“Josie, you're getting paint on everything!”

It was true. All three of us had started out our mission as clean as we had ever been. Lillian now had two large streaks of blue paint on her cheeks and she looked like a football player. She also wasn't happy about it. Somehow she didn't think it went with her plaid pink miniskirt and her white sweater. Who wears white when painting, I ask you?

“Look, I'm sorry, but that's how I paint,” I said innocently. Olivia was grinning as she dipped her brush into the white paint, covering up all the little blue dots that had mysteriously dropped onto the cardboard signs.

“Like hell it is. You just want to make a mess,” Lillian grumbled, smearing the paint off her face onto a paper towel.

“Lighten up, Lil. Just because Terry was a no-show last night,” Olivia said lightly, a look of mock terror crossing her face when Lillian gave her the ugliest glare imaginable. “Oh, I struck a nerve.”

“He said he had to take care of his little sister while his mom worked overtime.”

“Yeah, but how likely is that?” I added. “Guys always make up stuff like that to get out of dates.”

“Fear of commitment,” Olivia agreed, nodding slowly.

“Would you both quit messing with me? I'm so not in the mood.”

“We could tell,” Olivia said, rolling her eyes. “We're just trying to cheer you up.”

“By making fun of me?” snarled Lillian, splattering black paint on the white signs Olivia had just finished painting as she plopped her brush down. “Great technique.”

“Really, Lillian, you are in desperate need of a vacation. Was summer not long enough for you?”

I felt compelled to fling more paint at Lillian, but I didn't think Olivia wanted to hear us bicker any longer. She hardly mentioned how much we annoyed her, but I knew that Lillian grated on her nerves far more than I ever did. They had an undertone of dislike to their friendship that had sprouted a tense rivalry and bitterly sarcastic camaraderie. With these two it was all a battle of oneupmanship. Someone had to win. And yet, somehow, they remained friends, however shallow the initial bond was.

“Well, look who it is,” Lillian said deviously, a wicked grin on her face. “Josie, go talk to your new friend.”

“Cut it out,” I snapped. I looked over my shoulder at him. “You say friend, but everyone knows what you mean.”

“Oh, Josie, I resent that. If I meant something other than what I said, I would simply say it. I try not to hold back with you.”

“I bet,” I muttered. She was still smiling, so I deliberately picked up my brush and painted her barely covered tan thigh orange. She shrieked and tossed her brush in the tray, the blue spray hitting Olivia full in the face.

Very carefully, Olivia opened her speckled eyelids. With no hesitation, she took her paint brush and put some on each of our heads. “Now, children, behave.” Lillian pretended to sulk.

I pulled the wet blue strands of my hair as straight as possible, the paint squishing out onto my hands. “That's a nice look for you,” someone said. I turned around. It was him. Time to be charming, I thought.

“Hey, Jonathan,” I said warmly.

“I'll just say in advance, that if this turns into a paint battle, I plan on hightailing it out of here.”

I laughed. “How courageous of you.”

“Hey, my mom still buys my clothes and if she has to wash paint out of them, I'll be in big trouble.”

“Of course you will, Momma's boy.” He scoffed at the nickname and pretended to examine his shirt for any tell-tale stains or loose threads. “Well, if we can't paint your shirt,” I said brightly, “we might as well try the rest of you.” Before he could protest, I dipped my finger in the black and painted two solid lines across his cheeks, as I had done to Lillian. “Very fashionable.”

“Thanks, Josie,” he said with a crooked smile. “I gotta go, see you in Lit.”

“Yeah, okay.” If I'd thought about it harder, I would have expected some sort of reaction from the girls, but at the moment I was rather pleased with myself. You see, it had been two weeks since Leon and I had officially begun our friendship. There was something about being close, personal friends with a guy that did something strange to girls. I know because in that time, I'd become a little braver. For example, when Mrs. Grayson, my squinting, overbearing, as lovable as a cactus English teacher, assigned my class to do collaborative reports about a book of our choice, I was not excessively nervous about my partner. I happened to be paired with Jonathan, the tall glass of water jock/nerd that eighty percent of the class adored, male and female alike. Girls called him Hot Jon (he actually responded to this—massive ego alert!) and guys kept an eye on their girlfriends when he was around. Within five minutes of our discussion, I was ready to call him Hot Jon, or anything else he requested. The guy was a veritable encyclopedia of literature. His span of knowledge was only slightly less enticing than Ms. Renner's, who actually loved what she read, but still. He read everything.

