have two or three little snots and theyâll make up some crappy nickname for me, like Inky, and Iâll still be here in Gungee.â
âHow much of that vodka have you had?â
âNot enough.â
âWell youâre mad. You donât have to stay here. You can leave anytime you want.â
âIâve got no cash, no car, and my mum is pregnant and she needs me â she always needs me. You tell me how Iâmââ
âStop. Just stop, Kayla. Things will change. Life is going to work out fine.â
âHow can you say that? You donât know whatâs gunna happen.â
âSure I do. Iâll become rich and famous and I wonât forget you.â
âThanks.â
âNo problem. Iâll hire you as my maid.â
âThatâs right â make a joke of it. You think everythingâs a joke, Tiff, but itâs not.â
âHuh? I was only trying to lighten things up.â
âYeah, I know â and I gotta tell ya, it is so annoying when you do that. I donât need you to lighten up what I say â I need you to understand!â
âOkay, okay. I understand!â
âNo! You donât!â
âFine! Whatever you say, Kayla.â
The silence batters us. It builds to a crescendo. She breaks first.
âDamn you, Tiff. Now look what youâve done.â
âMe? What did I do?â
âYouâve made me feel guilty for being so mean . . . Iâm sorry.â
âYou were just being honest.â
âNo I wasnât. I was being jealous.â
âNo way! Of me?â
âYes, you. Your job . . . and now I feel awful, because I know youâd never be jealous of me.â
âDonât be so sure.â
âOh, Iâm sure all right. You never get jealous.â
âWrong, Kayla. Dead wrong. I just never show it.â
âYouâre kidding me, right?â
âNo. Iâm dead serious. Everyone likes you, Kayla. You fit in anywhere you go. You can eat anything you like and not put on weight â which isnât fair, but you canât help it â and youâre pretty and generous andââ
âAre you trying to make me throw up?â
âAll Iâve got is a smart mouth.â
âThatâs not true.â
âAnd like you say, that gets very annoying. I donât know why you have anything to do with me.â
âGood point. I donât know either. Why should I bother with someone who says such absolute garbage?â
âItâs true about you not putting on any weight . . .â
âOkay. From now on Iâm stocking up on chocolates and ice-creams. Watch this space. Skinny me is gone!â
âI donât want you to do that. You can be skinny. No oneâs perfect.â
âHey.â Her pinky finger nudges mine. âI love your smart mouth. I donât want you to change anything.â
I lean back against the cold stone and gaze around me. In among the dead there must be girls who were once like me and Kayla. They probably lived this very scene before us; asked the same questions about friendship, about life; wondered if it was all worthwhile. I think it is. Hope it is.
On saturday, while he had the Gunners for company, Reggie forgot about being sick and old. I took a ton of photos of him at the barbecue after the game: in his short shorts with his toothpick legs; tackling a giant beer like an ambitious sparrow; telling anyone who would listen what they did wrong and how he would have done it so much better. No one got upset with him. Reggieâs a legend, thatâs what they all said. I donât think he wanted that day to ever end.
But now itâs Monday. Heâs dressed up in his brown suit coat and pants and shiny black shoes. Wearing his natty felt hat, too â the one with the yellow feather stuck in the brim. He wants that with him when heâs
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