Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

May 18th, 2021. New York City.

“You just watch, I’m telling you! Give it six months and every relocation specialist in the city is going to be looking at Harlem. I was telling James the other day—we need to get ahead of it early.” 

Jackie makes a noise that sounds like agreement. It’s a soft, automatic sound that could mean anything. Whatever he needs it to mean. She’s been coming to this gala for eleven years. Seven of those years, she’d spent alongside Mark Tarrant, who was standing there in front of her, rambling about the same topics as last year, and the one before: the rental market, interest rates, which neighborhoods were up, which ones were down. He was always talking. That never changed. 

Nodding along, though not doing much listening, Jackie files through her mental to-do list for tomorrow. 

It would be a full day. There was the meeting with the Citibank executive at eleven, then lunch with someone from the C-Suites at one. Then a showing in Soho (a small loft, too expensive for how bad the natural lighting is, though the customer wasn’t quite aware of that). 

Packed, yes, but not impossible. She’ll manage. 

Mark laughs, catching her attention. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here,” he says. 

She blinks. Hm. He was paying more attention than she thought. 

Jackie takes a sip of her champagne, a false smile already plastered in place. “It’s been a long week.” 

“Ugh, tell me about it,” Mark groans, too self-absorbed with his own thoughts to press her with any questions. “I have four closings to get through tomorrow, and that’s just before noon! Then I’m meeting that couple from Montreal at five, and then there’s the dinner with—” 

Her phone buzzes. 

“Sorry,” Jackie says automatically, reaching for her purse. She doesn’t look to see who is calling. She doesn’t even pull out the phone. Instead, she presses her thumb to the lock-button to make it stop. 

Mark waves it off. “Not a problem,” he says. “You know, I’m surprised I haven’t any calls myself. My wife hates when I go to these things.” 

She smiles. “That’s because you always overdo it on the champagne.”

“What?” He laughs like it’s the best joke he’s heard all night. “Me? Overdo it? I would never!” 

And then, to prove his point, he tips back his flute and empties it in one swallow. 

Jackie snorts, shaking her head. “It’s your funeral. I tried to tell you.” 

Mark lifts a hand to flag down one of the waiters. After plucking a fresh glass of champagne from a silver tray, he turns back to her, already smiling. “I do appreciate your concern, though. Who needs friends when one has such supportive coworkers? Anyway, what was I saying before? Oh, yeah. Tomorrow. So, around seven, I’ll be going to—”

Her phone buzzes again.

She frowns and reaches back into her purse, slower this time. “Sorry,” she repeats, mostly out of habit. Who on earth would be calling her right now? It wouldn’t be her mother. Cindy knows about the event, they spoke about it last week. And besides, their phone calls were always scheduled. 

Jackie tugs the phone out, thumb moving to activate the screen. 

It’s an unknown number. Of course it is. 

“Fucking spam calls,” she mutters, tapping the red circle to end it. “They’re getting through the ‘Spam Likely’ filter now. It’s so annoying.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Mark says, nodding firmly. “I was just telling Christine the other day that we oughta just start over. Clean slate, brand-new numbers. You know, the other day I almost fell for one? I got this text, and it was so official. Said it was from the IRS—” 

The phone buzzes again for the third time. She hadn’t even had a chance to put it away. 

Groaning, she flips it on again, ready to turn the damn thing off completely, to forget about it until the car ride home. But something in her stalls, and she pauses, gazing down at the unknown number. Her eyes skim, stutter, and still, focused on the area code.

732. 

She says it out loud, not meaning to. “That’s… that’s a New Jersey number.” 

Mark pauses, champagne glass hovering in front of his chest. He frowns, tone shifting as he processes the look of sudden contemplation on her face. “Is everything alright?” 

Jackie doesn’t look up. “Yeah, I just—” she stops, shaking her head. “I should probably take this. Could be a client. Uhm, yeah—sorry—you’ll have to excuse me.”

She’s already marching away before Mark has a chance to answer. Reaching the balcony doors, she pushes one open and slips outside. The air is cooler, with city noise floating up from the streets below. There are horns, distant sirens, the occasional burst of unknown laughter. Two people stand off to the sidee in direct defiance of the no smoking sign hanging above their heads. It’s still pretty early, so the vast majority of the attendees remain inside, schmoozing over their drinks. All the better, she thinks. The smokers leave her alone as she claims a private corner for herself, glancing at her only once, before they return to their conversation. Jackie’s phone is still in her hand, screen dark, but waiting.

She waits too.

Five seconds. 

Ten. 

Thirty. 

And then it rings again.

This time, Jackie doesn’t hesitate. She answers on the first ring. 

“Hello?” 

“Jackie, is that you?”

She knows this voice. She doesn’t want to, often wishes she had never met it to begin with. But she does. 

“Jeff?” It comes out thin, unsure. To say she’s surprised would be an understatement. The first thought that pops into her mind is a question, a bitter mystery over who in the hell gave him her number. “Jeff, why are you calling me—”

“It’s—it’s Shauna.” 

Jackie has always been good at pretending. She can smile through almost anything, having mastered the art of crying in private decades ago. She knows how to wear her charm, how to put on a good show, and how to make people fall in love with her. They always do. 

Most of them, anyway. 

She's dated men she knew she didn’t care about. Sold properties for way more than they were worth. She even managed to forgive Shauna for something that could never really be forgiven. They’d stayed friends ever since, and she pretends that’s enough for her, their friendship. 

She can fool anyone.

But not now.

Jeff’s voice is shaking, and something about that hits her deep, sending ice through body. Whatever this is, it’s too big to prepare for, and she just knows it, even if she doesn’t understand how, or why. Her knees lose whatever instinct they once had, no longer locking. She leans against the balcony railing. The cold in her chest keeps creeping. Jackie hasn’t spoken to Jeff in years. Not really, and not like this. It must mean that something is very wrong. 

Jackie is terrified.