When I say everything, I mean he was the kind of person who had read half of Shakespeare's plays and all of the sonnets and seemed to think that that was not impressive in any way, and as soon as he had spare time, he should read the rest. Maybe it was because I was the only one who saw past those good looks to the mind within, but Jonathan began acknowledging me in the halls, stopping to chat when I was at my locker, and giving me reading suggestions when he saw me in the library.

It wasn't much by way of male attention (about fifteen minutes a day was spent talking with him, twenty on a good day), but it was still more than I was used to. I hadn't held a conversation with a guy since middle school when I met Leon. And all that had changed in a very short amount of time. It was enough to make a girl's head spin and mine certainly did.

Also in that time, my male classmates began to see me as a girl (rather than an alien, I suppose, or a fellow 'buddy'), which I correlated with Jonathan's interest in me. However shallow or inconsequential that was, I was drawing people to me and it felt sort of good. This, I thought, must be what popular people feel like all the time. I didn't envy them, though. It was nerve-wracking to imagine that people were watching you all the time.

My world continued to shift and grow in very small ways, but enough to mark a noticeable change in me. Olivia commented a few times about how different I was acting and Lillian almost ate her lipstick when I told her I'd be willing to let her give me one of the twenty lip glosses she carried with her (I only said yes to shut her up—I also picked the least glittery, most neutral colored one).

Still, they had never witnessed me speaking to a guy who was not Leon and it was dumb of me not to expect them to be surprised. Surprised might be the wrong word. Shocked to death, more like it.

“Josie?” Olivia said tentatively.

“Hmm?” I was busy fixing the 'p' on the “Show off Your School Spirit.” It looked too much like a backwards 'q.'

“Do you want to explain that at all?”

“Explain what?” It simply did not want to straighten out. I took some more black paint from the tray.

“I think I can speak for the both of us, Olivia,” Lillian said coolly. “What the hell was that?”

Now they had my attention. Lillian didn't believe in swearing of any kind, even the word 'hell'—which was ironic, considering she could be quite the little slut when she wanted to be. “Wh-”

“Did I just see you flirt with a guy?” she asked, bug-eyed. I looked at them closely. I saw that accompanying their skepticism wasn't anger; it was joy. “I mean, really, did that just happen? Did I just witness that?”

“No,” I said dryly. “I was merely holding a conversation with someone who wasn't one of you. Is that flirting?”

“I don't know, Josie, you were pretty flirty. Very 'come hither,'” Olivia said. “Our little Josie, all grown up!” she whispered to Lillian. They both wiped imaginary tears from their eyes and chuckled.

“Ha freaking ha.”

“Seriously, if you talked to me that way, Josie, I'd be inclined to think you were attracted to me. And no offense, but I'm not bi, sister.” Lillian stared off in the direction Jonathan had gone. “Next time, please, introduce me to him, to this Jonathan. I would love to meet that delicious piece of-”

“Oh, God, here she goes.” Olivia rolled her eyes and nudged me with an elbow.

“Do you think he thought I was being flirty?” I asked, a little horrified. I didn't think I was ready for that kind of trouble. Me learning how to flirt successfully was kind of like trying to teach an infant how to walk before she could crawl. Baby steps was going to do it for me.

“Naw, he's probably used to way more advanced flirts than little old you, Josie. Don't worry about it. I've seen him with some of those girls from our French class. Lydia had enough cleavage exposed that words were unnecessary. You're a little behind on the social scale, sweetheart.”

“Oh, okay. Should we head to lunch then? I think the bell already rang.” We looked around. Half the people in the gym were gone and even more were disappearing through the double doors into the lobby.

