“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to go.”

Somehow, we hit traffic. At eight-thirty on a Saturday. Cars cram into E-ZPass lanes. We crawl past a shady motel that’s probably been home to millions of extramarital affairs. Frustration builds within me, ready to shoot out at Diane. I keep the picture of Henry Walter in my head to stay centered.

“You’re jealous. And angry.”

“Excuse me?” Diane says.

“I’m your sister. If you can’t admit that to me, then whom can you say it to? That’s why you’ve cut off contact with your friends.”

“I haven’t cut off contact with them. That sounds so harsh.”

“But it’s the truth.”

“It’s not fair,” Diane says, and I’m glad she won’t fight me on this conversation. The words come easily for her. I wonder how long she’s been wanting to say them. “If it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t have met their husbands. I almost had that.”

“But you don’t.” I have to be blunt. She has to take this needle. “You have to move on, or else you’re never going to have a chance at it in the future.”

Diane throws herself back in her seat and lets out a huge sigh. “Will this be my legacy? Diane Williamson, the girl who got dumped on her wedding day. Oh, and she also cured cancer. But more importantly, she got dumped on her wedding day.”

“It will only be your legacy if you let it. You’re frozen in time. What happened sucks, but you can’t let it define you.”

“When did you get so mature?”

“Getting ostracized from your entire school will do that to a person.” I laugh it off. That stuff doesn’t even seem important anymore. The cars unclog, and the steel archway of the GW Bridge towers in front of me.

“So why are you dragging me to see this baby?”

“Because you’re lucky. Despite everything, you have three awesome people who still want to be your friend. Barely.” I think of Val, and how my life feels empty now. I didn’t realize it was full before. “You’re going to have to do a shitload of apologizing, but they still love you deep down. You really don’t want to give that up. Not over what happened with some stupid guy.”

Diane gently touches my shoulder. “Thank you.” Then she proceeds to wipe her nose on my sleeve.

* * *

When we get to Aimee and Bill’s apartment, Diane does a shitload of apologizing. They call up Marian and Erin and that gives way to tears all around. They won’t get back to full-strength maxipad friendship overnight, but some of the vibrancy that I remember from Diane returns. It’s possible to see the girl who brought together three married couples lurking under the current Diane.

“You want to hold the baby, Two-point-oh?” Aimee asks me.

I get nervous, knowing I’m making myself responsible for a human being, but this isn’t an offer a normal person would turn down. So I hold out my arms. “So is Henry technically Three-point-oh?”

“Three-point-oh. I like that,” Diane says.

“Actually, wait a second,” Bill says. He runs over and pulls out a bottle of mini hand sanitizer. “For the baby, Becca.”

I squirt out some sanitizer and wipe it on my hands. I stare at the bottle a few seconds more than anyone needs to look at one. The wheels have begun turning, and I know I must make things right. “Is something wrong?” Aimee asks.

“No.” She hands over Henry, and he’s even more precious in person. I don’t know the kid, but I’m already in love.

“How are you doing?” Diane asks.

“So far, so good,” I say. “Hey, can we stop at CVS on the way home? I have a plan.”

“Sure. For what?”

“For getting Steve and Huxley back together.”

38

I’m at school super early. Thankfully, only the janitor’s here to judge me. I use my V56 key to get into Steve’s locker, then Huxley’s. Once I finish, I hold the key over a trash can, contemplating its fate. In the end, I keep it for now. For the memories.

And...you never know.

My next stop is our drama department’s prop room, and I shiver in disgust knowing that this is Ezra’s turf. I remember a couple I broke up last year, a pair of actors. All I had to do was go online and post bad reviews for one and glowing reviews for the other, and jealousy and histrionics took care of the rest. I yank a quaint wicker bench from a pile of random objects, perfect for an old lady’s garden, and tug it back to our brand-new TV studio. The bindings for half of my textbooks are falling off, but at least Ashland has a TV camera that can zoom in.

I set up the bench in position, facing the shiny new camera. I pull up a side table, where I place a CD player and two cans of Coke that I’m hoping won’t get warm and flat by this afternoon. I step back from my design and take in the odd contrast of the furniture against the green-screen wall. I’ve never been more proud of a scheme.

