Sunnybrooke California, 1999.

“Round about the cauldron go;

In the poison’d entrails throw.

Toad, that under cold stone

Days and nights has thirty-one

Swelter’d venom sleeping got,

Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the cauldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting,

Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing,

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and cauldron–”

Your classmate’s mind numbingly boring reading of Macbeth was mercifully ended by the ringing of the school bell.  Along with everyone else, you hurriedly began to pack your bag, ignoring your teacher’s desperate, “The bell doesn’t dismiss you, I do!” with a roll of your eyes as you stood to sling your backpack over your shoulder.  

“To everyone who was unable to give their reading today, please be prepared to do so on Monday!” your teacher ineffectually yelled over the din of escaping students.  

Making a bid for freedom, you escaped before she could toss out any last minute homework assignments, wending your way through the crowded hallway to your locker to unload your textbooks.  Why do your homework on the weekend when you could just do it during your classes on Monday?

“Really?”

You grinned before slamming your locker shut and looking into the disapproving face of your best friend, Natasha, as she leaned against the locker next to yours, arms crossed.  “How long have you known me?”

The beads on the ends of her braids clicked as she flipped her hair over her shoulder.  “Irrelevant.  We’re seniors–when are you going to start acting like it?”

“I am acting like it.  You’re the one who’s being, like, all uptight.”

Her large hazel eyes grew even larger, in mock offense.  “Me?  Uptight?  I’ll have you know that I am the very definition of relaxed.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, taking her by the hand to lead her through the crowd to the parking lot.  “So, then we’re hanging tonight, right?” 

Silence.  

You looked back at your friend to see her looking discomfited.  “Tasha!”

“What!”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You!  Wanting to ditch me tonight!  For what?  Homework?!”

She wiggled her shoulders in a classic pout.  “I have to!”

“You do not!’

“It’s not summer anymore!  I can’t just spend every weekend at your place during the school year!”

“Why not!”

“Because homework.  Because extracurrics.”

“Because blah, blah, blah?”

“Because scholarships–I need them!”

“And you’re going to get them!  Have you even ever earned anything less than a B in your life?”

Her face reddened under the normally smooth tawny complexion.  “That’s not the point!”

“That is the point!  Listen,” you started, letting go of her hand to walk around to the driver’s side of your car.  “You’re a shoe-in for any college that you apply to–they’d be crazy not to take you!  You’re perfect!  You’re well-rounded, talented–you’re the smartest person I know–”

“Yeah?  What about Daehyun?”

Climbing into the car, and slamming the door, you turn to look at your best friend. “Forget about Daehyun–he’s a nonissue–you’re still, what, like .03 percentage points ahead of him, right?”

“Exactly!  Only .03 percentage points!  If I fall behind in anything–anything at all–boom!  He’s valedictorian and I’m relegated to a mediocre state school, to major in something soft like sociopolitical economics, work at McDonald’s and live in a van down by the river!”

“Okay, first of all, sociopoliti-what?  Only you would think that something with that many syllables is a soft major, and secondly–you are soooo overly dramatic!  Going to a state school would hardly mean the end of your life.  Haven’t you ever heard that it’s better to be a big fish in a little pond?” 

Clicking in her seatbelt, Tasha tilted her head.  “Actually, I think that saying pertains to the negatively valenced frame of reference model of student’s self-concept, where–”

“Lalalalala, I’m not listening!  This is boring!” you sang, starting the car, and pressing the button to lower the roof before leaning over to turn on the radio. “Look, it’s Friday, we’ve survived the first week of our senior year, and we need to celebrate!”

“Are we going to be celebrating every weekend?” Tasha asked drily.

“You know, no one likes you when you’re like this,” you quipped, peeling out of your parking space, ignoring the shrieks of your peers as you sped down the length of the parking lot, rudely honking at pedestrians.

“You drive like a maniac,” she scoffed.

You just threw her a grin.  “But you love me!”

“Only goodness knows, why…”

“Ouch,” you responded, shaking your hand as if burnt.  “See, now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Oh no, whatever shall I do?” she intoned robotically.

“Mm, I don’t know, sleep over tonight?”

“You’re an emotional terrorist, do you know that?”

“But you still–”

“Yeah, yeah, I still love you, whatever.  Just take me home so that I can pack a bag.”

“Woot!” you yelled, punching both arms into the air.

“Hands on the wheel, hands on the wheel!”

