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If you had told the Josie of junior year that this is what her prom night would be like, she would have laughed you into next Sunday. Actually, she would have thought you were playing a cruel joke on her, which is what you’re supposed to do to gay, untalented losers. Back then, it was unfathomable that she might be going to prom with any girl, much less the long-venerated Isabel. It was also kind of unfathomable that PJ and Hazel would be in the back of Josie’s car, barely able to keep their hands off each other.
“Hey, knock it off, loser,” PJ said. That was more like it.
“I love your pet names for me,” Hazel said.
Isabel put her hand palm-up on the center console. Josie covered it with her own. Between her broken arm and Isabel, Josie had made leaps and bounds in the field of one-handed driving this year.
They looked absolutely adorable in all the classic prom photos. PJ and Josie’s parents had insisted on assembling the girls to be photographed in PJ’s backyard before they left, which had been a bizarre mix of excitement from the parents, affection from Isabel, and sporadic elbows and verbal barbs from PJ. Josie would be surprised if there was a single picture of the two of them where PJ wasn’t rolling her eyes.
That was the other unfathomable part about tonight. Josie and PJ were barely on speaking terms. Josie had always imagined them showing up to prom together, stag, maybe in matching suits. Probably they’d dance to a few songs and then ditch the whole thing to go watch movies at Josie’s house. But here they were, doing the whole prom thing, being photographed with girls who had put their fingers inside them countless times. The whole thing was pretty sweet, really. At least it would be, if PJ were, you know, actually acting like her best friend.
Ever since college acceptance letters started coming in, things were different. They argued at lunch and in class. They bickered through double dates. They couldn’t even be civil to each other when their fight club was reconvened to act as the prom decorating committee. Not a word or even a commiserating eye roll passed between them as Annie explained how streamers and crepe paper were the best way to represent the complex and worthwhile theme of the prom, which was How to Please your Football Player Boyfriend in a God-Honoring and Conservative Way.
The lights were low in the gym, and the football players were gathered with their dates at its center, a pulsating mass of blue and white. Jeff wore his usual uniform, with a clip-on bowtie and corsage pinned to his shoulder pad. Annie danced with him, wearing a matching corsage on her wrist.
“Hey, does this taste a little tropical to you?” Josie said, taking a sip of punch.
“It’s pineappley,” Isabel confirmed.
“But…”
Josie watched, in slow motion, as Jeff lifted a glass of punch to his lips. “Jeff!” she cried, launching herself across the dancefloor. But it was too late. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and the sound of his swallow cut across the music, echoing throughout the gym.
“Mmm,” Jeff said, smacking his lips. “Mmmph!” he choked out, scrabbling at his throat.
“I gotchu, babe,” Annie said. She pulled an EpiPen from her sensible purse and stabbed him in the thigh. Jeff’s body sagged, and then he sprang up, fist in the air.
“Woo! I love pineapple juice!”
Everyone clapped. Jeff took another gulp of punch and a football player stepped up, poised and ready to stab.
“Okay then,” Josie said. She surreptitiously dusted herself off and trudged back to Isabel. No one had even noticed her aborted rescue attempt. Some things never changed.
They danced to a few songs, mostly top hits from their middle school days, with a few oldies mixed in. Josie had always considered herself a little too cool for this type of thing. Like she and PJ could only do something like this ironically. But it was weird. Looking up at Isabel, it was hard to feel anything but totally and embarrassingly sincere.
The music slowed, and Isabel pulled her closer. She crawled an arm around Josie’s shoulders and whispered, “Meet me in the bathroom.” And then she slunk away.
Josie smoothed down her lapels and attempted to compose herself. Isabel was adventurous, but she’d never suggested anything like this before. It didn’t even take anything unusual to get Josie flustered, though. It was unbelievable, thrilling and gratifying and new, still, every time. It was a fantasy of who knows how many years come true, and the real version stacked up pretty well.
Except it wasn’t Isabel standing under the fluorescent lights of the bathroom, leaned up against a sink. It was PJ.
“Hey,” PJ said to the floor.
“Hey,” Josie said. “Uh, have you seen Isabel?”
“No.”
Maybe Isabel had meant a different bathroom? Josie had her hand on the doorknob when she heard the lock click shut. From the outside. What kind of bathroom locked from the outside? She jiggled the door handle. “Hey, there’s someone in here! Occupied!”
“We’re doing this for your own good, Josie,” came Isabel’s voice from the other side.
“You and PJ have to stop sulking at each other,” Hazel said.
“We’re not sulking,” said PJ, sulkily.
“This is our last summer together before we all go our separate ways,” Hazel continued. “You guys are my best friends and I want to spend it with both of you.”
“Whatever.” PJ rolled her eyes.
“We’ll be back in half an hour,” Isabel said. “Work it out, okay?”
Josie looked down at the floor. She and PJ waited in silence long enough to hear Isabel’s heels on the floor as she and Hazel walked away.
“Hey,” Josie said. “Hello.”
“Oh, shut up,” PJ said. “You know, you don’t have to do everything Isabel says. We can just sit here until they come back. They have to let us out eventually.”
“You would rather sit here in silence than talk to me?”
“What is there even to talk about?”
Josie slumped on the floor, her back against the bathroom door. “Do you hear how messed up that is? We’ve been best friends for, like, ever, and we don’t have anything to talk about.”
“The thing is,” PJ said, loosening her tie, “we did it. We accomplished high school. Our friendship has run its course. The purpose has been served.”
“Okay, no. You’re talking about it like it was a business deal.”
“Wasn’t it?” PJ said. “Two friendless losers are better than one.”
Josie groaned. “Don’t pretend like this isn’t happening. You’ve been acting weird for months now. Ever since I got into Emerson.”
“Oh, you got into Emerson? Good for fucking you. I hadn’t heard.”
“Did it even for a second occur to you to be happy for me? Instead of going straight to feeling jealous or whatever this is?”
PJ scoffed. “I’m not jealous. You always wanted to go to Emerson, not me.”
“So, what, you just can’t stand to see things going well for me? Liked me better when I was a miserable loser?”
PJ was stunned into silence, her mouth open in what someone else might have mistaken for indignation. But Josie knew her too well for that. She had finally found a crack in PJ’s exoskeleton, and it was a look of genuine remorse.
“I’m gonna fucking miss you, okay? All my life, you’ve been, like, right there. We made it through all this stupid shit together. And I’m just supposed to accept that it won’t be like that anymore?”
“Okay, well, first of all, most of the stupid shit we got into was your idea. And B, uh, they invented these things called phones, that you can use to have a conversation with someone who’s not there?”
“Shut up,” PJ said, laughing. “I’m probably going to be too busy drowning in cooch anyway.”
“We’ll still see each other.”
“Or maybe we won’t, and the next time I’ll see you is at our twenty-five year high school reunion.” PJ extended her hand, and Josie took it, pulling herself up.
“White suit. Hot date, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Probably half the football team shows up with a combover. No hair.”
“Oh, you know they’re suffering from male pattern baldness.” PJ smiled. “I’ll see you there for sure.”
“You’ll also see me, like, every day of summer, though.”
“Yeah, well, I have to; you’re the only one of us with a car.”
“You know, I might not agree to drive you freeloaders around if that’s the only nice thing you can say about me.”
PJ slung an arm around Josie’s shoulders. “And you’re my best friend in the entire world, or something.”
“Or something,” Josie agreed.