“Tell me,” she says, harsh and demanding. “Right now, Jeff. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

He tries. “Jackie, I—” But his voice catches, buckling under its own weight. He’s strangled, hardly coherent, and crying too. Jackie hears it in his wheezing breath, wet and gasping against her ear. Like he’s drowning. “I promised her. She made me swear not to tell you, not—not to call you, but—but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t just sit here and watch—” 

“Jeff, slow down!” Jackie is trembling. “What’s going on? Start from the beginning.” 

“She’s dying.”

The word lands like a bomb, heavy and direct. It blasts through her brain, and she’s shell-shocked. Her mouth opens, but no words come out. The balcony, the city, and the sirens all disappear, muffling out and away until she isn’t able to hear anything except the sound of her own heart pounding. 

“What?” she whispers. 

“She’s sick,” Jeff says. His voice is wrecked; full of snot and tears. “Jackie, she’s really sick. She’s—”

“Sick how?!” Her voice rises. “I—you—Jeff. I need you to be more specific? What’s wrong with Shauna?” 

“I don’t know. I mean, they’ve given it a name, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything. There’s nothing we can do, no—no treatments.” He tries to pull himself together, but struggles to find any ground to stand on. Breathing deliberately, Jeff clears his throat and tries to even himself out. “It started about four months ago. She was tired all the time, and then came the pain after that. We saw doctors, specialists, but… it’s just—Jackie, there’s nothing. Just nothing.”

Jackie makes a sound. Small, raw, almost a squeak. It definitely isn’t human. Something in between.

“She didn’t want you to know,” Jeff continues. “She kept saying she’d already put you through enough, that you have a great life in the city, a real one. She didn’t want to drag you into this.” 

Jackie listens. Just listens. 

“She made me swear,” he adds. “Said not to call. Threatened me about it and everything. But I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. And you—”

Nope. Nevermind. No more listening. 

“Let me get this straight,” Jackie spits, murder in her heart. “Shauna—my fucking Shauna—is dying. Has been dying, for months, actually. And she’s been keeping it a secret from me, but not… you? Of all fucking people—you! The man she fucked behind my back in high school? The man she fucking married, which was also behind my back! That’s who she is choosing to keep this secret with? Not me?” 

Something in her voice must frighten him. His tone drops immediately, low and slow, cautious-like, as though he’s barefoot in broken glass, like he thinks she’s about to bite his ear off through the phone.

Which, in the name of honesty, she absolutely would, if such a thing were possible.

“Jackie… that’s not—it’s more complicated than that.”

“Is it, though? Really?” she says. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems pretty damn simple. She chose you over me. Again. Even while actually dying,” Jackie laughs bitterly. “Wow. Unbelievable.” 

“Uhm, no, actually, she didn’t pick me,” Jeff snaps back, like he’s finally waking up. “And no matter what you might think, she’s never picked me over you. Not really. You—you don’t get it.”

“Uhm, no. You don’t get it,” Jackie says, practically mocking him. “She doesn’t have to pick you, Jeff. That’s the whole fucking point! You’re her fucking husband. What—what do I have?” 

“She fucked up, I know, but she was only trying to protect you—” 

“Fuck Shauna!” Jackie explodes. “And fuck her protection too. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it. I needed—” She stops. Her breath is unsteady now. The cigarette smokers glance warily in her direction, but she hardly notices. “What I need from Shauna is her honesty. I needed—fuck, Jeff! Do you know we slept together? Did Shauna tell you that? Last summer, at the beach house. We had sex, and she told me she was in love with me, and I told her I was in love with her too. But then she went home to you. She stayed, and now she’s sick, and she—” 

She stops, close to vomiting. 

There’s a long silence. 

Then Jeff says, “I know,” exhaling a sad puff of air into the receiver. “She told me.”

Somehow, that makes it all worse. 

“Is this a punishment?” Jackie asks suddenly. The question comes out strange, off-rhythm, sour and sharp, sitting uncomfortably on her tongue. “Is this her punishing me?”

“What? No.” 

“Because I wouldn’t—because I wouldn’t have a fucking affair with her?” Jackie is spiraling now, straight to the darkest pits of her mind. “Because I said I loved her but wouldn’t be the other woman? Is that what this is?”

“That’s not what this is.” Jeff murmurs. 

“Then what is it?!” Jackie shrieks. “Because it feels like she’s dying and she still doesn’t want me. She still—after everything!—after I told that I would always…” She presses a hand to her chest, gulping for air. “I’m supposed to be there. I’m—she’s—she was supposed to tell me.” 

“I’m telling you now,” says Jeff. 

“It shouldn’t be you! It should be Shauna telling me!” And now Jackie is openly crying. “We’re not—Shauna and I aren’t like you and her, Jeff. We aren’t married. I don’t have any rights to her, not legally, not in any way that actually matters. The only thing that I had was—was knowing that I mattered.” 

“You do matter.” 

“Then why doesn’t she want me there?”

“Jackie, just—please, listen—” Jeff is saying something, but Jackie isn’t listening anymore. 

The fact that Shauna gets to decide—again—what happens between them. Gets to choose—again—to hold Jackie at arm’s length. Gets to leave Jackie all alone. Gets to make decisions for Jackie, like Jackie doesn’t have a say in her own goddamn life. It’s all she can think about. 

What was Shauna planning? Was Jackie to be forced to find out via invitation to her funeral? Or had she asked Taissa to swing by a few weeks too late? “Oh, hadn’t you heard? Shauna passed away last month.” 

Her thoughts blur into white noise, rage and grief tangled up with all of her love. Thirty-five years. Thirty-five years of knowing each other, of being best-friends, of being in love, of being… whatever the hell they are to each other; essential, impossible, everything! Jackie has built her life around the idea that no matter what, no matter who Shauna married or where Jackie lived, they would always belong to each other in a quiet, unspoken way. And to think Shauna was just going to up and die without her! The audacity. 

Jackie could kill her. 

She is so angry, it chokes her. 

And then—

No. 

No. No. 

Fuck that! Fuck all of that. 

