Free What Are Friends For? by Rachel Vail Page A

playground, dragging her fingers along the metal fence. She hung her head, hiding her eyes behind her bangs, and pushed her lower jaw forward, not saying a word. I started chattering like a bimbo, but I couldn’t help myself. I knew I was acting foolish, the way CJ used to—hustling to keep up the pace with Morgan, complimenting her, asking her if she was OK. She ignored me and when the bell rang, sprinted in alone.
    In English/social studies, I passed her a second note when she didn’t answer my first, assuring her I wasn’t planning on saying anything to my mother in case that’s what she was mad about. I was annoying myself, not to mention Morgan.
    We were in different groups for gym, which gave me a rest from pursuing her, and I spent the time berating myself— Have a little self-respect, would you, please? —but after, when we were changing in the locker room, unable to stop myself, I slid over next to her. “If you want to talk . . .” I said.
    Obviously she didn’t want to talk because if she wanted to talk she would talk.
    “I’m here,” I added, in case somehow she’d managed not to notice.
    She turned her back to me and took off her white gym top and in the same motion, pulled on her blue shirt. I considered telling her it was a nice shirt, but miraculously exercised my first moment of self-restraint in over two hours and stood up instead, and went back to my own locker. She slammed her locker shut and said, “Don’t.”
    I turned back around. Morgan was walking toward me. Poor Gabriela Shaw, who was putting on her pants sitting on the bench between Morgan and me, pulled her long legs in and scrunched up as small as she could to get out of Morgan’s way. I shrunk down into my shoulders, wondering if Morgan was about to punch me.
    Morgan stood in front of me, too close, and whispered, “I’m not bringing any junk food for the trip, Monday.”
    I swallowed. “OK,” I said.
    She didn’t move away, and I started wondering if I had misinterpreted what she said. She’d said it as if it would insult me, or as if it were of terrible consequence. I couldn’t, as hard as I tried, think of a deep and consequential meaning of her not bringing junk food for the trip.
    “It doesn’t matter to me,” I whispered, and then since she didn’t seem to have any reaction to that, I added, “I’m getting braces this afternoon anyway so I couldn’t eat junk food anyway, so I’m not bringing any either, so it really doesn’t matter to me at all. Anyway.”
    She stood there for another few seconds, and just when I was starting to feel another big babble about to vomit itself out of my mouth, she turned away. Thank goodness. She almost knocked Gabriela off the bench again. Gabriela and I shrugged at each other. Morgan grabbed her backpack and stormed out of the locker room.

thirteen
    M organ was waiting for me outside the locker room door. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m not great at dealing with somebody being nice to me.”
    I shrugged.
    We walked together out to the bike rack.
    “There’s just,” Morgan whispered to me. “There’s a lot going on at my house right now. I need to talk to somebody. Not need , but . . .”
    “You could try me,” I suggested.
    Morgan bent over her bike. “My mom was laid off.”
    “Oh,” I said.
    “Yeah. No big deal, you know, it’s just, I can’t exactly ask her for junk food money when she can’t even manage lunches, if you know what I mean.”
    “Sure,” I said. I didn’t know what to do and wished I had something to give her. My own lunch gurgled around in my belly. “Oh, no. I’m really sorry I said that thing about dieting. Before. I didn’t realize.”
    “That’s OK.” Morgan snapped open her bike lock. “Anyway, I don’t know why I told you. It’s not like I need sympathy, or anything.” She blinked a few times.
    I thought of touching her shoulder, but then I thought that might make her cry even more. I felt honored she was trusting