after Donovan dropped me off—to hang out with Betsy for the evening and to pretend this was just another event in a normal teenage girl’s life.
Though surprised to see me, Betsy had dedicated herself to a weekend of heavy partying, and nothing was going to deter her from her agenda.
She just thrust a bottle of Old Style at me Saturday night and then loudly introduced me to the gang before returning to the sofa, where she was wedged between a lava lamp and a beefy looking guy named Stan.
The next morning, though, my friend’s curiosity returned.
“Why did it take you so long to get here?” Betsy asked for the third time, attempting to rub away a hangover with the pads of her fingers. She winced. “Were you with a guy?”
I didn’t trust myself to answer this directly, so I shook my head. “I just needed to research something without my parents wondering where I was.”
“Research what?”
“Um…colleges,” I blurted. I didn’t know why I said that, but it seemed to be a reasonable response. A normal teenage girl kind of explanation. Versus the truth, which was not exactly normal .
My friend raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re back to maybe going to the Twin Cities in the fall?”
Betsy and I had planned to go to college together in our early years of high school. Before the disappearance. Then my plans for the future had stalled. Betsy’s hadn’t.
“I doubt I could get in for the fall,” I told her, trying to be honest whenever I could. “I may have already missed the application deadline. But I’m thinking of maybe trying to register for the second semester.” I forced a smile. “That’d be fun, right?”
Betsy agreed right away, but I wasn’t blind. Hangover or not, there was a flash of guardedness in my friend’s eyes. A sudden crease in the middle of her forehead that she smoothed away—just not fast enough.
It was clear she’d already begun to construct her upcoming college experience without the tragic story of her high-school best friend. Someone whose personal drama would, no doubt, draw attention away from her lightness and add an unwanted shadow to an otherwise fresh, new adventure.
Not that Betsy would ever admit to this. I knew she cared about me and our friendship. Had stood by me through all of my stages of grief. I could even understand why she’d appreciate a little natural distance between us.
Still, the realization that my best friend had been hoping to cut ties… hurt . Made me wish I couldn’t so often guess what people were thinking.
“Nothing is for sure,” I said with a shrug. “I figured my parents wouldn’t be thrilled about the idea, so I just wanted to have time to get some info without them suspecting anything. I’ll probably need to wait a year or two to go anywhere anyway.”
“Well, keep me posted,” she said, the urgency in her voice tinged with relief. Then she sort of laughed. “So, there’s really no secret guy?”
“Of course not.” I laughed, too. “If there was one, wouldn’t I tell you?”
“Yeah,” Betsy said, although her tone actually said, “Probably.”
As I was getting ready to leave and, finally, return home, my friend asked if I wanted to get together on Friday night. “Maybe see the movie that’s coming to town?” she suggested. “I keep hearing about ‘Grease,’ but I don’t know if it’ll be any good.”
“Sure,” I replied, fully intending to cancel in a few days. I’d likely be spending the night getting ready for the trip—with or without Donovan. Either way, I was headed to Chicago no later than Saturday morning. “It looked kind of silly in the previews—all those poodle skirts and Fifties songs—but I bet it’ll be fun.” For someone else.
“Great!” Betsy said, seeming happy to be on such a neutral, easy subject. “See you then, if not before.”
I waved goodbye and drove home, the sheer commitment of what I’d planned to do the following weekend settling on my shoulders like
Though surprised to see me, Betsy had dedicated herself to a weekend of heavy partying, and nothing was going to deter her from her agenda.
She just thrust a bottle of Old Style at me Saturday night and then loudly introduced me to the gang before returning to the sofa, where she was wedged between a lava lamp and a beefy looking guy named Stan.
The next morning, though, my friend’s curiosity returned.
“Why did it take you so long to get here?” Betsy asked for the third time, attempting to rub away a hangover with the pads of her fingers. She winced. “Were you with a guy?”
I didn’t trust myself to answer this directly, so I shook my head. “I just needed to research something without my parents wondering where I was.”
“Research what?”
“Um…colleges,” I blurted. I didn’t know why I said that, but it seemed to be a reasonable response. A normal teenage girl kind of explanation. Versus the truth, which was not exactly normal .
My friend raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re back to maybe going to the Twin Cities in the fall?”
Betsy and I had planned to go to college together in our early years of high school. Before the disappearance. Then my plans for the future had stalled. Betsy’s hadn’t.
“I doubt I could get in for the fall,” I told her, trying to be honest whenever I could. “I may have already missed the application deadline. But I’m thinking of maybe trying to register for the second semester.” I forced a smile. “That’d be fun, right?”
Betsy agreed right away, but I wasn’t blind. Hangover or not, there was a flash of guardedness in my friend’s eyes. A sudden crease in the middle of her forehead that she smoothed away—just not fast enough.
It was clear she’d already begun to construct her upcoming college experience without the tragic story of her high-school best friend. Someone whose personal drama would, no doubt, draw attention away from her lightness and add an unwanted shadow to an otherwise fresh, new adventure.
Not that Betsy would ever admit to this. I knew she cared about me and our friendship. Had stood by me through all of my stages of grief. I could even understand why she’d appreciate a little natural distance between us.
Still, the realization that my best friend had been hoping to cut ties… hurt . Made me wish I couldn’t so often guess what people were thinking.
“Nothing is for sure,” I said with a shrug. “I figured my parents wouldn’t be thrilled about the idea, so I just wanted to have time to get some info without them suspecting anything. I’ll probably need to wait a year or two to go anywhere anyway.”
“Well, keep me posted,” she said, the urgency in her voice tinged with relief. Then she sort of laughed. “So, there’s really no secret guy?”
“Of course not.” I laughed, too. “If there was one, wouldn’t I tell you?”
“Yeah,” Betsy said, although her tone actually said, “Probably.”
As I was getting ready to leave and, finally, return home, my friend asked if I wanted to get together on Friday night. “Maybe see the movie that’s coming to town?” she suggested. “I keep hearing about ‘Grease,’ but I don’t know if it’ll be any good.”
“Sure,” I replied, fully intending to cancel in a few days. I’d likely be spending the night getting ready for the trip—with or without Donovan. Either way, I was headed to Chicago no later than Saturday morning. “It looked kind of silly in the previews—all those poodle skirts and Fifties songs—but I bet it’ll be fun.” For someone else.
“Great!” Betsy said, seeming happy to be on such a neutral, easy subject. “See you then, if not before.”
I waved goodbye and drove home, the sheer commitment of what I’d planned to do the following weekend settling on my shoulders like
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