When You Were Everything Page 27

  My eyes widen, and when I rejoin Sydney at the hostess stand, she covers her mouth. “Did you know he was going to do that?” I whisper to her.

  She shakes her head. “No. But I bet Jase did.”

  I watch Mason for the first few jokes. The first one falls a little flat, but by the third one, he seems to have found his rhythm. The room is warming up and so is he. By the fifth one almost everyone laughs.

  Dom hasn’t left the kitchen, so I sneak back to check on him.

  “You okay in here?” I ask, and he nods, but he’s sweaty, and the line cooks are too. I can tell they’re working hard, and I might just be bothering him.

  “When do you take a break?” I ask.

  “In like twenty minutes,” he hollers over the roar of clanging pots and pans, the heat of moving bodies and fire.

  “Come find me,” I say, and just before I turn away he looks up at me and grins.

  “I will.”

  When I step back into the dining room, I head in Sydney and Willa’s direction. But before I reach them, I see that Willa and Sydney are holding hands. They haven’t exactly told me what their deal is yet, and I don’t want to force them into anything before they’re ready.

  I stand off to the side by myself to give Sydney and Willa a moment, and as I scan the rest of the room, I’m surprised to see a few seniors standing in a corner near the makeshift stage. Valeria is with them, and when our eyes meet, she smiles.

  “Hey, so a bunch of us signed up. Sorry in advance if there’s a lot of singing in a row,” Valeria says. The crowd starts clapping. They don’t mind. She steps up to the mic and says, “My name is Valeria, and I’m going to sing one of my favorite songs for you.”

  Her voice is like butter—melty and warm and kind of guiltily decadent. It sounds like something you’d want to eat in the middle of the night. I close my eyes and sink into the sound and I understand in an instant the difference between high school talent and the kind of singing that can make it big. If she wants to, Valeria could be famous.

  I spot Ms. Novak just as Valeria heads offstage. I asked her to come, but I wasn’t sure she’d show up. The crowd is clapping and whistling, and I see Novak whisper something to a guy standing beside her. It’s my dad. Mom isn’t here, which I’m grateful for, but seeing them together still rubs me the wrong way. To everyone else, even kids from school, they’re just two friends. But knowing that there’s more simmering below their surfaces makes something inside me turn red hot.

  Before I can get too upset, though, Dom comes up behind me and whispers into my ear. “How’s it going out here?” he asks.

  “Pretty good, but look,” I say, tipping my head in the direction of Ms. Novak and my dad. “That’s pissing me off,” I tell him.

  “Cleo,” he says. He steps in front of me and turns my head to face him so I’ll stop looking at my dad and Ms. Novak. “They’re adults. You can’t stop them from talking. You can’t really stop them from doing anything, and the only one you’re hurting right now is yourself.”

  He throws an arm across my shoulders. “Take it from me. Parents never do exactly what you want them to. You might as well get over that now. Plus, didn’t you tell Novak to come to hear your monologue?”

  I nod, and pout for a few more minutes. But then Jase comes over and starts cracking stupid jokes, and Mason hangs out too. I congratulate him on his comedy set and he blushes. Sydney and Willa walk over, cheeks blushy and hands still clasped, and I let myself be swept up in the music and the company. I let myself be grateful everything is going so well.

  I hadn’t told anyone but Dom, but the monologue I wrote is so intensely personal that I’m starting to get cold feet. The second there’s a bit of a lull in the steady stream of performers, Dom looks at me.

  “You can do this,” he says. “Remember, you’re doing it for yourself. And I guess also for Ms. Novak, so she doesn’t fail you.”

  I laugh and roll my eyes.

  “But seriously,” he says. “Don’t worry about anyone else.”

  I swallow hard and nod. I head up to the front, and Sydney applauds and howls like I’ve already performed something.

  “Hey again,” I say into the mic. There are so many people here, and I’m suddenly embarrassed and nervous. For a moment, I have more respect for the girls in chorus, and for Layla, than I ever have before.

  “I just have a little story I want to tell you guys.”

  I look at Novak, so she knows that this is my monologue, and my stomach feels like it’s in my throat. My eyes find Dom next, and he’s looking at me expectantly, just like everyone else in the diner. I worry that I’ve made a huge mistake.

  Just then, Layla walks through the door. She’s alone. I didn’t think she would come. But here she is.

  I take a deep breath. I step up to the mic.

  “The same song was playing the second I met my ex–best friend and the moment I realized I’d lost her,” I hear myself say. I look at Dom and he nods encouragingly. I look at my dad, and I have his rapt attention too. I don’t look at Layla again.

  “I met my best friend at a neighborhood cookout the year we would both turn twelve. It was one of those hot Brooklyn afternoons that always made me feel like I’d stepped out of my life and onto a movie set because the hydrants were open, splashing water all over the hot asphalt. There wasn’t a cloud in the flawless blue sky. And pretty black and brown people were everywhere.

