This Is Me From Now On (18 page)

“So early?” Mom called from the Parent Bathroom. “Shouldn't you call first?”

“NO,” I answered. “That's the last thing I should do.”

I grabbed my cell and my Bubblelicious. When I got to the Guptils' my heart was pounding and I was all sweaty from running, but I banged on the door knocker without waiting to feel normal.

Mrs. Guptil opened the door, looking alarmed. “Evie, what are you doing here so early? Does Nisha know you're coming? You know she doesn't tell me anything.”

“I'm sorry, she isn't expecting me, but I just really, really need to talk to her. Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course! But she's eating breakfast. And the kitchen is a disgusting mess because my housekeeper just quit.” She held open the door and led me into the foyer. “Nisha my love? Your friend is here!”

“Lily?” Nisha called.

I walked into the kitchen, which looked as perfectly clean as always. Nisha was sitting at the counter, wearing
penguin pj's and eating Frosted Flakes. As soon as she saw me, her mouth dropped open, and some milk dribbled down her chin.

She quickly wiped it with her sleeve. “Evie?” she said, as if she wasn't sure if I was a ghost.

“Nisha, I'm
so, so sorry
,” I blurted out. “I've been the worst friend in the world. I should have talked to you. I should have listened to you. I should have—”

“Okay, Evie, slow down. So how was your date?”

I groaned.

She poured me a bowl of Frosted Flakes, and drowned it in milk. “Sit,” she commanded, pointing to the stool next to her.

Then I told her the whole story. How Zane was more than half an hour late and didn't even care, how humiliated I felt when I realized he'd planned the whole thing with Francesca. Or rather,
she'd
planned the whole thing with
him,
as a setup to trick me into thinking I was having a real date. Even though it was totally obvious that Zane wanted to date Francesca and not me.

“Whoa,” said Nisha when I'd finally finished. “But why are you suddenly telling me all this? Just yesterday you were, like,
mind your own business
.”

“Because you were asking about something that wasn't even
my
business! I thought it was, but I was wrong. I was wrong about a
ton
of things. I was wrong about Francesca—”

“You were?”

“And you were totally right! You saw she had completely
no concept of the truth
, you tried to warn me—”

“And you didn't listen.”

“Exactly.”

“Because you liked her.”

“Well, yes. But that was because—”

“She was fun and cool. And ‘original,' right? And she was nice to you. Nicer than me, actually.”

Okay, that shocked me. Because Nisha was finally apologizing: not saying the specific words “I'm sorry I've been so nasty, I'm sorry I've been so jealous,” but meaning them
.
Which counted for a whole lot more, I realized.

I only shrugged, though, because that seemed like the right thing to do. “Whatever. We were both really upset. And, anyway, I thought you hated her.”

She pushed her cereal bowl away. “I'm not a member of the Francesca Fan Club,” she admitted. “But it doesn't matter, really, because
you
like her. And to be honest, listening to
all this, I'm not sure what she did was so terrible.”

“What?”

“Zane has a crush on her. Well, that's not her fault, Evie. I mean, let's face it, she's beautiful. And she has this big, big personality. So it's not surprising he would notice her.”

“I'm not arguing with that!”

“Okay. But she knew how
you
felt about him. Because you told her.”

“I never—”

“Fine. She knew because she's psychic.” Nisha rolled her eyes. “The point is, she tried to get him to go out with
you
. She could have stolen him, she could have gone with him behind your back, but she didn't. Which makes her a good friend, not a bad one. Right?”

I thought about what she was saying. Yes, I had to admit Francesca
was
a good friend in some ways. She was loyal, she was generous, she'd tried to help me with Zane. She'd also tried to get me to work things out with my best friends. Even Nisha—who was so critical about everyone and everything—could see Francesca's good points. “But she's a terrible partner,” I said aloud.

“You mean on the Attic Project?” Nisha asked. “How's that going, anyway?”

“It isn't. We basically haven't started it yet.”

“You haven't
started
it? Evie, it's due on
Monday
.”

“I know, I know. We're in major trouble.”

“And you're not freaking out?” Nisha gave me a disbelieving smile. “You're not Evie. What have you done with Evie?”

Before I could think of some jokey answer, she pointed to my neck. “Hey. I see you're wearing that bug necklace.”

“Yup.”

“Even though it's gross?”

“It's
unique,
” I said. “And I'm not taking it off. So get used to it, Nisha.”

She stuck out her tongue at me. I stuck mine back at her. And then we both started laughing.

On the walk home half an hour later, I swished my feet in the autumn leaves. Things were basically okay with Nisha now, which meant things would be basically okay with Lily, too, as soon as I could look her in the eyes and explain. And if I couldn't explain
everything,
she'd probably understand, anyway. Because the three of us really knew one another, including all our Pros and Cons. Our friendship wasn't perfect, obviously, and a lot had happened lately. But I thought about my bug necklace, how the gross mosquito
part gave the amber part
character.
So maybe LilyEvieNisha was like that, too: beautiful, but with mosquito parts.

