Nadya

I’ve always invited Nadya to the lake house. It's not even something we ever discussed. Just me squeezing her hand, and her showing up with a duffle and a sleeping bag. 

We shared the bed of course. But she still brought her sleeping bag. Every time, as if in preparation for some kind of natural disaster. 

By the end of the summer it would end up kicked under a dresser, covered in soda and crumbs.

It was the last day of school. The kind of day where the air is sticky and ants seem to crawl throughout your hair. 

I was in bio, the lab table blurring as Mr. Higgins delivered his halfhearted speech. I wished I could turn my head to the right and glance at Nadya, sharing a moment of lackadaisical boredom. But she wasn’t there. Of course not. 

Her soccer team had another match, another match as if school wasn’t ending in a matter of hours. 

As if the success of a highschool soccer team mattered at all. 

I shoved that thought back into the drawer where I kept everything better left unsaid, next to cobwebs and a pile of dust. Soccer made her happy. And that was what mattered. 

As long as I could make her happy too. 

Kicking the underside of the table could only provide so much enjoyment, especially when one's best friend was out in the sun, face ruddy and eager. 

I clenched my teeth, only opening my mouth again for a sigh of relief when the clock struck three.

Opening the door I saw the linoleum adorned hallways already blurred in a mess of children and teachers, papers scattering the floor.

My bike was still outside, scrapped up but still ready to go. I pulled my hair back, imagining for a second I still carried around red hair barrettes, before tying it up with a ponytail holder. Nadya’s game finished at three. She would meet me at the diner by three thirty. 

Biking isn’t a strong suit of mine as much as it was a skill taken up by pure necessity. Nadya, primarily drove me to school, but of course, as she seemed to enjoy reminding me, she was busy, and growing busier everyday.

She was a junior, I understood that. She had college to worry about. And soccer. And debate club. The list went on. 

But it was fine.

I had my bike, and I had a phone with earbuds. And if you think about it, that's a pretty good way to get home. 

The diner was only a five minute drive from school. Ideal because I didn’t have to go onto any busy streets. Unideal because it meant inevitably running into a pack of kids from school and having to deal with the awkward stares that accompanied seeing someone outside of their natural habitat. 

I pedaled, music in my ears. 

Nadya hated that I listened to music while I rode. The first time I mentioned it, her face paled and she gave me continuous rides for a week. 

I know it's dangerous. But the melody and slight breeze of summer air on my face makes it feel ok. And, in the back of my head, I know the twinge of guilt in Nadya’s eyes helps.

I pull up to the front of the diner, already recognizing the cars of several classmates. No beat-up white kia though. With a dent on the back from when we panicked over a spider in the glove box and she braked too hard. 

I’m hesitant to go in alone, armed with nothing but a phone and ten dollars, but common sense prevails over anxiety. I’m sure by now there are hardly any seats left.

I don’t bother locking my bike to the rack. It's a small town, and, the closer I get to seeing Nadya, the less I care about an old bike with a front wheel that always seems to deflate. 

The only class we had together was bio, a lucky combination of scientific aptitude on my part, and scientific apathy on hers. 

I slid into the building, squeezing through the door behind a group of freshmen. Just as I worried, the diner is filled with students, a trash bin next to the door piled high with half destroyed notebooks and folders. A history test with a crimson D lies on top of the heap. 

I make eye contact with a flummoxed waiter trying to prevent Justin Leege (third period English) from setting his burger on fire, and seat myself. 

I guess it's alright if service is slow. I wouldn’t want the food to get here before my friend.

Absentmindedly, I rip open a packet of salt, watching the grains spill out onto the table.

Nadya used to make salt circles around the slugs on our sidewalk. I would watch her, tiny fingers with flowers painted on each nail, as she titled the shaker, ever so gently, downward. 

I never said anything, never insinuated that I hated it, but one day the slight bite of my lip must have given me away and with a glance at me, she stopped.

I spread the salt out. Even though it's been years since we played on the sidewalk, I can still make a perfect circle. 

My mouth is already starting to curl into a smile when I look up, feeling the presence of someone else. Instead, I’m greeted with a tired looking woman, who glances down at my salt ring and then back at me, eyes heavy. 