I wait in the control room during lunch, checking the clock obsessively, thinking that I may have the power to move the hands with my mind. But I don’t. So I wait some more.

At noon on the dot, Steve peeks his head into the studio. No strolling in for him. I crouch down behind the control panel stuffed with buttons and levers. He checks out the bench, walking around it, really inspecting it. It’s just a bench, I want to tell him. He realizes it’s not electrified or rigged to explode, and sits down. He presses Play on the CD player, per the note. The slow strings of “Bittersweet Symphony” seep out from the speakers.

“Hey,” Huxley calls from the entrance.

My breathing quickens, and I wonder if he feels the same. They are a beautiful couple to behold. Some people just fit right.

Steve stands up to greet her. “Hi.”

“This is some setup,” she says as she surveys the scene.

“I know.”

“I forgot that you knew my locker combination.”

“And you remember mine,” he says.

She approaches the bench, but doesn’t sit down. They both take a moment to look at the details. The Coke cans, the dark blue mood lighting.

“How long did it take you to do this?” he asks her.

“Me? Didn’t you do this?”

“Nope.”

“You didn’t slip a bottle of mouthwash and a note to come here at noon into my locker?” she asks. She pulls both from her pocket.

He does the same thing. “You mean this wasn’t you?”

They look around the TV studio. “Hello? If someone’s here, you better come out,” Steve yells to the room.

I clamp my hand over my mouth. I should’ve known there would be suspicion. I hear their footsteps getting closer to the control room. I find a cardboard box under the control panel and position it in front of me. Steve throws open the door.

“If someone’s here, this is kind of weird.”

Just go with it, I want to tell him. You’ll thank me later.

He creeps into the room, right up to the control panel. I can smell the rubber on his shoes.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he says to no one, although technically, I guess he’s talking to me.

“Steve,” Huxley says. “Come over here.”

He returns to the studio, and I go back to my spying position. “Why is there a bench here?”

“Steve.” Huxley laughs softly. She pulls the bottle of mouthwash and note from her pocket. Steve does the same thing.

“The bench, the mouthwash. ‘Bittersweet Symphony,’” she says.

His eyes widen in recognition. “It’s like Travis Weber’s party.”

“Our first kiss.”

“I was so nervous.”

“I was more nervous. My teeth were chattering.”

“I thought you were cold. So I gave you my jacket.” Steve finds the jacket I carefully left across the bench and covers Huxley’s shoulders.

“Who would go through all this trouble?” she asks. She sits on the bench. Their knees touch.

“Someone who wants to see us back together.”

“Would you fall into that category?”

Steve shifts his knees away from her, breaking the moment. “Hux, why did you try to pay my tuition for Vermilion? Who does that?”

I see her tense, her guard back up. “Someone who cares about you. I was trying to help.”

“Do you know how embarrassing that was? I know my family isn’t as rich as yours, but—”

“You never complained before when you’ve come on family vacations and received Christmas gifts.”

“This is different.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to go to Chandler!” he blurts out. “I want to play football. I love playing football.”

Huxley takes a deep breath and looks up at the mood lighting. “I know.”

“But I also love you.”

Their eyes are now locked on each other and having a separate conversation. Their bodies get closer, as if they’re on conveyor belts, en route to the proper, inevitable destination. It’s amazing how quickly they slip back into the groove. Maybe some couples can’t be broken, no matter how hard anyone tries.

“I miss you,” she says without her trademark Huxley poise. “You know, I think this is the first time we’ve ever really talked about this.”

“I like it,” he says. His strokes her hair behind her shoulder, and my heart does one of those gymnastics backflips. For the first time, I believe in Huxley and Steve.

“So what happens now?” Huxley asks. “What do we do?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

And then he leans in and kisses her.

I put my hand on the one switch I know how to use. It’s a lever that can broadcast the image recording on the shiny new camera into the shiny new TVs around school. Proof that Huxley and Steve are indomitable. Proof that I’m not a completely horrible person.

But I take my hand away, and while they’re making out, I sneak into the hall unnoticed. Even the number-one couple in school deserves some privacy.