BooksBarbecue
Back When We Were Friends
Chapters (52)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. Dedication
  4. About the Author
  5. 31
  6. 14
  7. 31
  8. 14
  9. 31
  10. 14
  11. 31
  12. 14
  13. 31
  14. 15
  15. 31
  16. 16
  17. 32
  18. 16
  19. 32
  20. 17
  21. 32
  22. 17
  23. 32
  24. 17
  25. 32
  26. 17
  27. 32
  28. 18
  29. 32
  30. 18
  31. 32
  32. 18
  33. 32
  34. 18
  35. 32
  36. 18
  37. 32
  38. 18
  39. 32
  40. 18
  41. 32
  42. 18
  43. 32
  44. 18
  45. 32
  46. 32
  47. 33
  48. 33
  49. 33
  50. Acknowledgments
  51. Discussion Questions
  52. Booklist

She giggled again, turning the color of her purple lipstick. “I think it was number twelve thousand and eighty-three. ‘The first proper day of autumn.’”

“Oh, that was a brilliant one.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want more than one key ring?” I asked, but she shook her head. There was nothing else to say, but Caroline lingered, apparently uninterested in joining Stacy’s anaconda queue. We smiled at each other, and I was trying to figure out what, exactly, was going on, when...

“So, actually, I was wondering if you could help me. You see, I really want to become a journalist...” Caroline launched into a preprepared monologue about her career ambitions as if this was a job interview. I blinked and smiled as she talked me through her CV, and as I tried to figure out a polite way of telling her that, no, I couldn’t get her a job at Gah!. “Yeah, so I sent Vogue the first page of my dissertation, but I never heard back. Do you have an email for them that works?”

More minutes passed as Caroline told me in detail about her work experience placement at a local newspaper, until, mercifully, a person joined the queue behind her. “So, at Gah! do you take on anyone...”

I held up my hand. “I’m so sorry, Caroline, but there’s someone waiting.”

“Oh, right.” She glanced behind her.

Now that I knew she would leave, I found space for generosity. I’d been where she’d been. Young, and hungry, and desperate to know the secret four-figure code that opens the door to your dream life. “Honestly, you’re doing all the right things,” I told her. “Be patient. It will happen. And thanks so much for coming tonight.”

“Bye then.” Caroline left without a thank-you, and I reminded myself this is what you can expect of people who fetishize the seasons, particularly autumn.

I closed my eyes to collect my remaining energy for my third and final key ring fan. I would be grateful. I would be warm. I would be patient. The evening was almost over.

“Sorry to keep you...” I said, looking up. “...oh my God. Jessica!”

And, like that, the theater wiped away, and I was a teenager again.

14

september 2000

I wiped a mascara blob off the mirror and took in the novelty of my reflection. Somehow my school uniform still fitted, which seemed impossible as I hadn’t worn it for over six months. It wasn’t even 8:00 a.m., but the late summer heat raged on outside. No breeze fluttered through my window, but I still wouldn’t be wearing my short-sleeved blouse to the first day back to school. I was calculating exactly how far I could push up my jumper cuffs before you got to the scars. Today, of all days, everyone would be looking for them.