Shauna doesn’t get to do this. Not to Jackie. Not after everything they’ve been through. Not after the hurt, the secrets, the pain. Not after their childhood and starting their periods together, and the apartment they shared in their twenties. Not after all of their vicious fights and nights of cheap wine, and girlish laughter.

Not after all of the holding on. 

She will not allow it. 

Jackie has given up a lot. 

She dropped out of college and lost her father’s pride. Then she’d lost her father before she was able to earn it back. She let Shauna go to Brown, and let her have Jeff. Allowed her to disappear when she pleased, hiding behind her marriage, and motherhood. Jackie has spent two decades building her successful, but empty life, and she’s even learned to smile around it, because that’s what you do when the person you love doesn’t choose you. 

But this? 

No, Jackie won’t stand for it.

She is done being the bigger person, done being patient, done with stepping back and accepting what little Shauna would think to give her. And most of all, she’s done pretending it’s enough. 

“Jeff.” Her voice cuts through whatever Jeff was saying, deadly-calm now. She’s not crying anymore. “Where is she?” 

“What?” 

“Shauna. Where is she right now? Home or hospital?”

“Home, but—” 

“I’ll be there in four hours.” Jackie is already moving, already yanking open the balcony doors. “Tell her that I’m coming, and tell her that I know.” 

“Jackie, wait—”

She ends the call and shoves her phone deep into her purse. 

The ballroom is exactly as she left it. Chandeliers glow with glittering gold light, making everyone in the room feel important, even as they all wear their expensive suits and flash their family jewelry. Hundreds of people still fill the room, networking and smiling with their champagne held in hand. 

Only now it’s all too much. Too bright. Too loud.

She built this life. Piece by piece. She clawed herself up from the ground, went from waitressing at a shitty restaurant, getting up early, staying late, and making friends with every customer she could. She learned, became a secretary, and moved up still. Signed her first deal, moved up the chain until she became this, the person everyone wants at their table. She memorized names and relationships, attended every gala, mixer, and goddamn luncheon she could over the last eleven years. 

She fought for this. She earned every inch. 

And none of it matters. 

None of it has ever mattered.

Jackie leaves the gala without saying goodbye. She ignores Mark as he calls out her name, maybe worried, maybe not. It was always hard to tell with him. She moves fast past the tables, the stage, the bar. The coat attendant calls out for her too, but she doesn’t stop, abandoning the jacket she’d dropped off two hours ago. The lobby blurs into a wash of light and movement, until she’s spat out through a set of revolving doors, into the street. 

A cab. She needs a cab. 

Her apartment is dark when she arrives. She doesn’t bother to turn on the lights. 

Instead, she rushes straight to her bedroom. 

Her arms twist and reach behind her for the dress zipper, but her fingers fumble. It catches halfway, causing her to stumble. Jackie yanks at it, frustrated, grunting as it snaps and breaks. In a single movement, she rips it from her body and lobs it away, tossing two thousand dollars worth of ripped fabric onto the floor like it means nothing. 

Clothes. She needs clothes. 

A pair of sweats from the drawer. A sweater from the closet. Her hands are shaking. There’s too much air. 

Her suitcase. Where is the damn suitcase?

There it is. Back of the closet. She drags it out and flings it onto the bed. Her brain short-circuits. The suitcase becomes a mere shape, a plain object. What does she even pack for something like this? In the end, she just starts grabbing, collecting together a motley assortment of whatever she can find. Clothes that don’t match, a phone charger that’s probably broken, a pair of sneakers. Socks. Toothbrush. Whatever stupid shit her fingers touch, she takes. 

Jackie is closing the suitcase when she sees her jewelry box. 

It’s where it always is on the dresser. Small, Treasured. She opens it. 

Inside she sees some earrings, a bracelet her mother gave her, and a necklace from a woman she dated years ago, back in her early-thirties. It’s a small, but precious archive of who she’s been, in the form of metal and stone. 

And at the bottom, underneath it all, wrapped in faded, yellow tissue paper, is the stone. 

Jackie unwraps it carefully. 

It’s smooth, gray, unassuming. Smaller than she remembers it being when she was a kid herself. It used to be so big against the flat of her palm. She holds it, curls it up safe in her fist as she takes a deep breath, centering herself to the weight of it. She doesn’t cry. Just three easy breaths, in and out. 

Then she puts it in her pocket. 

Keys. Phone. Wallet. Purse. 

After everything is gathered, she’s done. 

At 8:47PM, Jackie is walking out her front door. 

By 9:35PM, Manhattan is disappearing in her rearview mirror. 

And at 11:03PM, down in Wiskayok, Jackie parks her car in Shauna and Jeff's driveway and marches toward her door. 

Chapter Text

October 3rd, 1986

Shauna hates losing. 

She’s the quickest kid in all of first grade, and everybody knows it, but you wouldn’t know it from watching her performance in today’s sack race. The moment Mrs. Patterson blows her whistle and claps her hands, Shauna grips the burlap, bends her knees, and starts hopping for all she’s worth, as though her life depends on it. There are six kids total: Shauna, Brian Miller from her class, and four other kids she doesn’t know. Their names don’t matter. Right now, while the race is on, they are all her enemies.

Everything is going fine at the start. 

Shauna’s breath comes quick and loud as she bounces down the grass, eyes locked on the line of orange cones marking the finish line. To say she’s focused is an understatement. Shauna is in the moment, pushing toward the finish. She can almost taste first place. 

It’s right there! 

Sadly, her single-minded determination comes with drawbacks.

There are only two feet to go, just a paltry three hops. Then a body tumbles into her from the left and she goes crashing down. Shauna sprawls, face-first in the grass, and rolls over just in time to see somebody else hop across the line and claim what should have been her victory. Three more kids follow. Second, third, and fourth places. All gone. 

She gasps, neck snapping toward the clumsy individual who knocked her over. “You pushed me!” She half-yells, half-whines. 