***

You stopped the car in front of Tasha’s modest little cottage, and got out with her.  “Hey, has your Meemaw made any shoofly pie, lately?”

She wrinkled her nose.  “I do not see how you two can eat that stuff, and keep teeth in your heads.  It’s disgusting.”

You grinned, baring all of your teeth.  “Expensive dentistry.”

“Meemaw!” Taasha called, opening the door.

A straight-backed, if diminutive woman shuffled in from another room, leaned over to give Tasha a one armed hug and a loud, wet smack on the cheek, before reaching down to playfully swat at her bottom.  “How many times have I told you–indoor voice!” Meemaw said, her voice tremulous with age.  

“Sorry,” Tasha murmured, dropping her bookbag on a nearby side table.  

“Hey, Meemaw,” you said, giving her a hug, and enduring your own wet kiss on the cheek  “I’m hungry,” you whined.  “Do you have any shoofly pie?”

“Naw, but I just took some molasses cookies out of the oven.  Y’all run in and get you some–”

You both quickly headed to the kitchen.

“–with a glass of milk!” she called you, shuffling after you at her own pace.  

“Awww, Meemaw!” you both whined.  

“No backtalk!” she said, waggling her finger.  “Don’t think you’re too old to take over my knee!”  Her watery blue eyes twinkled in opposition to her words.  

“Meemaw, can Tasha sleep over tonight?” you asked the elderly woman when she finally reached the kitchen, your mouth full of warm, rich brown cookie.  

“I don’t see why not,” she answered, easing herself down into a chair with a huff, and lifting her house dress to pull down her thick long socks, rub at her knobby knees.  

“See, Tasha!” you teased, sticking out your tongue.  

“Won’t be any boys at this sleepover, will there?” she said, her voice quivery, but still playful.

“Awww, Meemaw, you know that we wouldn’t invite any boys without inviting you too!” you laughed, flipping your hair over your shoulder.

Her gaze sharpened.  “Hair’s lighter.  You been putting in that lemon juice, like I told you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you answered before taking a long pull of milk.

She laughed.  “Told you.  Lemon juice is better than anything you get out of that old store, mark my words.  Just look at you.”  She smiled fondly.  “Hair like sunshine.  You remind me of my little sister, Jolene.  Look just like her, now.”  Her gaze turned inward and she smiled before slapping her thighs and standing with a groan.  “Well.  I need to start getting ready if I want to make my Quilting Queens meeting.  Y’all go have fun, now, but not too much fun, y’hear?”  She winked before shuffling out of the kitchen at the rate of 3 miles per hour.

“I love your Meemaw,” you said as soon as she was out of earshot.  

“Hard not to,” Tasha said, finishing her last cookie and standing to wash her dish.  “Give me a minute to pack, and I’ll be ready.”

“What’s to pack?” you said, standing beside her to quickly rinse your plate and glass.  “Everything you need is already at my house.”

“You know I don’t like to mooch–”

“Hey!  We’ve known each other for how long?”

“Twelve years,” she said unexcitedly.

“Twelve years!” you railed.

“Indoor voices!” floated in from the other room.

“Twelve years!” you whisper-shouted.  “Why are you still acting like you’re new?”  Standing beside her to throw your arms around her, you rested your chin on your shoulder.  “I’m not your boyfriend; you don’t have to act independent around me.  You’re my baby!”

“Look, just because you are a whole two inches taller–”

“Two great and mighty inches–”

“Doesn’t mean that I’m a baby!”

“Awww, look at the mad little baby!” you crooned, pinching her cheeks, and squishing her face.

“If you do not stop, I will literally end your life.”

“Ooh!  Somebody’s cranky!  Come on.  Let’s go!”

One Week Later

You lay on the floor, head in Tasha’s lap, mindlessly tossing popcorn into your mouth as she idly braided your hair.  The television watched you as you absentmindedly flipped through channels while she affixed butterfly clips here and there amoungst your braids, both of you in your own worlds.  “So…” you started, “Are you going to say yes?”

“I don’t know,” she answered.  “I’m kind of…lost.”

“Do you like him?”

“I mean, he’s cute.”

“Then you should go out with him.”

“Cute isn’t everything.”

You gasped in full offense.  “Natasha Hailynne Miller, you take that right back!”

She laughed, collapsing onto a sofa cushion on the floor.  “What?!  It isn’t!  I mean, I’ve never really thought about him like that!”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with everything!  I mean, I’ve been so busy competing against Daehyun since like, ever, that I never thought about…him!”