“Let's go then.” We packed up the paint and laid the signs on the bleachers.

~*~

I was hungry today and unfortunately hadn't had the time to pack a lunch. I waited with the girls in the long cafeteria line and snagged an edible-looking Caesar salad and a soda. After Olivia and Lillian had gotten their food—and I had mourned the loss of four dollars—we all headed back to our table where Leon was already waiting for us.

Greetings were murmured and we began the lively lunchtime talk.

“Josie was flirting with a guy today.”

“Shut up, Lillian, he doesn't need to know that!”

“I think Philip's back today, to stay this time.”

“Oh, cool. So what did the doctors say was wrong?”

“I mean, she was really chumming it up with this guy.”

“I was not.”

“Believe it or not, they think it was a virus brought on by depression.”

“Philip? Depression? I thought he was happy. I mean, he and Grace are always together, and that girl is just a ray of sunshine. I don't think it's even possible to be with her without being happy.”

“I think it might have something to do with his grandmother.”

“Jonathan is probably going to ask her-”

“Would you shut up?”

“I'm just teasing you, sheesh. So touchy today.... that salad looks gross.”

“Anyway, Toby will be back in a couple days.”

“Did I ask about him?”

“No but you wanted to, so I spared you the trouble. The lucky bastard's living it up right now in California.”

“I actually think it's raining there.”

“Yeah, well what about Terry. Can I joke about that?”

“Absolutely not, because that's not funny.”

“And my inexperience with talking to guys is?”

“...Yes. Definitely yes.”

“You suck.”

“Oh, there he is.” Leon looked over at the table he used to sit at. A boy was sitting on the bench, head resting on his elbow. I had only been half listening to Olivia and Leon's conversation, but when I looked at who I assumed was Philip, depression came to mind in an instant. His brown hair was mussed and everywhere, his clothes were wrinkled and disheveled and his eyes had dark circles beneath them.

His entire demeanor changed when a cute girl with short jet black hair bounded across the cafeteria to him. She had to be Grace, and it was an appropriate name for her. She moved like a fish through water, fluid-like and lithe. When she got to him, she simply plopped herself in his lap. Philip seemed to be glad to see her—he was almost smiling—but he shrugged her off. I saw the hurt pass her face. Then seconds later she was smiling again, which made me wonder if his brushoff had affected her at all.

“Philip!” Leon called, gaining him a glare from one of the assistant principals. “Gracie!”

“Quiet down,” the harsh Mr. Bower growled at us as he passed, holding a tray of food that looked more like toxic waste than something that was safe to consume.

Grace sashayed her way to our table, Philip hovering behind her. “Hello, all,” she said kindly. “Well, Leon, you snagged three girls while I was gone. I'm too proud to be surprised.”

He rolled his eyes, though there was no denying the flush that crossed his face. “Josie, Lillian, this is the incorrigible Grace.”

“Girls, call me Gracie.” Olivia and I beamed at her. We couldn't help it. She was so lovely and nice, it was impossible not to. Lillian, however, had that jealous gleam in her eyes. It might have had something to do with the sickly awesome dress Gracie had on. She was extremely color coordinated and everything matched, from her gorgeous blue print dress to the kelly green flats she wore.

“And Olivia you already know.”

“It's a pleasure to see you again, Olivia.”

“Nice to see you too, Gracie.”

“Hey, Philip, how's it going?” Leon said softly. He was forcing the worry from his voice.

“Okay,” his friend said, in a voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in awhile. “Nice to meet you guys,” he said. “Lillian, Josie.” He slowly walked away, coughing into the grungy sleeve of his sweatshirt.

I felt bad for the guy. He looked in desperate need of a hug, not to mention a shower. Gracie seemed to know this. “I better go. Um, catch you guys later.” She gave us all a quick wave and a smile laced with concern before taking off after her boyfriend.

Leon and Olivia shared a look and Lillian stared grumpily at the back of Gracie's dress. I took another bite of my salad. It did look a little gross, even if the taste was fine.