Brian Miller—her own classmate, the traitor!—is sitting on his butt, glasses crooked on his face, mouth open in shock. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“I was going to win!” Shauna snaps, wiping her dirty palms on the sack still tangled around her legs. Angry tears blur her eyes. “Now I lost, and it’s your fault.”

What is Brian even doing in the race? He usually cried during gym class when it was time to walk the track. Field Day, of all days, is when he chooses to be brave? Shauna doesn’t bother asking the question. She shoves herself up from the ground, gathers her saggy burlap, and finishes her last three hops. Fifth place, she bemoans, angrily kicking her sack away as teachers and parents clap for her, like fifth place is anything worth celebrating. She might as well have walked. 

“Good job, Shauna!” Mrs. Patterson calls, hands pat-patting together.

“For what?” Shauna spits, swiping a fist against her damp eyes. “I lost.” 

It’s her first ever field day. She’s been looking forward to it all week. A day of no spelling, no classroom time, just games and contests and prizes. Especially the prizes. The only reason she’d even signed up for the sack race was because first place won two packs of temporary tattoos, a concept she didn’t even know existed until it had been announced. 

Mrs. Patterson’s smile tilts with sympathy. “Aww, don’t be upset, honey. There will be another sack race after lunch. You can try again!” 

Shauna rolls her eyes. Winning later won’t erase that she lost now. Everyone would know. “I don’t want to try again,” she grumps, crossing her arms tight across her chest.

Her eyes lock on the winner. It’s another girl. Shauna doesn’t know her name, but she recognizes her from the class across the hall. The girl is still bouncing inside her burlap sack, heading toward Mrs. Baker to collect her victory-prize, the one Shauna wanted so sadly. Hot, prickly tears stab at Shauna’s jealous eyes, itching with the burn of wanting something that belongs to somebody else.

The thief glows with happiness, and it isn’t just the bright pink shirt she’s wearing, or her light-up sneakers, or her bouncing ponytail. Shauna can’t put her finger on it. Maybe it’s how she moves, like she knows everyone is watching, and she’s fine with it, or maybe even wants them to.

She’s loud, bright, and triumphant. Everything that Shauna is not in this particular moment. Shauna hates her for it.

“You cheated!” The voice comes from one of the other participants, the boy who finished in second. His face is red and blotchy as he struggles to get out of his sack. “She started jumping before the whistle!” 

The girl whips around, ponytail flying. “I did not!” 

“Did too! You’re just a girl, anyways, and girls aren’t even as fast as boys.”

Shauna watches the girl’s face change. Her smile disappears, but something else rises. Attitude, perhaps, though Shauna isn’t exactly sure what that word means, only that her mom uses it whenever Shauna talks back. 

The girl hops closer. “I still beat you, didn’t I?” 

“Because you cheated!” 

“Prove it,” she shoots back. “That’s right, you can’t, because I didn’t.” 

Mrs. Baker steps in and places a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Bobby. Come on, let’s go have a talk.” 

“But she—” 

“Now, please.”

Shauna isn’t sure when her bitter jealousy disappears. One minute, she’s boiling; the next, it slides off of her as though it never was there at all. Perhaps it's just plain old solidarity. Still, she steps over to the other girl, who is busy looking through her temporary-tattoo sheets like nothing bad had happened at all. 

“You were really fast,” Shauna says. 

The girl looks up in surprise. “Thanks.” She studies Shauna for a second. “You were fast too. I saw you before that boy knocked you over.”

“That’s Brian,” Shauna supplies. “He’s clumsy.” 

“You would have beaten me if he didn’t fall on you,” the girl says, tilting her head. 

Shauna’s chest feels warm. “You saw that?” 

“Yup.” The girl glances down at her prize pile, plucks one from the top, and holds it out for Shauna. “Here, do you want one?” 

Shauna takes it and turns it over. It’s a bunny rabbit. “Thanks,” she says, smiling. “I’m Shauna.”

The girl grins. “I’m Jackie. Wanna go put ‘em on?” 

They find a spot by the fence away from the other girls, and sit down facing each other, criss-cross apple-sauce. Jackie chooses a butterfly for herself, and then they get to work. 

Jackie presses the bunny on Shauna’s arm; Shauna sticks the butterfly on Jackie’s. They use Jackie’s water bottle to splash against the backs, and then they count together. “One-Mississippi, Two-Mississippi…” all the way to sixty. 

When the paper peels off, their new ink shines in the sun and they admire their handiwork. Afterwards, they spend the rest of Field Day together.

First, the obstacle course. Shauna barrels ahead, forging the way, with Jackie sprinting right behind her. Then the water balloon toss, where they are immediately eliminated. Jackie throws the balloon too hard, and Shauna isn’t able to catch it. Soaking wet, they dash off together, laughing anyway. 

By lunchtime, they’re inseparable. They sit together at a table all by themselves and compare their lunches. Jackie has a peanut-butter sandwich cut into halves, no crust. Shauna has a baloney and cheese, cut into triangles, crusts included. 

They trade halves without saying a word, as though they’ve been doing it all their lives.

October 10th, 1986

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do.” Jackie leans over the lunch table before Shauna even has a chance to unzip her lunch box. “We’re both going to be really, really good today. Like extra good. Then when our moms are in a good mood, we ask to have a sleepover tomorrow.”

“At my house or yours?” Shauna asks, peeling back the foil on her sandwich. 

Jackie tips her head, considering. “Mine’s got a giant TV in the living room. It’s almost as tall as my mom.” 

“Mine has a dog,” Shauna counters. “Well, he’s not really ours. He’s our neighbor’s, but he comes over to play with me all of the time.” 

“I like dogs,” Jackie says, swinging her legs under the table. She accidentally kicks Shauna in the shin, but Shauna doesn’t mind. “We have a second empty bedroom at my house. You can have your own room if you want.” 

“We don’t have any extra rooms at my house,” Shauna muses. For the time, she wonders why. Then she searches for something better. “But we do have a whole bunch of board games. Candy Land, Chutes and Ladders, all of them.” 

