Bounce by Natasha Friend Page A

house.
    â€œJessie Kapler?” I said. “Are you sure?”
    â€œYes,” said Mrs. Anthony. “You remember Jessie Kapler. From the cheerleading squad?”
    Yes, I remember Jessie Kapler from the cheerleading squad. Jessie Kapler is the Maine version of Andrea—picture Andrea with hairspray and press-on nails—and she has always been wayyyy out of our league, friendship-wise. Jessie Kapler, who used to make fun of Raquel’s accent and Ann’s nose, who called them “The Two ‘Tards,” in front of everyone.
    â€œSure,” I told Mrs. Anthony. “I remember.”
    That is when she gave me Jules’s cell phone number. Because now, apparently, Jules has her own cell phone. Not that she bothered to tell me.
    â€œOh my God, you guys,” Jules is saying. “Listen to this. Evyn’s (hahahaha) stepmother (hahahaha) gave her the naked (hahahaha)…Oh my God…I can’t breathe…HAHAHAHA! Heimlich!”
    In the background, peals of girl laughter. I have to pull the phone away from my ear, they’re so loud.
    â€œThanks a lot, Jules,” I say, when things have finally calmed down. “Thanks for being such a fantastic friend. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
    â€œEvyn, come on. You have to admit it’s funny.”
    â€œIs it now?”
    â€œYes!”
    â€œNo. It’s not. It’s not funny.” My voice catches in my throat. “This is my life we’re talking about, and you’re supposed to be my best friend. Efftees, remember? Friends ‘til the end?”
    Jules is quiet for a minute. I can hear whispering and then giggling in the background.
    â€œYeah, um, Evyn? We’re getting a little old for that, don’t you think? The whole best friend thing…it’s, like, juvenile, you know?”
    â€œJuvenile,” I repeat.
    â€œUm, yeah,” she says.
    â€œI see.”
    It’s total silence after that. There’s nothing else to say. Any words that might have considered leaving my mouth a few minutes ago are now clinging to the back of my teeth.
    Jules doesn’t say anything more.
    So I hang up, without even telling her good-bye.
    As if that’s not bad enough, Birdie tries to apologize. He finds me outside and walks right over to where Clam and I are sitting.
    â€œHey, Ev,” he says.
    I bury my nose in Clam’s neck and say nothing.
    â€œSorry about earlier,” he says. “About the, uh, shower scene…We should have, uh…remembered to lock the door. But we weren’t expecting anyone to, uh…walk in. And, uh, Ithink you’re old enough and mature enough to understand that when two married people, uh…”
    I lift my head and stare at him.
    â€œThat when two married people love each other—”
    Ugh.
    â€œIt’s only natural that—”
    â€œBirdie.”
    â€œMaking love is a way of expressing—”
    â€œBirdie!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œStop trying to explain it to me! God!”
    He takes a breath and lets it out in one long, slow stream. “You don’t want to talk about what happened?”
    â€œNo. Way.”
    â€œOkay,” he says, and it’s obvious how relieved he is. “I can respect that. I can respect your feelings about that.”
    I stare at him. Since when? I think. Since when do you respect my feelings about anything?
    But I can’t get myself to say it out loud.
    Stella? It’s me, Evyn.
    Don’t even bother because I know what you’re about to say. “Bounce.” Don’t let what Jules says bother me. Don’t let what Birdie says bother me. Don’t let what Andrea says or Eleni says or anyone else says bother me. Don’t let anything bother me. Just “bounce.” Well, guess what? Bouncing is a crock. It doesn’twork. And neither does talking to you about anything. So, I’m done. These little chats of