text: And I was pretty devastated. I stayed up half the night, trying to figure out how I could have miscalculated. And yet, if there was a moment of ignorance being bliss, that was kind of it. Because as crushing as that was, it was only one blip on what was about to be my not-so-greatest-hits week.
  
  But that, my friends, would be getting ahead of myself.
  
  So let's just start with Monday morning.
  
  I straggle through the gates, and there they are. My posse. All hanging out, waiting, checking up on me. So in that moment, in the barely rising sun they look great, even if a little bit glary.
  
  And as I make my way over, Jimmy is the first to comment. And it isn't something about how bad he feels or anything. Nope. Monday morning's first words are, "Wow, Sid, hate to say this, but you know, you look like shit."
  
  Fortunately this was no shocker. I had actually looked at myself in the mirror this very morning. I find it helps when I am brushing my teeth. "Yeah, thanks. I know." I look at him and sigh. "The scrabbits are back."
  
  Imani gets the question out first. "Scrabbits?"
  
  "Oh yeah. That's right. You wouldn't know. It was before your time. But back in the day, when I was five or six, every time 'life's pressures,'" always accompanied by an air quote, "would get beyond a certain level I would have the same dream. I was running and being chased by a jumbo scrabbit, half squirrel, half rabbit— all teeth. Not particularly pretty."
  
  "Ew." Imani executes a nice shiver of revulsion in solidarity. "Sorry I asked."
  
  "But on the bright side, after my third scrabbit-go-round, I got up and did some surfing, and I think, drumroll please, I may have decided on a quote for Mr. Clifton's table."
  
  The collective reactive groans are less than heartwarming. But I shall not be deterred.
  
  "It's attributed to Wolcott Gibbs, who used to be with The New Yorker magazine. And he said, or at least he supposedly said," and I open my phone so I can read it accurately, "I wish to Christ I had your grasp of confusion."
  
  Dead silence.
  
  "Hey, come on. It's great." I look at them, sort of stunned, or maybe just stung. "I mean, 'grasp of confusion.' It's kind of so me."
  
  Glances rapidly exchange, heads turn, smiles hide behind certain people's hands ...Imani. And then Jimmy gives me his big brother/wannabe dad sigh. "Sid, you really need to get some sleep."
  
  "Really? You don't like it?"
  
  And before this can become a thing, the bell rings, and we turn to head up the stairs. I am however, not quite convinced, so I turn to Imani, who is on my left. "Really? You really think it's bad?"
  
  Her deadpan stare is her only answer.
  
  First the return of the scrabbit. Then the deadpan stare. Perhaps, if I were able to read tea leaves, I might have seen this as an omen, a most prophetic start to my day. If nothing else, I would have been on high alert for the rule of three.
  
  Because yes, from there, I walk down the hall and into the science classroom where I find Mae Ann is already there, and she has managed to rearrange our seating. My usual seat is now housing Mae Lee, while the seat next to Mae Ann's is waiting to be filled. I am presuming, dreadfully, by me.
  
  "Uh, Mae Ann." I start, and I stop. She is staring at me, expectantly, with that grin thing again plastered on her face. And you know, I don't want to hurt someone's feelings or anything, but this is not good. And I have only myself to blame.
  
  Well, maybe I can blame Ari just a bit.
  
  And Vikram. After all, if he didn't have this robotics challenge, none of this would have been set in motion.
  
  Yeah, I know. I have only myself to blame. I knew better and I ignored it all because I needed her. So I used her and now she's gone off the deep end. And while a person might think this would be flattering, let me help you out here, it's not. What it is, is uncomfortable and creepy.
  
  So I avoid eye contact by casually, or more accurately pathetically, complete with a faux casual veneer, looking around as I desperately try to think what to say, whereupon I catch sight of twincess number two, Mae Lee, staring at me, and with crystal clarity I now totally understand the meaning of the expression "staring daggers."
  
  Whoa.
  
  However, I do have a slight moment of confusion here. Is she staring daggers because I better not hurt her sister or is she staring daggers because her sister is ditching her for me? This is a fifty-fifty crapshoot question.
  
  Either answer would not bode well for me.
  
  But it's time. Gotta own it. Putting on my big girl pants. Because a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
  
  And I straighten up and turn back.
  
  "Hey, Mae Ann?" I get the grinning head spin. Ugh. "We need to talk." I head tilt toward the hallway.
  
  Once we are there, she quirks her head and I start pacing. As much as I can't stand the twincess, this is still not an easy thing. "Look, I realize it probably seems like I might have been leading you on or something, because I asked for your help and all that, but I just want to say I think of us as friends. You know, like, friends. Like, buddies. Like, like pals."
  
  And I pause to come up for air, but she's not saying anything. So I gulp and dive back in. "You know. I mean, I didn't mean to take advantage of your feelings or anything like that. You know. 'Cause we're friends. Right? I mean friends are just there because they're friends. Buddies."
  
