Page 6 of The Design of Goodbye
I hated what her comment implied. My dad had probably told my principal, my teachers, and the entire school administration about my mom.
“I’ll try,” I agreed easily because all I wanted was to leave so I could stop thinking about her. Because, when I did, my mind filled with unanswered questions.
Why had she left?
What had I done to make her leave?
What could I do to get her back?
chapter three
My town of Reed was famous for having the largest apple farm in the state of Michigan. Every fall, tourists traveled to Reed and filled baskets with a variety of fresh apples—McIntosh, Ginger Gold, Red Delicious,Gala...
In my opinion, Reed had two kinds of residents: the ones who hated the wide-eyed, excited tourists who took over our town for seven weeks a year and couldn’t stand the sight of an apple, and the ones who loved our crowded Main Street and ever-present smell of apple pie and cider.
Ilovedit. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Reed Apple Festival was my favorite event of the year. The apple festival was the third weekend of October—right as apple picking generally died down. Main Street closed, and hundreds of booths selling apple-themed merchandise filled the street. While I loved apple-scented candles as much as everyone else, my favorite part was the food. Apple cobbler, apple bread, apple fudge, apple fritters...
On the last day of the apple festival, a baking competition was held. My dad participated in it every year, and he’d won a handful of times. My favorite recipe he’d created—and won the year I’d turned ten—was his apple caramel brownies topped with whipped cinnamon cream cheese frosting. Every year since, I begged him to make them. And every October, he did.
“Parking was a bitch,” said Jules, breaking me out of my thoughts as she flopped across from me in her normal chair at Buzz, a local family-owned coffee shop and our favorite place to hang out. “I can’t wait for this ridiculous apple season to be over. I want my normal parking spot back.” She pointed outside to a parking spot directly in front of Buzz.
Jules hated this time of year. She hated to be inconvenienced, and that’s all Reed’s Apple Festival was to her. She took off her wool coat, and something on her neck glinted in the dimming sunlight. I immediately recognized it.
“Why are you wearing that?” I demanded.
“What?” She batted her eyelashes while twirling a strand of hair. She was sitting there, so casual in her tight Ruby June cable-knit sweater and high-waisted jeans, looking like a picture of annoying perfection.
I squeezed my knees, trying to keep my anger from exploding. I wanted to grab onto that necklace and pull. I wanted to feel the chain break and watch the crystal fall to the ground and shatter.
“You know,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral, “one of the necklaces.”
She touched the necklace. “We’ve been over this. You were supposed to run. That’s the first rule of stealing. It isn’t my fault you weren’t smart about it. Quit blaming me. I got away with it and gained some fabulous jewelry in the process. If you’re so jealous, find another store and run this time.”
“Whatever.”
“Let’s go order.” She stood, not realizing—or caring—how much she’d hurt me.
As we waited in line, I glared at the back of her neck. At that annoying gold chain. I didn’t care about the jewelry. It was the fact that Jules was my best friend, and best friends were supposed to stick by you, no matter what.
Not Jules. She’d never been that kind of friend—I didn’t know why I kept expecting her to be.
I remembered the day Jules and I met in perfect detail—the smell of post-rain air, the sound my rain boots had made as my mom and I walked to the neighborhood park, and how I’d felt as I watched Jules in her purple shorts and pink heart-shaped sunglasses attempt a backflip off one of the monkey bars.
After she’d landed—perfectly, of course—we made eye contact. It was in that moment, on a seemingly normal Thursday in June, my life changed.
Becoming friends with Jules had been amazing—a whole new experience. My mom never let me hang out with friends outside of school, but with Jules, she had. She never let me have a sleepover, but with Jules, she had.
For the first time, I’d had arealfriend.
That summer before fifth grade, my mom had taken us everywhere. We went to the beach, the zoo, and the raspberry farm I’d been begging to go to for years. It was the best summer I ever had—not because I had a friend, but because it’d been the first summer my mom and I did more than spend my break in her sewing room.
I’d always known it was because of Jules. I wished I knew what it was about Jules my mom loved so much. Maybe I could’ve filled that missing piece my mom must’ve needed from me years ago. Before it was too late. Then maybe she wouldn’t have left.
For three years, the novelty of my friendship with Jules stayed strong. But then we started eighth grade. Jules began the school year obsessed with two things: looks and boys. To her surprise, the boys loved her. With that attention, she gained a self-confidence that, over the year, turned into a haughtiness I’d grown to hate.
On our first day of freshman year, Jules sauntered into East Reed High School like she owned the place. Everyone fell for her confidence and sickening charisma, like she was some kind of sweet drug. Girls wanted to be her, and boys wanted to date her.
