Haunting Margalo

Chai Tea

Lauren opened the door for Margalo when she arrived. “Oh my god, what’s wrong?”

Margalo bit her lip. “I think we should go sit down, okay?”

“Okay,” said Lauren. “I’ll get some tissues. Do you want tea or something?”

Margalo sniffed. “Lauren,” she said. “Oh my god. You’re literally the best friend ever.”

“Chai, right?”

“That would be lovely.”

Margalo went to sit down in Lauren’s living room as Lauren went to go make her some tea. She settled into the squashy beige armchair and picked up one of the many china cat figurines Lauren’s family had around the house. Being at Lauren’s always felt like being at an old folks’ home, in the best, coziest way possible. Margalo sighed, hugging a cushion to her chest.

Lauren came in with a hot cup of chai tea and set it down on the coaster next to Margalo. “So what happened, Mar?”

“My parents are kicking me out.” Just saying the words made her feel odd. Her parents had always been so forgiving, so empathetic, that it kind of seemed absurd for them to kick their only child out of their house—or, in this case, whatever was left of it. She took a long drain of her tea and peeked up from over the cushion she was hugging tightly. “I have to go live in Bellton.”

“Wait, your hometown Bellton?”

“Yeah, with my aunt Catherine.”

The two girls looked at each other sadly. Margalo cried all the time, so it was no surprise that this was bringing her to tears, but Lauren, who barely ever even got misty, had watery eyes. “That’s…that’s two states away.”

“I know.” Margalo stared at her hands again. She thought about that saying—“I know it like the back of my hand”—and how she had always thought it was stupid, because who really knew all that much about the backs of their hands? But it seemed that today, Margalo was becoming quite familiar with the look of them: the creases, her chipped nails, her knuckles, her freckles, and most of all, how great an excuse not to make eye contact they were.

After a few moments of heavy silence, Lauren spoke up. “Why?”

“Long story.” Margalo debated over whether to tell the truth, and realized that soon, the whole school would probably know that her house had been partially destroyed. “I, um—I kind of almost burned my house down.”

“I’m guessing you don’t want me to ask,” said Lauren compassionately.

“It would be nice if you wouldn’t.” Margalo finished the rest of her tea and sighed, burying her face in her pillow again. “God, this sucks. This sucks so much.”

Lauren thought for a minute. “Listen, Margalo, I know I said I wouldn’t ask, but—”

“I really wish I could tell you. But I can’t.”

“Are you okay, though?”

Margalo shook her head. “No, I’m really not. Everything’s kind of screwed up right now. Especially me.”

“You’re not screwed up, Mar.”

“How am I ever going to find another best friend who doesn’t think I’m screwed up?” Margalo laughed tearfully.