“I love Candyland!” Jackie pinches a grape between her fingers, pops it into her mouth, and talks as she chews. “Well, my mom lets me stay up until eight-thirty on the weekends.” 

Shauna lifts her chin. “Mine lets me stay up ‘till nine,” she lies. It’s really eight, but Jackie doesn’t need to know that.

“Really?” Jackie looks impressed. Seemingly unable to find any fault in that logic, she nods, decision locked in. “Okay. We’ll do the sleepover at your house first.”

October 11th, 1986

Their plan actually works. 

That evening Shauna is on her very best behavior. She helps to set the table and silverware and offers to help her mom with the dishes. Luckily, her mom doesn’t accept the help, but she does seem very appreciative to be asked. The whole time, she keeps one ear on the kitchen phone, waiting. When Jackie’s mom finally calls, her stomach flips. She ducks around the corner and eavesdrops on every word. 

Their moms talk forever, at least twenty minutes. They go over drop-off, pick-up, pajamas, toothbrushes, what Jackie should bring with her, and what Shauna’s mom would be making for dinner. Every so often, Shauna will hear her own name and freeze, afraid this means they’ll change their minds. But they don’t. At the end, her mom hangs up and calls, “Your friend Jackie is sleeping over tomorrow!”

Shauna can hardly sleep. 

She wakes up early and cleans her room without being told, making her bed and lining all of her stuffed animals up along the bed. Then she helps her mom with breakfast, offering to pour juice for her dad and put butter on everyone’s toast. She even sweeps the kitchen, though she doesn’t seem to do a very good job, because her mom does it again right after her. 

The rest of the morning drags. It may be the longest day of her life, so far. 

Shauna plants herself at the living-room window with her nose on the glass. Every car that passes makes her heart leap, then sink. Her mom and dad tease her, joking that she’ll explode with excitement at any moment. Well, jokes on them, because she just might. This is her first sleepover ever, with her first best friend ever. Of course she’s excited. 

By the time 11:00AM rolls around, she’s tortured with impatience.

A car pulls into the driveway a little after 11:15. Shauna knows this because she’s been running back and forth to check the hallway clock every few minutes. 

She gasps, scrambling for the doorknob. 

“Wait for them to come to the door, kiddo!” Her mom calls out behind her, but she doesn’t listen, already bursting through the door and racing down the porch steps.

Jackie is just as eager. She tumbles out of the back seat with a teddy bear wedged under one arm and an overlarge backpack that almost hangs down to her knees. They crash into each other, teddy bear squished between them, and jump together as one, up-and-down, squealing. 

“Shauna Miriam Shipman, I told you to wait!” Mom calls again, but Shauna knows she’s not mad, because she chuckles a second later. “Well, I guess she’s here.”

Jackie’s dad climbs out of the driver’s seat. He’s tall, wearing khaki pants and a tucked-in polo shirt. His hair is the same mix of blonde and brown as Jackie’s, but cropped neat and short, gelled and parted. Shauna notices his watch right away: gold, shiny, the sort of thing her father only ever dared to wear for rare and special occasions. 

“Mrs. Shipman?” He steps forward, hand extended. “James Taylor. Sorry we’re a bit late. Had to stop for gas.” 

“No apology needed, and please, call me Deb.” Mom shakes his hand. “Shauna’s been counting down the minutes.” 

James laughs. “Trust me, Jackie’s been the exact same. It’s been nothing but ‘Shauna this’ and ‘Shauna that’ since she came home from school yesterday.”

While the grown-ups are chatting, Jackie leans close and whispers in Shauna’s ear. “I brought my Barbies.”

Shauna whispers back, happy to be in-cahoots. “My mom said we could each pick out a movie to rent from the movie store.” 

Jackie’s dad and Shauna’s mom wrap up their conversation, reaffirming the pick-up details, phone numbers, while exchanging promises to call the other if anything important comes up. Then his fancy car disappears down the street, leaving just Shauna, Jackie, and Mom standing in the driveway.

Deb turns her attention to Jackie, crouching down so they were eye-to-eye. Jackie holds tightly to her teddy bear, suddenly very small and shy without her father there. “Hey, kiddo,” she says softly. “I’m really glad you’re here. My name is Deb. It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Hi,” Jackie says, glancing from Deb to Shauna and back again. “Nice to meet you, too.” 

“Here, let me carry that.” Deb takes Jackie’s backpack and swings it over her own shoulder. “Ever been to a sleepover before?” she asks. 

Jackie shakes her head.

“Well then, let me tell you the rules.” Deb holds up a finger for each rule. “Rule one: you can ask me for anything you need—a snack, water, fresh clothes, a Band-Aid, whatever. Rule two: if you miss your parents, or want to go home, come and find me, and we’ll call them together. And rule three—” Deb reaches out to give Jackie’s hair an affectionate ruffle. “Have as much fun as possible. Think you can handle that?”

A wide smile spreads across Jackie’s face; Shauna grins right along with her. “Yeah, I can handle that.” 

“There we go,” Deb says, laughing. She stands up. “Now come inside, both of you. I’m making grilled cheese for lunch.”

November 3rd, 1990

The sleepovers blur together. 

Now, four years later, Shauna can’t remember what movies they watched at which house, only that they’d watched them. Some nights do stick out more than others, though, like the time they climbed the big tree in Shauna’s backyard and Jackie fell out of it, landing flat on her back with the wind knocked out of her; the night Shauna’s parents had that huge fight when Jackie was over, and Jackie held her hand until it was over, cranking up the volume on Shauna’s radio until they couldn’t hear the raised voices anymore; and the one where they tried to stay awake for an entire twenty four hours only to knock out with drool on their pillows at 4AM. 

Shauna knows Jackie’s house as well as she knows her own now. 

She knows that Jackie’s dad is never home before eight on weeknights, that Jackie’s mom always swallows a sleeping pill when Jeopardy! starts, which cabinets have the good junk food and which don’t, and that the second-to-top stair squeaks loudly if you step in the center of it.