Leon was looking at me in amusement. “Wait, Josie was flirting with a guy?”

“Way to catch up there, Leon,” Lillian said, elbowing him in the side.

“Honest to God, it was a thing of beauty.”

“I'd have paid good money to see that.”

“You're all very supportive and I appreciate the compassion I'm being shown.” We were all laughing, except Lillian. She had a thoughtful look on her face.

“You know,” she said, “what if he does ask you out? You like him right?”

“Uh, no.” It wasn't that I hated him or anything; he did not seem like the boyfriend type, not that I was on the market for that sort of thing. Our friendship was definitely based on superficialities like what our favorite books were and whether or not he was as nice to look at as everyone said he was (he was).

“Well, that wasn't exactly a denial,” Olivia said, wagging her finger at me and giggling into her pizza.

“How could you not?” Lillian asked, aghast. “Then share him with me. Next time we see him, remember to say, 'Oh, by the way, my amazing friend Lillian says she would love to get to know you better and do Fridays work for you?'”

“I think I'd rather puke up this salad than say that to the guy I have to work on a project with for the next three weeks.”

She pouted. “It was just a suggestion.”

“He's right over there,” I said, pointing with my fork. “You could tell him that yourself.” Since there was a relatively small population of students at our high school (there were many in our area), all the juniors had lunch together, just like every other grade. Plus, the cafeteria was pretty huge, not to mention the space at the picnic tables outside.

“Huh, as if I would do something that stalkerish and weird.”

“Right,” I said, Olivia grinning at me. “You've never done something like that? Need we remind you how you managed to snag that date with Terry?”

“Oh, fine, just gang up on me again!”

“I haven't heard this story,” Leon said mildly. “So what happened?”

We bickered back and forth for the rest of lunch. Leon mentioned something about a test that he needed to study for in history, so Olivia and Lillian volunteered to help him out after school. I politely declined. Mom was getting off early today and we were going to spend some time together after dinner. She had gotten a small promotion and a nice advance, which meant it was time to get her some more modern clothes. Some of the dresses she wore, I swear belonged to my grandmother. It was a miracle she could make them look that attractive. Thankfully, she no longer needed to try. It was a night for shopping.

Lit class passed with minimal awkwardness between Jonathan (who still had the paint on his face) and myself as we worked on our project. Then my world did a little nosedive when Mr. Metzger handed me back my Pre-calculus test with a fat C written across the top and a note that said to see him after class.

We talked quickly about what I didn't understand—most of the answers I had gotten wrong had been the result of a few silly mistakes and weak nerves—and then I redid the problems I got wrong for half the credit they were worth, bumping my grade up to an 89 percent. I left the classroom at a half past four, feeling a lot better about math.

After a pit stop at my locker to leave my textbooks there (no homework), I went out the front doors and past the empty parking lot. Sitting on a bench under a maple tree with birds chirping at her feet was Gracie, her carefree smile gone and her eyes misty, as if she'd been crying for awhile. She no longer looked like the bright and bubbly girl I had heard Olivia describe.

I hadn't decided whether to approach her or back away carefully and pretend I hadn't seen anything when she looked up, noticed me, and chirped, “Hi, Josie. What are you doing here?” She was a magician with emotions, her tears and all hints of them vanishing with that growing smile.

I wasn't sure how to respond to her optimism, or if I was obligated to ask her why she had been crying. Even if she'd continued to sit there mournfully, leaving the evidence of her unhappiness in plain sight, it really wasn't any of my business, especially since I'd just met her. This vein of logic felt strange, particularly since I was normally very invasive and nosy, without trying at all. “I-I did pretty bad on a test in my last period,” I said, giving in to logic like a coward, “so I stayed to make it up.”

“Oh, neat.”

“Why're you still here?”

“Philip forgot he was driving me home today,” she said wistfully. “I called Leon, but he has his phone off, so I'm waiting for my mom to get off work.”

It was stupid of me, but I couldn't help thinking that even though I knew very little of Philip too, he didn't seem to be good at being a boyfriend. By the looks of Gracie's puffy eyes, she didn't think he was either. “I'd offer you a ride, but I don't have a car,” I explained. Or a license, I thought.