“Ready to order?” She questions.

I brush a strand of hair back, debating internally over ordering now or holding off for Nadya. 

A quick look at the table next to mine, who arrived before me and are still waiting for their drinks, makes up my mind.

“A banana milkshake, and a chocolate one too, please? And also some fries?” 

The woman nods, not bothering to write it down, before heading through the fray of teengers into the kitchen. 

I watch her figure retreating, heart leaping when I see Abby Lau sitting in the corner with her friends. She's on the soccer team.

I judge her expression, trying to gauge whether they won or not. She's smiling, braids frizzy, with her uniform still on. No real indicator. 

Should I ask her?

I’m pretty sure I can list the amount of people I’ve held a conversation with since high school began, and I’ve definitely never crossed paths with her before. She's a senior, and though she was in my Spanish class freshman year, that's about the closest we’ve ever come to talking. 

But if they won and I knew before Nadya told me, it would make me look like the most dedicated friend she had. 

I stare at her for a few more seconds, thankful for the diner’s chaotic interior. 

She looks happy enough though that I feel I can take an educated guess. 

With one motion, I brush the salt onto the floor. The good thing about seeing Abby meant that Nadya would be here any minute. Her hair, dark and long, looked great in braids. I wondered if she would be in her soccer uniform, the number 23 ironed neatly onto the back. 

I waited another second, feeling the stupidly strong urge to rip open another salt packet. She must be changing then. Maybe even taking a shower, though I wouldn’t bet on that. 

The milkshakes and fries come, both shakes placed down next to me. I slide the chocolate one across the table, for some reason feeling my face grow red. 

I glance back over at Abby. Was I sure she was on the soccer team? Maybe I had misheard. Maybe that was a uniform for the softball team, or lacrosse, or any other high school sport that, just like soccer, didn’t matter.

Stop it.

I dig my nails into my palms. What was wrong with me?

I take a sip of my milkshake. I had wanted to wait until Nadya got here, but sitting around, watching it melt, didn’t sound ideal. 

Tapping my nails across the dirty glass, the sweet taste of artificial banana fills my mouth. 

Why isn’t she here yet?

I frowned, and with petty resolution pulled the plate of fries closer to me. It wasn’t her fault. I knew that. And guilt was already settling inside me for being so irrationally annoyed in the first place. 

I mean, what kind of person gets mad when her friend gets delayed by a few minutes? 

I wrap my fingers around the milkshake glass, the cold substance stinging my hand. 

Slowly, the diner clears out, leaving behind a trail of crumpled paper, spilled drinks, and the slight smell of weed. Abby and her friends are still in the corner, a huge tray of nachos between all of them. 

I had finished my milkshake, and the fries are just about gone as well. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the waitress glaring at me. 

I take a deep breath as she moves in my direction, mentally calculating up the cost. Two milkshakes, one plate of fries. Two milkshakes, one plate of fries. No matter how much I repeat it, the cost always comes out the same. 11.25. 

And no matter how many times I count up my money, it’ll always just be ten dollars. 

“You finished?” the waitress questions, scooping up my glass. 

I glance around the room, now mostly empty. Even Abby's friends are standing up. 

“Um, no, not yet.” I mutter, hastily pulling Nadya’s untouched drink closer to me. 

“Well. Take your time, but we close in fifteen.”

Fifteen? I whip my head around towards the window, and can only stare when I realize how dark it is. 

I think of me, riding my bike along the road soon, and feel sick. 

One crisis at a time. I remind myself. 

I spread my ten onto the table, combined with the quarter I found on the floor. I guess I could just give her this and hope for the best. 

I kick the seat opposing mine, a shock ringing through my toes. Worry courses through me, overriding my annoyance. Something must have happened with Nadya. Something really bad, since she hasn’t even responded to my messages. 

When Nadya was eight, and I was seven, I had broken my arm jumping out my bedroom window. She had visited me everyday, adding large splashes of color to my cast. Her signature had been the only one on it, and by the time I had healed, the cast was covered in tic tac toe games, joint doodles, and scrawled confessions. 

She had made me feel so much better. Now it would be my turn to do that for her. 