They’ve morphed into a matching set, and everybody knows it.

Back when Shauna was six, she didn’t understand what it meant to have a best friend. She thought it was someone to chase around during recess, someone to partner up with during pair projects at school.

Now, at ten, she knows better. 

A best friend is someone who knows what makes your mom mad, almost as well as you do. Someone whose house becomes your own. It’s someone to talk to on the phone all night, even after spending an entire day at school together. It’s loving someone so much it becomes a fact, like having brown eyes, or speaking a language. 

Jackie and Shauna are solid and unbreakable now, and Shauna loves her so much. She feels it deep in her ribs. 

They share everything. 

But tonight is different. Shauna has a secret.

Three days ago, Shauna’s parents sat her down at the kitchen table and informed her that they would be getting a divorce. Her mom tried to make it sound better, telling her, “you’ll have two rooms now, and two holidays, you’ll love it,” but Shauna doesn’t love it. All she hears is the end of something important. Her dad is supposed to move out this weekend. They didn’t tell her that part, but she overheard her mom on the phone, crying to Shauna’s grandma about it.

Shauna hasn’t told Jackie. 

Not during recess on Wednesday or lunch on Thursday, not yesterday when Jackie phoned to finalize their weekend plans. She’d noticed something was off, occasionally asking if everything was alright, but Shauna did a good job deflecting her questions, instead lying that her dad was getting a new job instead.

Jackie can’t know. For one, it’s her birthday. Well, not really. Technically, her birthday was on Monday, but no one wants to celebrate during school, so they moved the celebrations to Saturday. And two, telling Jackie will make it real, and Shauna does not want it to be real.

So that’s how she finds herself standing on Jackie’s porch that Saturday evening, overnight bag edged under one arm and a ribbon-wrapped present under the other, hoping she can keep her emotions in check for just one more night.

The door flies open before Shauna can knock. Jackie stands there smiling, a birthday crown perched on her head. 

“You’re here!” she exclaims. “Finally! I’ve been watching through the window for an hour.” 

“Happy birthday,” Shauna says, before correcting herself with a wobbly smile. “Well, early birthday, anyway.” 

Jackie grabs her by the hand and tugs her inside, words tumbling from her mouth. “So, Mom took me to Blockbuster and let me pick out two movies. We have Ghost, and then guess what? I finally convinced her to let us watch Pretty Woman, since we’re both in double-digits now, and—” Jackie stops mid-sentence, peering at Shauna with the slightest tilt of her head. “Are you okay? You seem… weird.” 

“What?” Shauna shakes her head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” 

Jackie’s eyes narrow, like she’s trying to decipher something written in another language. “You’re quiet. You didn’t even freak out about Pretty Woman.” She frowns. “Even though you, like, had that huge fight with your mom last month when she said no.” 

“I am excited,” Shauna lies, stretching her mouth into a false grin. “Pretty Woman! That’s awesome.” 

Jackie watches her for a beat, but lets it go. “Okay, good. Come on. Mom says dinner is almost ready.”

Dinner starts off perfect. Mr. Taylor fires up the grill outside and gives them each their own steak while Mrs. Taylor tosses up a pasta salad in a big yellow bowl. 

While the grown-ups cook dinner, Jackie and Shauna head upstairs. Jackie spreads out her brand new magazines she bought earlier while out shopping with her parents. They flip through the pages, rating the celebrity outfits and circling out the quizzes with a set of gel-pens. Then Jackie shows off her birthday haul: a new pink makeup caddy with the tiny swing-out drawers, a Lite-Brite set, a pair of gleaming white Keds, and the brand-new New Kids on the Block cassette. They begin talking about the band as soon as the music starts, with Jackie swearing that Donnie is the cutest on account of being the “bad boy,” but Shauna stands firm on Jordan. 

They argue in happy whispers until Mrs. Taylor calls them down.

By the time Shauna sits at the table, the knot in her stomach has loosened. She’s almost forgotten that she was ever sad at all.

She even has fun. She hands Jackie her present—an 8x10 photo of the two of them at the beach this past summer, a thick packet of Lisa Frank stickers, and a pair of purple roller skates that match Shauna’s own. Jackie seems thrilled with it, throwing her arms around Shauna for a tight hug, and thanking her profusely three different times. 

During dinner, she and Jackie team up with Mrs. Taylor to tease Mr. Taylor for burning the garlic bread. He tries to defend himself, waving his fork around, but when he ends sloshing some scotch onto his plate, the entire table bursts out laughing. Real laughs, the kind that come up from the belly. It feels so good to forget to worry. For a while, they’re just four people being silly, having fun. 

Jackie soaks it all in like sunshine. Shauna soaks in Jackie.

After dinner comes the cake. It’s Jackie’s favorite, chocolate and buttercream, topped with ten candles. 

Shauna joins her voice with Mr. and Mrs. Taylor as they sing “Happy Birthday,” watching the candlelight shimmer across Jackie’s cheeks as she closes her eyes to blow them out. 

“Make a wish!” Shauna remembers to say. 

Jackie blows every candle out in a single whoosh. She opens her eyes and grins at Shauna. “I already had one ready.” 

Mrs. Taylor claps her hands. “Before we cut the cake, your dad and I have one more surprise for you.” 

She and Mr. Taylor share a secret look, and Mr. Taylor nods, slipping into the garage with a conspiratorial smile on his face. He returns a minute later, walking sideways through the door with something huge in his arms. It’s a bicycle. Shiny, brand-new, colored the exact shade of purple Jackie’s been on a kick over for the last six months. It even has a bell and everything, with streamers fluttering from the handlebars. 

Jackie’s gasp turns into a scream. “Oh my gosh!” 

Her joy is explosive. 

She rockets around the table, meeting her mother first with a tight, squeezing hug. Mr. Taylor props the bike up on its kickstand and joins them, wrapping his arms around wife and daughter both. They’re all smiling together, one happy picture. 

And just like that, Shauna’s good mood drains away like someone pulled the plug from a full tub of water.