I took a giant breath of the damp, chilly air and felt semi-normal for the first time in weeks.

Then my phone rang.

Hi, Evie. Where are you?”

“Francesca? How did you get my cell number?”

“I called your house. Grace gave it to me. Why, is that a problem?”

“No.” I sighed. “I'm not even mad anymore.”

“You mean you
were
mad? What about?”

“You don't know? The date business! The way you tricked me.”

“Oh, Evie. I didn't
trick
you. I only—”

“Wanted to help. I know, Francesca. But you really,
really shouldn't have. It wasn't being honest. And you aren't my fairy godmother.”

“You're right. Sorrysorrysorry.”

“Besides, Zane has feelings too.”

“Of course.” She paused awkwardly. “He's really kind of a dolt.”

“I know.”

“Stunningly gorgeous, but a bloody dolt.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway. As long as you're over him.” Suddenly her voice brightened. “So here's why I'm calling: Guess what arrived the other day. Angelica's
diary
.”

“What?” I stopped walking. “What do you mean,
the other day
? When did you get it?”

“Oh, I don't remember. Wednesday, maybe.”

“Wednesday? You've had it since
Wednesday
? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Well, I knew how focused you were on your date.”

“Gah. Francesca. It wasn't even a date!
”

“Whatever it was. You were so happy about it. So I didn't want to bother you with silly Angelica Beaumont.”

“Are you crazy? I
wanted
to be bothered with Angelica
Beaumont!” I'd been shouting, so I lowered my voice. “Do you realize how far behind we are? The project is due on Monday!”

“I know,” she said patiently. “That's why I'm calling. To set up some time this weekend to work on it.”

I forced myself to take a long, deep breath. “Listen, Francesca. We need more than ‘some time' for this project. How about right now?”

“I guess,” she said doubtfully. “But Aunt Sam is still in bed. She had a big party here last night, and she's sleeping it off.”

Then she hung up without saying good-bye.

I called my house to say I'd be going to the Pattisons' and raced across the entire subdivision.

Francesca greeted me in a New York Yankees sweatshirt. “Let's go in the living room. But remember, Aunt Sam—”

“I'll be quiet,” I swore. “Don't worry, I'm good at that.”

The living room was a disaster. Wineglasses, guacamole, lipstick-smeared napkins, all of it left over from last night, obviously. I watched Francesca sweep a bunch of crumbs off the rabbit-furry sofa. They scattered all over the rug, and she didn't even seem to notice.

“Sorry about the mess,” she said, flopping down on a squooshy sofa pillow. “Aunt Sam threw a last-minute party for Tristan Royce.”

“Tristan Royce? I thought she hated him.”

“Oh no, they've reconnected. Which is really so tragic, now that he's moving to L.A. to star in a sitcom. Isn't that thrilling, though? Don't you wish Aunt Sam could get a job like that?”

I shrugged. “If it's what she wants.”

“Oh, I
know
it is. Anyway,” she said, smiling sweetly, “Grace said you were at Nisha's. I was so thrilled. Does that mean you two are friends again?”

“Forget about Nisha!” I exploded. “Forget about Tristan Royce and his stupid sitcom! Just
please
show me this diary,
okay
?”

“Of course. But try to keep your voice down, Evie.” She got up and left the living room. One of the rabbits—Tourmaline?—scampered by the sofa, twitched her pink nose at me, and scampered away.

A minute later, Francesca was back. “Here,” she said, and handed me a small red book bound in leather.

I opened it.

The pages were lined, and gave off a scent like wet dust.

I looked up at her. I swallowed. “Francesca? Did you read this?”

She nodded.

“The whole thing?”

“Yeah.”

“And does it ever get different? Does she say anything about the actual earthquake?”

“Not … really.”

“Or the destruction? Or the evacuations? Or the looting?”

“Just what you read.”

“Francesca. Eighty percent of the city was destroyed.
Eighty percent.
And all she's writing about is this jerk
Thomas
?”

“I know. It's so … disappointing.” She sighed. “But, Evie, it's not her fault she wasn't
in
San Francisco that specific day.”

“I'm not saying it's her fault! But did she at least
notice
the other people? The ones who actually suffered?”

“Not really. There's a lot more stuff about Amelia and her ugly clothes—”

“What about the swinging chandeliers?” I reread the passage about the
dreadful shock.
“Didn't you say—”

“I know! I must have heard it all wrong from Uncle Teddy.
Or maybe I just imagined it. You know how sometimes you have a memory, at least you
think
it's a memory, but maybe it's just something you've thought about over and over?” Her face crumpled up.

I shook my head. “You should have read the diary, Francesca. Before you told me what it said.”

“You're right. You're absolutely right! I feel so—”

“Okay,” I interrupted. “Anyway, it's my fault too.”

She looked up at me. “It is?”