A feeling I couldn't explain rose in my stomach when I looked at Gracie. She had the kind of personage that was instantly adored, because you could somehow tell that she would be the sweetest of your friends. Something about her screamed for you to pay attention and to want, to need to be her friend. I couldn't help but be as nice and open as I would have been with Olivia. “You can walk with me and stay at my house until your mom gets home,” I offered feebly. “I think it's going to storm tonight.”

“Really?” she asked hopefully. “You'd let me do that?”

“Absolutely, Gracie. Come on.” I removed her backpack from the mud she had set it in, brushing it off and handing it back to her.

“I appreciate this, Josie, a whole bunch. Philip usually doesn't forget things like this.” I sensed she wasn't saying something, like maybe in the past Philip hadn't been leaving his girlfriend in the rain on a normal basis, but it was steadily becoming an everyday occurrence.

“It's no problem, Gracie.” We shared a smile and afterwards, a comfortable silence that was not broken until the rain began to pour and we went running like children on a rain walk, laughing at the thunder and our waterlogged clothing. As soon as we got in the door, I put the tea kettle on the stove and went upstairs to change clothes and find something for Gracie to wear while our new dryer returned her clothes to a wearable condition. Our old one had given out a couple days before, the forty-year old machine sputtering into uselessness during a cycle of whites.

When I returned downstairs, she had two cups of tea on the bar counter, the sugar bowl and a spoon nearby. “I hope you like ginger tea. I saw it in your cabinet and I figured it was the least I could do, considering all this.” The rainwater in her dress was slowly drip-dripping onto the floor.

“Yeah, I do, thanks. Here you go.” I handed her the clothes and she wandered off upstairs. This would be difficult to explain to Mom—she didn't surprises very much—so I did my best to clean up the floor and to get dinner started. Turning on the radio, I got out the largest pot in the kitchen, deciding to make spaghetti. Gracie came back in the second chorus of “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” and insisted on helping me by setting the table. Having her around was more fun than I thought it would be.

Almost as soon as I had put the steaming pasta on the table, Mom walked through the door, wringing out her blue umbrella. “Hey, honey,” she said. Her face fell when she saw Gracie come out of the bathroom in her now dry clothes. “Who's this?”

“This is Gracie, Mom, a friend from school. Her bo-”

“What happened, Mrs. Mitchell,” Gracie said respectfully, “was that my ride left me at school in the rain and Josie very kindly offered to let me stay here until my mother or father could come get me so I wouldn't be out in this terrible weather.” As if to prove her point, the lights flickered.

“Oh. That was very thoughtful of you, Josie,” Mom said happily. She generally didn't take to strangers well. Gracie seemed to be an exception, which sure made my life easier. I sighed. “Gracie, since you're here, why don't you stay for dinner?”

“Really, Mrs. Mitchell?” she breathed. I felt terrible for her, the way she kept saying 'really,' like no one had done something nice for her or considered her first in a long, long time.

“Sure, honey. And call me Marina.”

We dropped her off later, so she wouldn't have to call her mother. Though, Gracie hadn't thought to contact her mother at all and when we got her home, her mother practically broke the door down when Gracie knocked on it, attacking her with a frenzied hug. She thanked us profusely for bringing her home—after chastising Gracie a bit for making her worry—and sent us off with well-wishes and a cake. Apparently, Mrs. Lindow took to baking when she was worried.

The sad thing was when Gracie checked her cell phone in the car (I sat in the back with her), she frowned and muttered under her breath darkly, looking away from the four calls from her mom. Philip hadn't called her once.

A/N: Jonathan is based loosely on a real guy at my old high school who we girls actually did call Hot Jon--that's right, even me. No one was immune to his charms.

So... this chapter kind of sucks because Gracie is new to me, and I'm still trying to figure her out. But other than characterization, if there are any mistakes in grammar or punctuation or spelling, feel free to review. Or you could just review; it keeps me from going insane. :D