Shauna’s parents used to be like this, one solid shape. Not anymore. Now, the only thing they share is their silence and their bitterness, and, she supposes, Shauna herself. Jackie’s family is whole and functioning. Shauna’s dad will be packing his bags this weekend; her mom is probably at home right now, alone at the kitchen table, crying into another glass of wine. None of this is Jackie’s fault, but Shauna can’t help the hard and sour knots that twist in her chest.

Once the candles are blown out and the cake turned to crumbs, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor shoo the girls toward the den so they could clean up the dining room. Jackie and Shauna go along, grabbing their favorite blankets and squeezing together into their usual corner of the couch, hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Ghost flickers onto the screen. Shauna tries to talk herself into a good mood, but her mind continues to drift. She misses half the jokes, and the ones she does catch, she laughs a beat too late, mumbling a reply when Jackie makes comments about Patrick Swayze’s hair. It’s like she can barely see the screen. Jackie must notice, because about an hour into the movie, she lowers the volume and turns. 

“Shauna, are you even paying attention?” 

“Yes, I am,” Shauna insists, even though she’s really not. She turns back to the screen, avoiding eye contact.

Jackie reluctantly turns the volume back up, but something is different now. Shauna can feel Jackie watching her. Not constantly, not staring, but enough to be annoying. Glancing over, checking. It’s like having a mosquito buzzing around, except Shauna isn’t able to slap her away. 

On the screen, Patrick Swayze learns he’s dead. Whoopi Goldberg does a bunch of psychic stuff. Jackie laughs at the funny parts, gets sentimental during the emotional parts, but between every emotion, she glances over, as if making sure Shauna is paying attention. 

Shauna’s skin prickles. 

When the movie finally ends, Jackie immediately grabs the remote and hits stop. 

“Alright,” she says, spinning to face Shauna. “That’s enough. What’s wrong? And don’t you try to lie to me again.”

Shauna’s stomach clenches. “Jackie—”

“No. You’ve been acting totally weird since you got here, and I’ve been trying to be nice about it because it’s my birthday, but I’m not gonna be nice anymore. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Too bad! I want you to talk about it.” 

“Well I don’t!” Shauna’s voice rises. “So just leave me alone.” 

“I’m not going to—”

“Oh my god, Jackie, just shut up!” Shauna bursts out. 

Jackie’s whole face collapses with hurt. Her eyes get shiny and her lip wobbles and she looks like she’s trying really, really, really hard not to cry. She turns her head away fast, but not fast enough. Shauna sees a tear slide down.

“Whatever. I don’t even care.” Jackie quickly wipes it away. She stands up, voice wobbling. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” 

“No, wait—” Shauna’s voice cracks. “Jackie, I’m—I’m—” 

But it’s too late. Suddenly Shauna is crying too, and not the quiet kind. It’s the loud, hiccuping kind that makes her whole body shake.

Jackie’s head whips back around. “Shauna?” All the hurt vanishes from her face, replaced by worry. She immediately drops back on the couch, sliding closer. “What’s wrong? What happened?” 

“I’m—I’m sorry.” She covers her face with her hands, chest heaving. “I didn’t mean to tell you to shut up.” 

“It’s okay, I’m not mad.” Jackie’s hand finds Shauna. “Just tell me. Please? What’s wrong?” 

Shauna takes a slow, shaking breath. Then another. She lifts her head. “My parents,” she finally manages. “They’re—they’re going to get a divorce.” 

“Divorce?” Jackie’s eyes go wide. “For real? Your parents?” 

“Yes,” Shauna says between sobs. 

“Oh.” Jackie blinks. “Is… is that why you made up that thing about your dad being the new CEO of Hello Kitty?” 

“Yeah.” Shauna whispers, closing her eyes. 

“I knew that sounded kinda weird,” Jackie muses. Then she shakes her head. “But it doesn’t matter. Come here.”

Shauna crumples against her and presses her face to Jackie’s shoulder. The sobs come harder now. Ugly, loud. Jackie doesn’t pull away, though. She just holds on tighter, one hand on Shauna’s back, the other on the back of her head. 

“It’s okay,” Jackie whispers. “You can cry.” 

So Shauna does. 

She cries until her throat hurts and her eyes burn, until she can’t tell if the wet spot on Jackie’s shoulder is from her tears or her snot, or both. Not that Jackie cares. She keeps holding on, letting Shauna fall apart.

Eventually, it stops. Shauna’s all cried out now, empty in a way that is both horrible and wonderful all at once. She feels like she could fall asleep right here, just like this. She pulls back from Jackie’s shoulder and wipes the tears from her splotchy cheeks.

“Sorry about your pajamas,” Shauna mumbles, looking at the wet spot.

“I don’t care about my pajamas.” Jackie is still holding her hand. “Do you still want to watch Pretty Woman?” 

Shauna shakes her head. 

“Me neither,” says Jackie. She sits there quietly for a minute, gazing at the screen. Then, suddenly, she sits up straight. “Wait. I just had a brain storm.”

“What?”

“Come with me.” Jackie stands up, pulling Shauna along with her. “Be super quiet, okay? I don’t want my parents to wake up.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“It’s a surprise.” Jackie grins. “Trust me.” 

They sneak through the house in their socks. Once they make it to the kitchen, Jackie creeps toward the garage door and opens it slowly so the hinges won’t squeak. 

It’s cooler in the garage than in the house, the concrete cold under their socks. Tools hang on pegboards along one wall, organized by function and size, with Mr. Taylor’s car taking up most of the room in the center. Jackie’s new purple bicycle is standing right in front of them, exactly where her dad left it, but Jackie walks right past it. 

Instead, she grabs her old bike from where it leans against the wall and wheels it back toward Shauna. 

“What are you doing?” Shauna asks. 

“We are going for a ride.” 

Shauna laughs nervously. “Right now? It’s almost eleven!” 

“So?” 

“So? We’ll get in trouble!” 