  Mae Ann is saying nothing, and I am babbling, trying to say something, but knowing nothing I say is going to make this better. And her eyes are welling. And I'm dying. And suddenly Mae Lee comes up from behind me and physically pushes me aside, sending me crashing into a locker.
  
  "So Sid, how you feel now, lah?"
  
  She grabs Mae Ann's hand and starts tugging her. And even I know that in whatever language it is they speak, Mae Lee is busy saying, "I told you so. I told you she is an asshole."
  
  And right now, even though I never meant to be, from my vantage point sprawled on the floor watching them head off, I'm not sure I can argue with whatever she is saying.
  
  But I pick myself up and set out to find them, right after I explain to Ms. Vilinsky, who of course picks now to come down the hallway, that I need to use the restroom.
  
  The slight delay gave them all the edge they needed, meaning I have no idea where they've gone. So I manically check the hallways, then the bathrooms— and finally, with no sign of them anywhere, I mosey to the front door and just stare off down the street. Not seeing them. Not seeing anyone, really.
  
  As I'm standing here, I feel an old, familiar presence come up beside me. For a brief second I wonder how Imani knew to come find me. Who would have told her? But then I remember this is high school and anyone could have told her because everyone already knows. She leans into my shoulder, her arm entwining itself around mine. "You okay?"
  
  I think for a minute. Yeah. I am okay. Not happy about it, but okay with it. I knew it wasn't going to end well. At least now it is ended.
  
  But now, since it seems like my day for risking myself, I dive back into the deep end. "Hey 'Mani, why didn't you tell me about Ze?"
  
  And although her arm tightens just a bit, she doesn't pull away. "I don't know exactly." Imani tilts her head onto my shoulder, and her words are slow, hesitant, and quietly personal. You know, the way a person sounds when they're figuring it out at the same time they're telling you.
  
  "I guess because Ze was kind of still Fenny to me, right up until she," Imani catches herself again, "ze wasn't. You know we left school together when I was, I think eleven, which was still kid-dom. I mean, if you remember, it wasn't until after I transferred here that I finally got my first bra."
  
  We break apart, laughing at the memory. I had nearly forgotten that story.
  
  But before she derails completely, Imani dives back in. "So even though we talked and even though I knew, it was all still kind of not really real. All my Fen stories and memories are from back when ze still identified as Fenny.
  
  "So I think, probably right up until that motorcycle pulled up and Ze jumped off, Ze really was still Fenny to me."
  
  We stand here, looking out at the street from the front door landing, and I sense she isn't quite finished, so I wait.
  
  "And even though I tried never to say anything, I don't know, unsupportive, I think Ze must have known even more than I did, because now we both know, ze's been in and out of New York and never reached out. If you hadn't needed a translator, I don't know; maybe I'd never have reached out either."
  
  When Imani began speaking, I was relieved this wasn't about me. That somehow Imani didn't trust me, or something. But as she kept talking I started feeling how deeply emotional it all was for her.
  
  "I think, maybe I was afraid of losing Fenny if I found Ze."
  
  And we stood there, Imani's arm now re-entwined with mine, staring out the window. "And I think, maybe I hurt zir."
  
  And with that confession, I realize the need for comfort has just shifted, and it's my turn.
  
  For the last six years, ever since we met, I learned there is one way to let her know you hear her, without pandering. Because that's mostly what we want. Just to know we told somebody and they heard us.
  
  So without looking sideways, but with a slight push of shoulder to shoulder, I think, Bea Arthur, wherever you are these days, I offer my apologies, and begin, "We'll always be bosom buddies ..." Yes. I know. It's corny ..."friends, sisters, and pals." Downright hokey, as a matter of fact.
  
  But deeply meaningful.
  
  When Imani transferred to Cooper, she discovered musical theater— and Mame— shortly after we met in the seventh grade. She determined then and there she was, one day, going to be Angela Lansbury, in talent, beauty, and longevity, and therefore, my job as her new BFF was to be Bea Arthur, which, I admit, I was not initially thrilled about, for many reasons. Then Mama showed me the reruns of Maude, and gave me some article about just how much of a force she was. After that, I have to admit, I was pretty darn happy about being Bea.
  
  At least I was until that fateful day Imani put us down for the seventh and eighth grade talent show, or ...lack-of-talent show.
  
  I'm sure you can all use your imaginations with no further help from me.
  
  I don't need to say a word. Imani knows exactly what I'm thinking, and sure enough, in spite of the slight tremor of tears I can still feel, she quietly sings the next line, "If life should reject you, there's me to protect you."
  
  And while I'm not one hundred percent positive about that, I still melt just a bit. I mean, could anyone honestly ask for more than that?