Part 5 (1/2)
”He shouldn't be treated like this.”
”I know, Jeannie. I know. I'm going to talk to him today, I swear.”
”You're sc.u.m, Emili Jones.” She got up from the bench and walked off. And even though she wasn't much of a friend anymore, I felt like I'd been punched.
When I got to my house, it was half past four. I knew Marc wouldn't be home yet. Even though basketball season hadn't started, conditioning had. The team hit the weight room twice a week after school, meaning Marc couldn't get home till after five.
I clutched my phone. Should I text him to break up? I thought about girls wailing like banshees in the bathroom because some guy had dumped them by text. Breaking up by text was spineless and I'd even said so a few times. Never in a hundred years would I have guessed I'd even consider it.
But then, I wasn't the same Emili as a few days ago. Who knew what I thought anymore? The new Emili would break up with a guy by text, and she wouldn't give it a second thought.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I started texting, spelling out the words so there could be no mistake. Marc, I think we should take a break.
I pushed send and closed my phone. There, I'd done it. It was official.
But as the evening wore on, I did give it a second thought. It stuck in my mind like a scab I couldn't scratch off.
I didn't think this new Emili and I were going to get along at all.
Chapter Five.
When my phone rang, I jumped, expecting it to be Marc. I saw Farah's number and took a quick breath. How was it possible I'd forgotten all about her?
”Where were you today?”
”h.e.l.lo to you, too,” she said.
”Don't even answer me. I already know. Lance told me you were with Pete. Farah, are you crazy? What did you do? Does your mom know you skipped?”
”Whoa, take a breath, Inspector. What's with you?”
”I was worried. Are you okay? What'd you do? Or do I even want to know?”
Farah started gus.h.i.+ng over the phone. ”It was the best day I've had in a long time. Pete's the nicest guy I've ever known. We talked and talked forever.” She paused. ”Not that it's any of your business.”
”You talked all day. Just talked? Farah, I'm your friend, remember. I know you.”
”My friend, Emili, not my mother.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. ”You're right. I'm not your mother.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
Then why did I sometimes feel like her mother? The whole thing was ridiculous and weird. I bit my lip. Fine then, I wouldn't worry about her. Let her get in trouble and be expelled. See if I cared.
”You still there?” she asked, her tone turning soft and friendly. ”Sorry. And thanks for worrying about me. It's sweet.”
”Right.”
”No, I mean it. Thanks for worrying. You forgive me?”
I was silent.
”Come on, Emili. Please.”
And just like that, I did forgive her - which is what I always did anyway. ”Next time, could you at least text me back and tell me you're okay?”
”I'll try.”
”Are you at home now?”
”Yes, and I'll be back at school tomorrow. For the record, I was sick today. I had a cold, you know, a real stuffed-up nose. I couldn't possibly have gone to school. Got it?”
”Got it, but didn't the school call your mom to check on you?”
”Of course they did, but I was home in the morning. Mom knew. Then when she went out later, so did I.”
”You should have texted me back.”
”So you've said. But it was so much fun and I couldn't bear to be interrupted. And we're talking now, and all is forgiven, right?”
”All's forgiven,” I said. Strangely, I thought about Jeannie right then. I missed her - and the friends.h.i.+p we'd shared. And I hadn't missed her in months and months. I closed my eyes and remembered her constant chatter and easy laugh. I'd laughed a lot with Jeannie.
”You still there?” Farah asked.
”I'm still here, but I'm expecting another call. So I guess I'll see you tomorrow.” I hung up, not sure why I didn't tell Farah about breaking it off with Marc.
I closed my phone and dropped it on my bed. Why hadn't he called yet? I knew he would. I started pacing around my room. My perfume. I could work on my perfume. I walked to my dresser and picked up the dark bottle of jojoba oil. Usually, I made perfume using essential oils from flowers or fruit. Lately, I'd been going for a woody scent. I'd already tried mixing sandalwood and cedar wood oils with the jojoba, but the combination smelled like a stuffy cabin. I'd even let it sit longer than two weeks trying to mellow it out, but the musty smell remained.
Last week, I'd bought some cypress oil. Maybe if I put eight drops into the jojoba with a few drops of cinnamon it would balance out into a nice scent. I opened my log book where I kept careful notes of all my perfume recipes. Then I began lining up my supplies. If it came out well, I could try it out on Lance to see if he liked it.
There was a knock.
”Yeah?”
The door opened and my sister, Sarah, stuck her head in. ”What are you doing?”
”Making perfume.”
She waltzed through the door - Sarah waltzed everywhere. She wanted to be a famous ballerina, so she pretended she was on stage all day long. The thing was, she kind of looked like a ballerina, flowing blonde hair, long skinny legs, nose in the air.
”Can I smell it?”
”I'm not even close to being finished.”
She plopped on my bed.
”Dad's gone again. Won't be home for dinner.”