  “I was crying. ‘What a Wonderful World’ was playing through a speaker someone had brought with them to the park, and it reminded me too much of my Granny Georgina. I was cupping the last snow globe she’d ever given me in my small, sweaty hands and despite the heat, I couldn’t help imagining myself inside the tiny, perfect, snow-filled world. I was telling myself a story about what it might be like to live in London, a place that was unimaginably far away and sitting in the palm of my hand all at once. But it wasn’t working. When Gigi had told me stories, they’d felt like miracles. But she was gone and I didn’t know if I’d ever be okay again.

  “I heard a small voice behind me, asking if I was okay. I had noticed a girl watching me, but it took her a long time to come over, and even longer to say anything. She asked the question quietly.”

  I take a deep breath before I say the next thing, because I know this could give it all away. That lots of people will know that this story I’m telling isn’t some monologue I found online from an off-Broadway play, or a story I made up on my own. After I say the next thing, everyone will know I’m talking about the very real me. And Layla.

  “I had never met anyone who…spoke the way that she did, and I thought that her speech might have been why she waited so long to speak to me. While I expected her to say ‘What’s wrong?’—a question I didn’t want to have to answer—she asked ‘What are you doing?’ instead, and I was glad.

  “I was kind of a weird kid, so when I answered, I said ‘Spinning stories,’ calling it what Gigi had always called it when I got lost in my own head, but my voice cracked on the phrase and another tear slipped down my cheek. To this day I don’t know why I picked that moment to be so honest. Usually when kids I didn’t know came up to me, I clamped my mouth shut like the heavy cover of an old book falling closed. Because time had taught me that kids weren’t kind to girls like me: Girls who were dreamy and moony-eyed and a little too nice. Girls who wore rose-tinted glasses. And actual, really thick glasses.” A few people laugh. “Girls who…thought the world was beautiful, and who read too many books, and who never saw cruelty coming. But something about this girl felt safe. Something about the way she was smiling as she stuttered out the question helped me know I needn’t bother with being shy, because she was being so brave. I thought that maybe kids weren’t nice to girls like her either.”

  I chance a glance at Layla then. She’s looking right at me for the first time in what feels like forever. I k
eep talking.

  “The cookout was crowded, and none of the other kids were talking to me because, like I said, I was the neighborhood weirdo. I carried around snow globes because I was in love with every place I’d never been. I often recited Shakespeare from memory because of my dad, who is a librarian. I lost myself in books because they were friends who never let me down, and I didn’t hide enough of myself the way everyone else did, so people didn’t ‘get’ me. I was lonely a lot. Unless I was with my Gigi.

  “The girl, she asked me if it was making me feel better, spinning the stories. And I shook my head. Before I could say what I was thinking—a line from Hamlet about sorrow coming in battalions that would have surely killed any potential I had of making friends with her”—the audience laughed again—“the girl tossed her wavy black hair over one shoulder and grinned. She closed her eyes and said, ‘Music helps me. And I love this song.’ ”

  I know Layla’s remembering that day now too.

  “When she started singing, her voice was so unexpected—so bright and clear—that I stopped crying and stared at her. She told me her name and hooked her arm through mine like we’d known each other forever, and when the next song started, she pulled me up and we spun in a slow circle together until we were both dizzy and giggling.

  “Some people would say that this was a coincidence, that I met this girl so soon after I’d lost Gigi while our favorite song was playing, and that her voice made me feel like everything would be all right before I even knew her name. But I’m a believer in signs.”

  I blink a few times, bringing myself back to the present. To this moment in Dolly’s Diner instead of that barbecue, years ago. This is my farewell to what we were to each other. I’m finally okay with saying goodbye to her, and this is the best way I know how.

  “I was right. She and I, we were friends for a long time. But things happen, and people change, and everything is different now. Still, I hope that girl knows that I’ll cherish the friendship we had forever. Even after everything.”

  Everyone applauds as I walk away from the mic and rejoin Sydney, Dom, and Willa standing along the wall.

  “I didn’t know you were going to do that!” Sydney says, shaking me by the shoulders. “It was amazing.”

  “That was kind of fucking beautiful,” Willa agrees. Her eyes are glassy, like she’s about to cry.

  “Thanks,” I say, “and yeah. Sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know if I’d lose my nerve or not, to be honest. But there’s clearly something you guys haven’t told me….” I look at them, pointing from Sydney to Willa and back again.

  “Oh, yeah.” Sydney blushes so darkly that her cheeks match her pink earrings. “We’re kissing now, but not putting a label on it just yet.”

  “To be clear, Syd is the one who doesn’t want a label yet. But you know, whatever.” Willa pulls Sydney to her by the belt loop and kisses her hard on the neck. I clap and grab their shoulders and say, “Yay, yay, yay!”

