More Than We Can Tell

As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.

Proverbs 27:17

I’m going somewhere with Dec after school, but I can meet at the church at 8 if you want to talk again.

Rev

Cait brings me the note at the end of the day.

I love that he wrote me a note back. I love his handwriting, neat and even, every stroke and slope controlled. It’s very much him. I want to press the paper to my chest and spin around with it. I want to trace his name with my fingers.

I’m practically skipping to the bus beside Cait.

“So you really like him,” she says.

Her voice is mellow. We spent lunch in the library, and I dumped my entire life in her lap. She knows about everything, from Mom and Dad and the divorce to Nightmare and his trolling. She knows about Rev and our secret meetings behind the church.

She knows what a screwed-up mess I am.

I stop skipping. “Am I being ridiculous? I am. You can tell me.”

“You’re not being ridiculous.” She pauses, and a small, secret smile finds her mouth. “He’s got a sexy voice. I never realized.”

“You talked to him?” I stop short and almost round on her. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t fling the note at me and walk away. Of course I talked to him.”

I want to shake her. “What did he say?”

“Let me think if I can remember it right … he said so much …” She puts a finger to her purple lips and gazes at the sky. “Oh, right. He said, ‘Would you mind giving this to Emma?’ ”

She says it in this low baritone impression of a guy’s voice that sounds nothing like Rev, but once I have the words, I can hear him saying it.

I want to spin in circles again.

I keep thinking about his back against mine, that day we sat in the rain. Our fingers wound together. The long slope of his jaw, the way his eyes are dark under the hood of his sweatshirt. His mouth.

I spend entirely too much time thinking about his mouth.

The bus pulls up in front of the school, and Cait and I climb on. We flop into the olive-green seats.

“Want to come over?” she says.

The words are casual, but there’s weight behind it.

Especially when she quickly adds, “If you want to go home and work on your game, it’s fine. I was just asking.”

“No,” I say, and her face falls, just the tiniest bit. I shake my head quickly. “I mean, no, I don’t need to work on my game. I want to come over.”

“Really?” Her eyes go wide.

“Yeah.” I shove my phone into the front of my backpack and zip it up tight. “I need a break from technology.” I pause, wanting to offer something, since she’s been so patient with me. “And since I have a date, maybe you could show me how to make my eyes look like that?”

Her face softens. “Yeah, Em. I can.”

I think about Rev’s note, the line about one person sharpening another. It seems that can work both ways, how you can turn someone against you as easily as you can build a friendship.

Or save one, I guess.

The bus doors close and the air brakes give way, and we rumble out of the school parking lot.

“I’m sorry for all the things I said,” I say quietly. “I didn’t realize what I was doing.”

“It’s okay,” she says quickly.

“It’s not.” I study her, noticing for the first time that she’s glued tiny green jewels along her hairline just below her ear, matched by a few green extensions that make her look just the tiniest bit punk. “You’re really good at what you do.”

She blushes. “Thanks, Em.”

“No, I mean really good.” I reach out and touch the jewels on her neck. “Like, who would think of this?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve already forgiven you. You don’t need to kiss my ass.”

“I just—” I hesitate. “I never thought it was a waste of time. I think … I think I might have been jealous.”

“Jealous?”

I swallow. “Because your mom supports you.”

Cait studies me. “Em …”

“What?”

She sighs. “Maybe your mom would support you if you gave her a chance.”

My back stiffens—but then I think about breakfast with my father. I think about how distracted and distanced he was.

And much like my judgment of Cait reminded me of my mother, my avoidance of Mom reminds me of my father.

I look away. “You’re right.”

“Wait. What did you just say?”

I blush and give her a good-natured shove. “I said you’re right.”

“I’m right and I get to do your makeup? I think someone might need to pinch me.” She feigns a gasp. “Do you want to stay for dinner, too?”

“Sure.”

She puts her hands on my cheeks and stares into my eyes. “Who are you? What have you done with Emma?”

I laugh. “I’m your best friend.” My voice catches. “I think I just forgot for a little while.”

“Oh, Em.” She throws her arm around my shoulders and leans into me. “You’re going to make me cry.”

I hug her back.

Then she says, “Does this mean I can do your makeup like Harley Quinn?”

I snort. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Black Widow?”

That makes me smile. “Deal.”