Parker walks in shortly after, joining Summer and Kash in perfecting moves that seem impossible. Mercedes rides for a while and then returns her bike and sits beside me, naming moves and spins, and telling stories about the group and her own experiences. This isn’t the first time I get lost in her words and completely forget that she’s only ten. The fact that she hasn’t been treated like a child—given the ability to pretend that the world holds only hope and potential—saddens me and broadens that maternal instinct I feel toward her.

“Dude, you aren’t watching! You’re going to miss it!” Mercedes cries, plunging a hand forward to redirect my attention to the ramps. I oblige and within seconds feel her head resting against my shoulder.

It feels like the biggest accomplishment I’ve yet achieved.

“WHAT ARE you doing?” I ask.

“Freaking out!”

I watch Allie pace her and Charleigh’s loft. Her neck is stretched forward and her shoulders are hunched as her eyes intently move around the crowded tables and fabric-covered floors. “What are you looking for?”

“The fabric I picked up last weekend!” Her eyes swing toward me with a look of anguish that makes my eyebrows rise. “Sorry.” Her apology is clipped, removing any trace of sincerity, but I accept it and move to the kitchen where I take a seat on a stool so as to be out of the way. It’s moments like these that I really resent Kenzie and her male visitors.

“Remember telling me I have a long torso, so empire waists look…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what you said, but you said to wear an empire waist dress.”

I track her as she rifles through her shared closet. Her hands are quick and aggressive but gentle as they shove the materials around.

“Yeah…”

“You know that silk we picked up last weekend when we were in Seattle that matched the cotton voile so well? It had the really big print with coral and black and gray? The cotton had the coral and gray with darker undertones.”

I saw so many fabrics at the store last weekend, I feel as though I can picture nearly any possible pattern. I have always loved clothes, and while some of the patterns were both thrilling and inspiring, others were completely overwhelming. The passion for design that Charleigh and Allie share makes my love for the arts expand into new regions. Since meeting them, my closet has grown and small accessories have been added. They both enjoy talking to me about sizes, patterns, colors, and shapes—things all artists like to brainstorm about. Allie feels that my knowledge and experience with drawing so many people and figures helps me see patterns better. I’m still not sure she’s right, but I’ve enjoyed working through some designs and the creation of some of her work. I nod absently and her eyes harden, recognizing it as a lie.

“How could you forget that fabric? It was gorgeous!”

“Do you know where Charleigh is? I tried calling and she didn’t answer,” I ask, deflecting her question.

“She was staying late to cut out some patterns.”

I nod a couple of times and slide from my stool. “Alright, well I’ll see you later.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Allie turns toward me, her hands on her head. “I’m just so stressed out about the show now that themes have been announced, and I really want to make a dress to wear to the show that doesn’t cover any of them to hopefully showcase another design.” Her hands drop, followed by a loud sigh. “I think I need Drew Barrymore. Let’s order Chinese and watch Ever After.”

“You and Charleigh and food. It’s like your comfort.”

“Food is comforting to most people. It provides memories and a good reason to sit down and talk, or not talk and just fill yourself with yummy goodness. It’s like whenever I’m feeling homesick, I always make English muffin pizzas. It’s not because they’re my favorite food or the best thing my mom made, but whenever my dad worked late, she and I would make them together.” Allie shrugs and takes a seat on the couch. “Didn’t you guys have food traditions?”

This time it’s my turn to shrug as I think back. “Not really.”

“Sunday dinners? Weekend breakfasts? After school snacks?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“Alright, well, new tradition: Chinese food is now the comfort food to cure long days and stress.”

“Deal,” I say, sitting beside her as she scrolls through the menu on her phone before calling in our order.

“How are things going with the new job? You seem happier lately.”

“I am. Things are improving. And that house was such a mess, and it’s finally starting to come together.”

“I can’t believe you’re still cleaning! It’s been a month!”

“I know, but when you discover the sink isn’t really taupe—it’s white—it takes a while.”

Allie’s nose wrinkles. “That’s disgusting.”

I nod. “And slow moving.”

“What’s slow moving?” Charleigh’s voice rings out.

“We’re just discussing how Lo became a maid.”

“I’m not a maid.”

“It sounds like they’re allowing you to be,” Allie says, flipping on the TV.

“It’s kind of weird, Lauren. It’s not like your room is super tidy.” Charleigh steps over my feet and sits beside Allie. The two of them have a special rhythm, a bond. Though they’ve become my best friends, I know they are best friends with each other, and I am their close friend. I try to not resent this because I don’t want them to be upset, or worse, feel guilty for being so close. The two share a love for fashion, reality TV, expensive fabrics, and similar childhoods. I’m an artist, so I can join in many of their conversations, enjoying most of them, but our focuses are often as different as night and day.

“We ordered Chinese,” Allie explains.

“Did you get it from Panda Box?”

“Yes,” Allie answers, flipping off the movie and pulling up their DVR. “And I got you the beef and broccoli and sugar snap pea chicken, the two dishes that are as close to a hamburger as possible.”

“Thanks, love. Lauren, how are you? You look happier today.”

“That’s what I said,” Allie cries enthusiastically, sensing their shared bond.

“I am. I’m really starting to enjoy working with Mercedes, and school is falling into a comfortable rhythm, finally. Things are going in a good direction.”

“Maybe you should ask Kashton out.” Allie’s words catch me so off guard it takes me a second to shake my head.

“No way. He’s my boss!”

“So what?”

“Allie’s right. You do seem to get along with him well,” Charleigh adds.

“We do because we’re friends. Besides, I’m pretty sure he and another woman he works with have a thing. That’s really beside the point though, because as much as I like Kash, I don’t have feelings like that for him.” I don’t. Sometimes I think I do, but each time I close my eyes and try picturing myself kissing him, nothing about it feels right.

“Because you’re still stuck on Mr. Stars.” My lips turn down in a frown as I look to Charleigh. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I know you say you’re over him, and I know it’s been months. I just still think it’s possible.”

“It’s not,” I say firmly.

“I heard there’s a party this weekend out by the Gorge. What do you think? We could go and see if he shows up?” Allie is reading the synopsis of a show, missing my scowl at her suggestion.

“You guys aren’t listening. I. Am. Over. Him. Nothing was even there to begin with!”

“Then why aren’t you dating anyone?” Allie turns her blue eyes on me with a leveling intensity.

“I don’t have the time to date!” My voice is exasperated, filled with annoyance for having to defend myself yet again about him.

“You don’t have to get worked up. It’s okay that you aren’t dating. But it’s also okay if you still have feelings for that guy, too. Look at Romeo and Juliet; they fell madly in love within a few days and then were ready to die just so they could be together.”