  A few other people, not kids from school, go up onstage next. And I’m feeling really good about everything. There’s a juggler, and another person who tells a personal story like I did. There’s someone who does a really bad slam poem, but I try not to be too judgmental. A guy even asks Miss Dolly about one of the paintings on the walls, the one of Ella Fitzgerald. They haggle a bit, and he ends up buying it. Dom disappears into the kitchen again to cook, and Sydney, Willa, and I grab a table when one finally opens up.

  About thirty minutes before close, Layla steps up to the mic, and I watch her dark eyes as they scan the crowded dining room. I wonder if she’s nervous being in front of so many strangers, but she’ll have to get used to it before she gets to London. Willa and Sydney are kissing again, but when Layla’s eyes land on me I poke them, and at the sight of Layla, they look over at me. “You good?” Willa asks, and Sydney says, “If she does anything even remotely bitchy I’ll murder her.”

  “How long’s that murder list now?” Willa asks jokingly, and Sydney glares at her.

  “Guys, shhhh,” I say.

  When the music starts, my heart swells at the familiar melody. And while I know that Layla is lost to me, maybe this is her goodbye to our friendship the same way my story was mine.

  She sings the first line of my favorite song—the song that was playing the day we met—beautifully.

  She watches me and no one else.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  So. This book was a hard one to write. All books are hard to write, I guess, but this one was an exceptional pain in the ass. Maybe because it was my second book, and second books are notoriously difficult. Maybe it was because 2018 was an all-around god-awful year. But mostly, I think it was because I’ve lost close friends several times over the course of my life in incredibly painful ways, and as much as I wanted to write this book, mentally, emotionally, and sometimes even physically, my body did not want to cooperate.

  That said, it’s FINISHED! And I couldn’t have done it without the kindness, patience, and sometimes tough love of so many generous and beautiful souls.

  To my forever-love, Cassidy Chin: Thanks for holding me down, boo.

  Parentals: You held my hand and wiped my tears after almost every friend-fight I’ve ever had. You listened when my feelings were hurt but never hesitated to tell me when I was wrong (especially you, Momma). I wouldn’t have made it down the rocky road of female friendship and epic heartbreak without knowing you’d catch me every time I fell. I’ll love you for always.

  Beth! Sorry I email you so much. But thanks for sticking with me even when I’m freaking out and even when I write awful first drafts that are complete and utter garbage. I can’t express to you how happy I am that I got so lucky. Ain’t no agent like the one I got.

  Kate Sullivan, editor of my heart: You just get me, girl. You sometimes know what I want a story to do before I’ve even figured it out (CAN WE TALK ABOUT THAT PLOT CHART/TIME LINE THINGIE???). I’m almost certain my work, words, and wounds won’t be afforded the same level of compassion and kindness they received while in your capable hands, and not gonna lie, I’m low-key mad you’re gone. But I still love you. Thanks for everything.

  Alex Hightower, you’re a rising star. I hope this industry recognizes your passion, your drive, your smarts, and your undeniable editor’s eagle eye. Thanks not only for always believing in Cleo and Dom’s love story, but for recognizing the importance of Cleo and Layla’s too. I was honestly a lot less freaked out about Kate moving on knowing this book had an Alex-shaped safety net. Stay cute.

  And to the rest of the Random House team: Beverly Horowitz, Emily Bamford, Colleen Fellingham, Angela Carlino, and Tracy Heydweiller: Your work, from copy edits to pitches to making the cover gorgeous, is so, so important to me. I see you and I love you for it.

  To everyone at Macmillan, especially Kathryn Little (the bestest boss in the whole wide world), thanks for allowing me the space to do this writing thing right. I wouldn’t want to spend every day with any other group of book nerds but you guys.

  I’ve got the biggest hugs for Melissa Yoon, Melissa Brice, Jess Elliott, and Kell Wilson. Thanks for reading all my stuff with the endurance of long-distance runners and for being the best besties. Love you like a fat kid loves cake.

  Shout out to my beta readers: Shveta Thakrar, Mark Oshiro, Greg Andree, Olivia Cole, Eric Smith, Naureen Nashid, and Bidisha Bhattacharya! Thank you for the long emails, text messages, late night gchats, emoji storms, and patience. This story is better in every way because of you.

  To the retreat baes—Tiffany Jackson, Dhonielle Clayton, Jalissa Corrie, Justin Reynolds, Saraciea Fennel, Kwame Mbalia, and Patrice Caldwell—bonding with each of you over words written and read, snacks and tea (literal and otherwise), home-cooked meals, inside jokes, and secrets has been an essential and irreplaceable part of this whole journey. You all feel like home.

  And to Nic: Thank you f
or your forgiveness, for your unrelenting friendship, and for telling me to be brave.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Ashley Woodfolk has loved reading and writing for as long as she can remember. She graduated from Rutgers University with a bachelor of arts in English and works in children’s book publishing. She wrote her first book, The Beauty That Remains, from a sunny Brooklyn apartment where she lives with her cute husband, her cuter dog, and the cutest baby in the world: her son, Niko. When You Were Everything is her second novel.

  @AshWrites

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