Just One Day Read Free Page B

besides, it never bothered you before.”
    Melanie and I have been best friends since her family moved two houses down from ours
     the summer before second grade. Since then, we’ve done everything together: we lost
     our teeth at the same time, we got our periods at the same time, even our boyfriends
     came in tandem. I started going out with Evan a few weeks after she started going
     out with Alex (who was Evan’s best friend), though she and Alex broke up in January
     and Evan and I made it until April.
    We’ve spent so much time together, we almost have a secret language of inside jokes
     and looks. We’ve fought plenty, of course. We’re both only children, so sometimes
     we’re like sisters. We once even broke a lamp in a tussle. But it’s never been like
     this. I’m not even sure what
this
is, only that since we got on the tour, being with Melanie makes me feel like I’m
     losing a race I didn’t even know I’d entered.
    “I came out here tonight,” I say, my voice brittle and defensive. “I lied to Ms. Foley
     so we could come.”
    “Right? And we’ve had so much fun! So why don’t we keep it going?”
    I shake my head.
    She shuffles through her bag and pulls out her phone, scrolls through her texts. “
Hamlet
just let out too. Craig says that Todd’s taken the gang to a pub called the Dirty
     Duck. I like the sound of that. Come out with us. It’ll be a blast.”
    The thing is, I did go out with Melanie and everyone from the tour once, about a week
     into the trip. By this time, they’d already gone out a couple times. And even though
     Melanie had known these guys only a week—the same amount of time I’d known them—she
     had all these inside jokes with them, jokes
I
didn’t understand. I’d sat there around the crowded table, nursing a drink, feeling
     like the unlucky kid who had to start a new school midway into the year.
    I look at my watch, which has slid all the way down my wrist. I slide it back up,
     so it covers the ugly red birthmark right on my pulse. “It’s almost eleven, and we
     have to be up early tomorrow for our train. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to take
     my adventure-averse self back to the room.” With the huffiness in my voice, I sound
     just like my mom.
    “Fine. I’ll walk you back and then go to the pub.”
    “And what if Ms. Foley checks in on us?”
    Melanie laughs. “Tell her I had heatstroke. And it’s not hot anymore.” She starts
     to walk up the slope back toward the bridge. “What? Are you waiting for something?”
    I look back down toward the water, the barges, now emptying out from the evening rush.
     Trash collectors are out in force. The day is ending; it’s not coming back.
    “No, I’m not.”

Two
    ----
    O ur train to London is at eight fifteen—Melanie’s idea, so we will have maximum shopping
     time. But when the alarm clock starts beeping at six, Melanie pulls the pillow over
     her head.
    “Let’s get a later train,” she moans.
    “No. It’s already all arranged. You can sleep on the train. Anyway, you promised to
     be downstairs at six thirty to say good-bye to everyone.” And I promised to say good-bye
     to Ms. Foley.
    I drag Melanie out of bed and shove her under the hotel’s weak excuse for a shower.
     I brew her some instant coffee and quickly talk to my mom, who stayed up until one
     in the morning Pennsylvania time to call. At six thirty, we trudge downstairs. Ms.
     Foley, in her jeans and Teen Tours! polo shirt as usual, shakes Melanie’s hand. Then
     she embraces me in a bony hug, slips me her business card, and says I shouldn’t hesitate
     to call if I need anything while in London. Her next tour starts on Sunday, and she’ll
     be there too until it begins. Then she tells me she’s arranged a seven-thirty taxi
     to take me and Melanie to the train station, asks once again if we’re being met in
     London (yes, we are), tells me yet again that I’m a good girl, and warns me against
     pickpockets on the