Page 1 of The Masks We Wear

ONE

Three Years Ago

“What do you mean you’re moving here?” My childhood friend, Liliana, knits her arched brows, the vein in her jaw tics when she clenches it.

I don’t understand. I thought she would be happy, excited even.

We’ve been best friends for seven years, and even though we only see each other in the summer because of my divorced parents, it’s never hurt our friendship. When I’m here, we do everything together. We camp in the backyard, stargaze until the sun wakes up, gorge on popcorn and watch scary movies. My favorite thing about us, is when we talk, even when we run out of things to say.

But mixed in with all the good, there’s also the crappy. Her parent’s affair, my mother’s unexplained medical issues, her father’s abandonment… everything kidsshouldn’thave to go through growing up, we’ve handled together.

After what felt like forever, my mom asked if I wanted to move in with my father to finish the remainder of high school. She knew I liked Washington better, plus the school system has better opportunities for my future. Really though, Liliana was the first thing to pop in my head, and I said yes so fast I was scared I hurt my mom’s feelings. But I was ecstatic.

Seeing Liliana during the short eight weeks of summer wasn’t enough.

I want to be here all the time.

I thoughtshewanted me here too. Then again, I can’t deny the subtle changes I’ve noticed before our eighth grade year—we lost half our summer when she went to a cheerleading boot camp. Ever since, she started dressing a little differently, putting makeup on and didn’t want to eat junk food with me until two in the morning anymore. She said she had to maintain her physique if she wanted to remain on the squad. I didn’t mention any of it to her, though, not even when she dyed her burnt caramel hair blonde and started wearing hazel green contacts.

I miss her chestnut eyes.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, almost scared to hear her response.

Absentmindedly, I shake my head, ridding it of the thoughts. Liliana and I are best friends through and through. Every one of her secrets, every fear, every sad thought, all of it, belongs to me. I squeeze the small box in my hoodie—if not, to make sure it’s there, maybe for some luck.

I watch as she twirls a fake golden strand between her fingers, her gaze on to the ground. My pulse strengthens with each passing second.

What is happening?

“You can tell me, Liliana,” I whisper, giving her a soft, reassuring smile.

“Lily.”

I tilt my head, my eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

“It’s just Lily now.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t think you should move here, Spencer,” she spits out.

What? A sharp pain echoes through my chest, and I rub at the ache. Liliana—Lilystands, brushing off her blue jeans.

My eyes follow her, too surprised to speak. Is that all she has to say about it? No rationale or explanation? But then again, her logic doesn’t matter. I know it won’t change the sting radiating through my veins or the sudden thinness to the air.

And I doubt anything will ease my throbbing heart.

Ugh. Why does she have to wear those crap contacts? I used to be able to read her like an open book. If she weren’t wearing them, I’d be able to reason with her, maybe see where this bizarre change is coming from. Now, with those contacts that act like drawn curtains, I can’t see anything, and I know she can’t seeme.

Did I do something wrong?

“Look, I gotta go, Spence. We have another practice.”

Lily doesn’t wait for a response and instead disappears through the gate combining our two backyards. I stand like a stick in the mud, fixated on the spot she stood until the sun’s rays fade behind a row of clouds I hadn’t noticed before.

Running a hand through the side of my hair, I slip the box from my pocket—the box I worked all spring to save up for, and open it. Even in the overcast, the small heart charm sparkles, attached to the James Avery bracelet she’s been eyeing since last Christmas.

A heaviness moves into my chest, anchoring my racing heart in place. I swallow my thick saliva and look in Liliana’s backyard to the treehouse we use to sleep in for days straight.

---