“Tasha, we’re seniors.  This is our last chance to have fun.  You have literally the rest of your life to be responsible.  Just chill and enjoy something without overthinking it, for once.  He’s cute, he’s smart, and he seems cool, so just go with it.  Get married, and have nerdy little babi–”  You flopped on your back as Tasha pulled her legs out from under you to attack you with a pillow, while you laughed and shrieked. 

Your golden retriever, Pancakes, jumped off the sofa and joined in the fray, bouncing on your legs, and barking joyously. 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on here?” your father’s voice boomed playfully overhead.  

You looked up from where Tasha was holding down your arms with one hand, while smacking you in the face with a pillow with the other.  

“Uh…do you two have something to tell me?” he asked awkwardly.

“Tasha’s just trying to kill me again,” you grinned up at him.

“Oh.  Well, then.  Carry on.  But, quietly, I’m on a conference call.”

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Sorry, sir,” Tasha murmured, flushing with embarrassment.  

Pancakes just huffed and flopped onto his side.

“So…?” you asked.

“So…” Natasha answered.

“Do iiiitt!” you whined.

“Ugh, gosh, you’re so annoying!” she complained, climbing off of you, just to flop between you and Pancakes.  

“I am your fun-loving id.  Without me, you would be incomplete.”

“Fine, fine,” she moaned, waving one hand while melodramatically covering her eyes with the other.  “I’ll do it!”

“Psh…” you answered, curling your lip derisively.  “You know you wanted to, anyway.”

She popped up, eyes sparkling, turning to you and resting her head on her hand.  “I mean, I guess he is handsome.”

“And tall.”

“And smart.”

“But not as smart as you,” you said stoutly.

“You think?” Tasha said, playing with the tip of one of her braids, her expression vulnerable.

“I know,” you answered.  “So…how are you going to do this?”

“I told him that I wasn’t sure…but I did give him my number.”

“Oh, you sly vixen.”

She dimpled, flushing shyly before suddenly looking worried.  “What if he calls tonight?”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Don’t you know?  You have to wait three days before you call someone–otherwise you just look desperate.”

“But what if he doesn’t know that?”

You chewed your lip uncertainly.  “He is a pretty big nerd…”

“Ugh!” she moaned, flopping back onto her back, arms covering her face.

“But!  But…if he calls while you’re over here, then it will just whet his appetite!  Guys want it more when they have to wait.”

Tasha moaned.  

“What now?!”

“What if he calls and Meemaw picks up the phone?”

“Oh…”

“Right!  ‘Oh…’”

“Well, then…I guess…that…you’ll just have to call him!”

“WHAT?!”

“Yes!  It’s perfect!”

“It’s horrible!  I can’t call him!  Are you crazy?  My palms are sweating just thinking about it!”

“Okay.  Then, I’ll call him.”

She scrambled up, looking at you hopefully.  “You would do that for me?”

“Of course!  You’re my best friend.  I’d do anything for you.  Now, hand me the school directory.  I’m about to catch you a boyfriend.”

Twenty minutes later, after you had convinced Tasha to take the phone, so that you could stop acting as an interpreter between she and Daehyun, you picked up the remote to once again begin your aimless channel surfing when what was playing caught your eye.  Some chef was wittering on about how, without port, some sauce would merely be a salty marinara from a women’s magazine, and you were laughing at his horrible imitation of a French accent when the woman in the scene did something with her hand, and the man froze.  

Forty minutes later, Tasha was still on the phone, the show was over, and you were hooked.  When the end credits came on, you quickly pressed the info button on the remote to catch the show’s name before the info rolled over to the next show.  Charmed.  

You made a mental note to try to catch it again next week.

One month later

“Hey.”

“Tasha!”

“What?!”

“My life is over!” you moaned.

You could hear Tasha moving around as she presumably made herself comfortable.  

“Okay…why is your life over, now?”

“Mom is pregnant.  Again.”

“Again?  What do you mean ‘again’?  You only have one little brother, it’s not like she’s popping them out like corn.”

“Jae is quite enough, thank you!”

She laughed.  “Well, congratulations.”

“Congratulations?!  On what?!!  The end of all things??”

“Oh, come on, quit complaining.”

“How can I?  You don’t understand–”

“No, I don’t understand.  Do you have any idea what I would give to be in your shoes?”

That drew you up short.  “Oh…Tasha…I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean–”

“I know.  I just…”  She sighed, and you could have sworn that you heard a small sniffle.