I pictured her car, a tangled wreck of metal, lying by the side of the road. The EMTs, lifting her up, black braids coated in dirt. 

The shriek of an ambulance, and the low murmur of a walkie talkie. 

And when she wakes up, her first thought will be of me. 

I snap out of it, cringing. Whatever actually happened to her, it’ll be terrible. And I can’t romanticize it, I just have to be there for her. 

The waitress heads back my way, and I prepare to take a gamble. 

“Here!” I squeak, handing her the money as she hands me the bill.

With narrowed eyes, she examines it. “I need another dollar.” she finally sighs. 

My heart beats “can I come back tomorrow? And um… can I give it to you then?” 

She stares at me in a state of what seems to be irritated disbelief. “Fine.”

I swallow. “Right. Ok.” I stand. “Sorry!”

Just as I’m about to flee, the door bangs open. 

Nadya likes to be loud. She likes attention. She craves the dramatic.

And so of course, when she ran into the dinner, it was an occurrence.

She was still in her uniform, braids tightly wound, a grin plastered on her face. 

“Alice!” she laughed “we won!” 

She jumped, throwing herself at me with a laugh. “Is this for me?” she asked, leaning over and taking a long sip of her milkshake. “Ugh, kinda melted” she grunted. “But whatever”

Despite myself, I laugh. Her energy, her larger than life persona, all of it reminds me of why I love her.

Then the words slip from my mouth “yeah. Maybe it wouldn’t be melted if you had gotten here on time” I try to keep my words light, but they come out angular and sharp. 

Nadya looks at me, head tilted “oh god.” she mutters, “yeah I’m sorry about that. The game literally just ended.” she gestures to her outfit with a smile “I didn’t even change after it ended, just rushed over here.”

In an instant, my entire body feels crushed. I look over at Abby's table, where the half eaten nacho tray still remains. 

“Oh.” is all I can utter. I slide back into the booth. 

Nadya bounces down next to me. “I mean seriously Alice, the other team? They were…” she trails off to take another slurp of her milkshake. “Really good. And we beat them!”

Her joy is infectious, and I smile at her. Maybe Abby really isn’t on the team. “Was Abby goalie?” I ask cautiously, eyes cutting over to her table again.

Nadya sighs “yeah. She saved us more times than I can count.” she smiles again. “So what's the bill? We can split.” 

I eye her, feeling my insides boiling. “Um. Eleven bucks.” I mutter, glancing away. 

Pathetic. Pathetic.

“But I already paid most of it. Do you have a dollar? And five cents?”

She grins and opens her purse “thanks for covering. Do you want me to drive you home?”

PATHETIC.

I frown “but you… you just got here.” 

She gives me a side hug as she finishes the milkshake “yeah I know. But Alice, the soccer girls are all gonna hang out tonight. To celebrate.” 

She pouts when she sees my face.

“This is probably the last time I’m gonna see the seniors. And if I’m going to be a captain next year, I need to be there during moments like this.”

She stands “Alice don’t be mad. You’ve never been on a team like this so you wouldn’t know, but stuff like this is super important.”

I turn away for a second, composing myself. Pathetic. After all this, I still need her.

I face her, smiling “yeah no I get it. You should totally go! I’ll see you all summer anyway.”

The relief on her face is clear “Oh my gosh thank you Alice! I knew you’d understand. And yeah, totally if preseason doesn’t get in the way. Then yes. Let's hang out.”

As suddenly as she entered, she leaves, the only sign she was even here, is the crumpled one dollar bill on the table. Still five cents short.

I don’t let myself cry, just head outside, where, thankfully, the air is still semi warm. 

For years, Nadya's favorite sweater had been a green one. It had pretty white buttons, and, when she let me try it on, I discovered how soft and warm clothing could be. She loved that sweater. Then one day I saw it at Goodwill, folded on top of a pair of skinny jeans. 

She had outgrown it, she explained when I brought it back to her. 

I kept her sweater, hidden in the back of my closet. If I looked hard enough, past faded t-shirts and red hair ties, I would probably find it lying there, still waiting to be loved.

I hop on my bike, eying the lights of an old Kia as it gets progressively farther and farther away.