean and folded laundry near the foot of my bed. The phone in my pocket vibrates, and I answer before the number has time to register on the screen. “Calling to cancel already?”
“Cancel what?” Laila asks.
“Oh! Hey!”
“You sound happy. Why are you happy?”
I start to put away my laundry. “Because I’m going out with Trevor and his friends on Friday.”
“Aw, I’m like a proud mother bird watching my daughter fly from the nest. Fly, little bird, fly. Oh no! Don’t fall. No, that’s the ground. Addie, watch out for the ground. Man, tough luck. You’d better come back home.”
I stick out my bottom lip. “Was that supposed to be encouraging?”
“No, but it amused me. And I’m ready for you to come home.”
“Why?” One of the cuffs on a pair of folded jeans is sticking out farther than the other, so I refold them.
“Because you’re my best friend.” She sounds down.
“There’s another reason. What is it?”
“It’s just … it’s just nothing. I miss you. So tell me about Trevor.”
She can’t get off that easy. “Laila, talk to me.”
“You just keep me grounded, that’s all. Now, please do your job. So this Trevor guy is my supposed replacement?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
“You know that will never work. Boys and girls can’t be best friends. It’s impossible.”
I shake my head as if she can see me. “No, that’s not true. He fits all the criteria of a male best friend.”
“Okay, I’ll play. What are the criteria of a male best friend?”
“One: I feel completely comfortable around him, no nervousness or anxiety. Two: He’s really nice. And three: He doesn’t annoy me.”
“Wait, are you saying a love interest has to annoy you?”
“At first. And then eventually it’s realized that all that annoyance and mistrust is actually romantic tension.”
“Addie, you’re seriously screwed up.”
I add the folded jeans to a stack in the closet and then sit on my desk chair. My other line beeps, and I pull the phone away from my ear to see who’s calling. “Ugh, my mom.”
“Answer it,” Laila says.
“I don’t want to.”
“She nearly attacked me the other day at the grocery store asking how you were doing and if you were adjusting. It was pathetic.”
“If she wanted to know how I was doing, maybe she shouldn’t have left my dad.”
“You have to talk to her sooner or later.”