The Friends
The door was a rotating turnstile as everyone left the sleepover. Cat was the only one who didn’t look impeccable - her hair was still a messy nest above her head, and her eyes were soft and hazy in the early morning light.
Once everyone else was gone, Boscha’s hand paused on the knob.
She turned back.
Amity blinked.
Boscha was her most loyal, sure - a real war dog - but she rarely broke rank like this. Rarely approached or interacted with Amity outside of the rest of the group.
She stepped back into the house, and reached back to adjust her bun.
“Amity?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna fill us in on what’s been bothering you?”
Amity raised an eyebrow right back. “Nothing has.”
Boscha seemed to stew with that thought, for a moment.
“...We’re here for you, y’know,” Boscha said, suddenly and with a certain awkward note to her voice. “If you’ll have us.”
Amity blinked.
...Well, that was good. It was an assurance of loyalty. Always important among the ranks - a better, if more fragile, motivator than fear.
And it made her feel very… warm.
“Thank you, Boscha,” she said, voice stiff and cold still. “I’ll keep that in mind. Have a good day.”
Boscha went to leave. She glanced back briefly as she did, and let out a soft,
“Bye, Amity.”
The moment the door was closed, something tense unravelled in Amity’s spine.
She was alone.
There was something about being alone in a big room. She wasn’t alone in the house, but. There was something just about… this place. It seemed to provoke loneliness. But, since Amity didn’t get lonely, instead the place just… tugged at something in her stomach.
She sat down in one of the chairs - and, even alone, she didn’t quite manage to flop. Or collapse.
Blights don’t slouch.
She gathered her hands in her lap, and tried to think.
Eventually - she reached into her pocket, and pulled out the key.
It was warm in her palm.
She spun it in her hand thoughtfully. Flip, flip, turn. Flip, flip, turn. She laced it through the gaps between her fingers, and let her nail trail along the lines of the engravings.
She thought.
Cat didn’t care about much.
Her friends ferried her around. And that was fine, because she didn’t care about where she was, or who ferried her. She had made friends with the bullies, and gotten into the top of the social hierarchy - who cared. Not her. She was in a perfect position to backstab the Blight family and steal information from their home? She’d rather think about books.
It simply wasn’t in her nature to care about important things. Things like where she was, or the state of the world, or if she graduated school.
She cared about small things instead.
She cared about the beetles and snails on the side of the road. She cared about the stories she read. She cared about those little smiles that she managed to provoke from Ice Queen Amity, whenever she thought nobody could see.
She cared about people being bullied.
That was how she had ended up friends with these two - four, now, she supposed. Before Skara and Amelia had learned to stick themselves onto the popular kids, they had stumbled through their days, and gotten hassled - and often beaten - along the way.
That was when Cat had come in, swinging the thickest dictionary on hand right into some wannabe tough guy’s face, and solidly squashing their nose into what best resembled a stepped-on grape.
She had begun to walk away right after, but the teachers had caught up with her and given her detention. Which was a new experience. It was certainly interesting.
After that, though, Skara and Amelia had clung themselves to Cat. Maybe that had been the start of their bandwagoning instincts - make friends with the girl who had defended them. Maybe it wasn’t. Who cared.
Boscha wasn’t around. She had a different walk home than the rest of them.
“So,” Skara said, giving them a wicked-looking grin, “come on, spill. Who are you girls asking to Grom?”
“It’s not for another month,” Cat said, voice tired and blank.
“I think I’ll ask Boscha,” Amelia said, sighing dreamily. “She’s so hot when she’s mad…”
“But you don’t want to ruin your friendship,” Cat said robotically, having heard this rant a million times. “Or make things really weird between you. And you don’t want Boscha to hate you for asking her out. So maybe you shouldn’t.”
She leaned over slightly, and did her best Skara impression, “but you’ve wanted to ask her out for ages now! I say just go for it, sister.”
She did Amelia again; “But what if I mess everything up? I already really like what we have. It would be best just to let it go.”
And, finally, she let her voice go flat and blank again. “I agree. So let’s move on.”
Skara turned to her, and grinned. “Who are you gonna ask out, Cat?”
Amelia, instantly, turned to her - like a hounddog when sniffing out gossip. “Yeah, Cat! Tell us!”
“We won’t tell,” Skara said, with a lip-zipping motion and smile. “Promise.”
“Alright, fine, I’ll play,” Cat said, lifting her hand and drawing a circle with her finger. A bunch of flowers appeared in her palm, and she turned to Skara. “Skara, would you accompany me to Grom?”
Skara gasped.
“As friends,” Cat tacked on, just in case. She wasn’t interested in having any romantic relationships. Ever.
“Of course I will!” she exclaimed, scooping her into a fierce hug.
Cat blinked at suddenly finding herself in an embrace.
Slowly - she reached to put her arms around Skara.
She was… warm.
Skara pulled back, without warning, and Cat was left standing there with her arms out like an idiot for a moment, before letting them drop.
Amelia giggled. Cat glanced over to glare at her.
“Well, I guess that’s settled,” Cat said, grimacing and walking forward. “Let’s get home. I’ve got some weekend homework to finish.”
“Ugh, weekend homework’s the worst,” Skara groaned.
“Yes. It is.”