“Only if we get caught.” Jackie’s eyes sparkle with mischief. “My parents are asleep. They already took their sleeping pills. They aren’t gonna wake up for anything.” 

“But—”

Jackie points at the purple bike. “You’re riding that one.” 

Shauna’s throat gets tight. “I can’t ride your birthday bike.” 

“Yes you can. I’m telling you to,” Jackie says, her voice firm, “because you’re my best friend and I love you.”

Shauna looks at the bike. At Jackie. At the side door leading to outside, to nighttime adventure. 

“Okay,” she whispers.

They wheel the bicycles through the side door and down the driveway. It’s November in New Jersey, cold enough to see their breaths, but they don’t care. 

Jackie is already on her old bike, pushing off and pedaling toward the road. Shauna climbs onto the purple one and follows after. Together, they glide down the empty street. 

The streetlights cast everything in orange pockets of light with ponds of darkness between them. They ride through one, then another, then another. Jackie leads the way, standing up on her pedals to go faster. Shauna does the same, and suddenly she’s not thinking about the divorce, or anything really, except the wind in her hair. 

“No hands!” Jackie calls out, letting go of her handlebars. 

She spreads her arms wide like wings, her legs holding the bike steady, and laughs. 

They ride past quiet houses and parked cars, past Mrs. Henderson’s house (they both point at it and giggle). There are no parents, no rules, nothing to be sad about. Just the two of them. 

Then Jackie gets ambitious and attempts to do a wheelie. “Watch this! I’ve been practicing.”

She pulls up on the handlebars, front wheel lifting off the ground. It’s going well for a second, but then it tips too far back. Jackie bails just in time, jumping off as the bike crashes onto the sidewalk. 

Embarrassed, Jackie picks up the bike and sheepishly climbs back on. “I really have been practicing,” she says, face red as they set out once more. “I can do it, I swear.”

“I know you can,” Shauna says, smiling. 

They ride for another fifteen minutes when Jackie makes a sharp turn off the street, down a path where the pavement turns to dirt. Pedaling their bikes is more difficult on this terrain, and Shauna’s teeth rattle over every bump. The trees close in around them, bits of scraggly woods found in the spaces between neighborhoods. Not a real forest, but close enough. 

But soon, the trees open up, and Shauna sees water up ahead, flat and dark, save for the reflection of the moon shimmering from the middle. 

Oh. Now she knows where they are. 

The pond is small, the size of half a soccer field, and roughly shaped like a kidney beam. Aside from Jackie, Shauna, and a few dead cattails sticking up from the edges, it’s completely empty. 

Jackie hops off her bike and leans it against a tree by the water. Shauna does the same, legs a bit shaky from the ride. 

“You wanna skip rocks?” Jackie asks, already bending down to search the shoreline for flat stones. 

Shauna looks at the dark water, then at Jackie crouching in her striped pajamas and dirty, wet socks, and smiles. 

“Sure,” she says.

But, as it turns out, finding good stones in the dark is hard. Most of what they find is too bumpy or too heavy. Jackie gets lucky with a few. Her best throw skips five whole times before disappearing into the water. Shauna manages to get one rock to skip three times, which Jackie acts like is the most impressive thing she’s ever seen. 

Between throws, they talk. 

Jackie tells Shauna about the stray cat that’s been hanging around the backyard. Shauna tells Jackie about this new book series she’s reading. They talk about the new kid at school, a scrawny little thing named Natalie. They talk about how strange it is that they’ll be in fifth grade next year, finally at the top of the food chain until middle school started and they were shoved to the bottom once again. 

Then, as Jackie is searching for another stone, Shauna says it: “I’m sorry. For telling you to shut up.”

Jackie looks up, rock in hand. “I’m not mad about that.” 

“You’re not?” 

“No.” Jackie stands. “I just… I wish you would’ve told me the truth. Earlier. Instead of lying about the Hello Kitty stuff.” 

“I just… I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be real.” 

“That’s dumb,” Jackie says, but not meanly. “It’s still real even if you don’t say it.” 

“Yeah,” Shauna says, sighing heavily. “I know that now.” 

“Just tell me next time something bad happens,” Jackie murmurs. “Even if it’s bad. We’re best friends. I’ll always be here for you, for anything.” 

“I will. I promise,” Shauna says, truly meaning it in that moment. 

Jackie smiles. “For real?” 

Shauna extends her pinky. “For real.”

They link fingers and shake three times, fast. It’s as sacred of a promise one can make as a ten year old. 

“Good,” Jackie says, satisfied. 

They go back to hunting. By now, Shauna’s fingers are numb from the frigid air, but she keeps looking. 

Then she finds it.

The stone is truly perfect. Not too big or small, worn down to smoothness, with no ridges or bumps. It’s flat, the right size and weight. She runs her thumb across its surface, and just knows that it would skip forever. Eight times. Ten times. Maybe even more, with a little bit of luck. 

“Jackie.”

Jackie turns around. “Yeah?” 

Shauna holds out the stone. “Look at this.” 

Jackie takes it, holding it up, using the moon to examine it more closely “Wow. This one is really good.” 

She goes to hand it back, but Shauna shakes her head, pushing Jackie’s hand away. “I want you to have it.” She hesitates, vulnerable again. “You forgive me?” 

When Jackie meets her eyes, she looks touched. “Always.” 

Smiling now, Shauna nods towards the water. “Go on. See how many skips you can get.” 

But Jackie doesn’t move. She just looks at the stone, turning it over in her hands, testing its weight. Then she tucks it into the little pocket of her pajama pants. 

“What are you doing?” Shauna asks. 

“Keeping it.” 

“But…” Shauna frowns, puzzled. “Why?”

“I’m gonna put it in my box of special things,” Jackie says. “That way I can keep it forever and remember tonight.” 

Shauna’s chest goes all warm. She nods. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Jackie affirms. Then, more brightly, “Alright, let’s find a new rock and play a new game. No more skipping. Whoever can throw one the farthest wins.” 

Shauna grins. “Alright, you’re on.”