Two Steps Forward

Chapter 4) Curry...Not the Dish

I give Amelia the rundown on the rest of the day she wasn't included in from the condoms to the bomb my mom dumped on me just two hours ago.

"Wait—why did Nurse Whitney give you condoms?"

"She didn't give them to me, she offered. And I took them thinking they were candy. I dunno I guess she didn't believe me when I told her I wasn't pregnant, let alone sexually active."

"Well, if wet dreams count," she raises her crescent moon brown and nudges me with her shoulder.

I shove her gently and she falls back on my bed and hugs a pillow, displaying all her delight with a toothful laugh.

"Oh, shut up," I squeal, "I should have never told you that!"

This has been our ritual ever since we became close friends. A couple hours after school she comes over to my place or I'll go over to hers and we hang out in our room, snacking, doing homework, and replacing all the water in our body with ice cold Strawberry Fanta.

"Ok, ok, back to this Curry thing," she sits back up," Are you sure it's Curry. Your Curry?"

"Ugh," I scrunch my face, "Please don't call him my Curry."

"You're right. My bad."

"And yeah, I'm positive it's Curry Curry. How many Curry Meyers can there be at Foxfort?"

"I'm just trying to think optimistically," she says although it's obvious she doesn't believe it herself.

This time I collapse onto my back with a pillow. I hold it in the air and beat it up with tiny rabbit kicks and release a groan-slash-yell of frustration.

"I'm so screwed, Milly. I don't know what to do."

"Well," she grabs a pita chip from the plate on the bed and dunks it into a creamy pile of red pepper hummus before continuing.

"You've never really told me," She takes a loud crunchy bite and chews between them, "what happened at Prong. You always brush it off when I bring it up or change the subject. I don't know, I think I like, need more context because I don't really get it."

She dips another chip and continues, "Curry makes you feel awkward. I get that. But what guy doesn't? Because if my mom told me her new boyfriend wants to take us on a thirty day ten-thousand-dollar retreat or whatever, I would be calling him daddy on day one, you best believe."

She gives a half smile, "You know I'm playing, but for real. You need to make the picture clearer, girl. Your feelings aren't up for interpretation. This isn't Mr. Warren's Art 101 class. Is it?"

She raises her eyebrows and widens her eyes in that 'well, what do you gotta say for yourself now?' kinda way.

Wow. Whenever Amelia gets like this, she always says something shockingly true. Profundidty (I learned that word last week) in curls and sass. If you could distill her personality into a tiny ball, she would be all poems, sass, joy, and curls. Really though, she has three separate components that largely make up her personality that I secretly think of as Milly Mode. There are moments when she's sweet and maternal, almost like Nurse Whitney, then there's a side that's fiery as a peppery chip (like the one we both ate for the One Chip Challenge a while back), and for good measure she can be stone cold, serving the truth like a blitz of snowballs.

I love all those aspects about her. Milly is exactly the type of friend that I need. I swear we were custom made for each other—my only complaint is that we weren't born as sisters.

"I'm sorry, Milly. You're right. I'll tell you everything that happened that night."

Milly touches my shoulder with a gentle squeeze and says softly, "Whenever you're ready. I already got my chips and soda, so you know I am."

I release a breath that feels like it's been trapped inside me for a long time. My loose hairs fly from the blast of air and fall back in place, "Okay, it started with Prong Night."