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  Asha leans back against the teak deck chair and sighs, scrolling through her ChitChat feed. A ton of posts bear the hashtag #happybirthdayAsha. Birthday texts from friends and acquaintances keep popping up on her screen, but she ignores them all for now.

  After coming home from school and changing, she went for a good, hard run, which was helpful. Running is the only thing that shuts down her overactive mind. But her calm state is quickly disappearing.

  The air by the lake has a touch of the Colorado spring snowstorm that forecasters claim will blow in over the mountains tonight. For now, though, it isn’t even cold enough for a thick sweater. She unzips the Nike hoodie she wore over her black running tank top. The late afternoon sun feels pleasantly warm, even though the glare makes her squint. The world narrows into the window of her phone screen, framed by her thick, spiky lashes.

  A silly sophomore, Alicia Montoya, just posted a video giving a shout-out to her new bangs. It definitely requires a response. Thank goodness ChitChat comments are anonymous. Just one more reason to love it.

  DEFINITELY NOT YOUR BEST LOOK! #stylefail

  While she’s at it, Asha writes #stylefail under a few other posts—Beth Hunt’s picture of her new Miu Miu super-round sunglasses and Jessica Martin’s full-body shot in a new maxi dress. Then Asha has to make a couple of positive comments to balance things out.

  One under a video of her newest crush, Nate, hiking …

  STOP BEING SO CUTE!

  And one under Emma’s montage of birthday clips from random movies, captioned #HappybirthdayAsha …

  YOU’RE THE BEST! GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW.

  Asha closes out of ChitChat and checks her texts from Skye. Asha’s been kind of annoyed with Skye lately. She’s always so holier-than-thou about her stupid job. It makes Asha nuts. And maybe a little jealous. It’s not just the time Skye spends at work, it’s the fact that she’s always talking about needing to work. Like that somehow makes her better than everyone who doesn’t. And then of course the way she’s all geared up for her future political career. It can be a bit much.

  Asha takes a deep breath. She crosses her arms over her chest and tucks her phone into her hoodie pocket, staring down at her lime-green Reebok running shoes.

  “Honey, can you give me a hand?”

  Asha turns around. Through the large sliding glass doors of the house, Asha sees her mom stringing a Happy Birthday banner across the wall. The table below is covered with party hats and streamers even though there will only be two guests—Emma and Skye. Asha’s mom doesn’t understand why she doesn’t want a big birthday party.

  Not this year.

  “You’re going to have dinner with us upstairs before your friends arrive, right?” Asha’s mom calls out the door.

  Asha frowns. “Yes,” she says, for the third time this afternoon.

  “What time are they coming?”

  “Around nine.”

  Her mother steps out on the deck with a birthday hat in her hands. For a moment she stands looking out at the water; then her eyes drop to the hat in her hands. Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

  “Mine,” Asha answers.

  “Sorry,” her mom says. Sadness engulfs her face. “I forgot.”

  “It’s okay, Mom,” Asha says. “Everybody forgets sometimes.”

  Her face clears in relief. “You’re going to have dinner with us upstairs before your friends arrive, right?”

  Luke drops me in front of Asha’s house. Her exclusive lakeside neighborhood is a beautiful hangout any time of the year. Summer is the prime time, though. Asha, Emma, and I have spent many a day paddleboarding and swimming out on that water.

  Tonight, no one’s on the lake; there are only geese honking as they fly in low over my head. Summer seems a long time away. The forecast must have been right for once because the air is cold now and there is no sign of the moon or stars. It even smells like snow.

  Shivering, I button my coat. Then I reach back into the car to grab my overnight tote, the cake box, and the shopping bag from Luke’s back seat.

  “Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you tomorrow night,” I say to Luke.

  “Have fun,” he says, leaning over to give me a quick kiss.

  I shut the car door, balancing the cake box in one hand, and head around the side of the house to Asha’s private downstairs entrance.

  The lights from the other houses shimmer across the surface of the lake. The real view is only evident once you’re inside one of the mansions. From Asha’s giant picture windows, you can see the Rocky Mountains, and if you catch the light just right when the sun is going down, there is a perfectly mirrored reflection of mountains and sky. That’s why the residents of Linden Lake pay the big bucks.

  I don’t come from this part of town, even though Asha and I have gone to the same public schools ever since kindergarten. I live in a house in the cheap seats, farther north, with a view of the eastern plains toward Kansas and a Budweiser plant. If I look in that direction, with my face toward the early morning sun, there are no mountains. No lakes. Just fields full of sunflowers and pumpkins in the fall and dirt in the winter.

  I got over feeling intimidated by the difference in our economic statuses, long ago. Asha’s parents are rich. Her whole family is rich. Her paternal grandparents, who immigrated from India, were big-shot scientists who invented a medical device that became important for saving lives when people had open-heart surgery. And her maternal grandparents, who hailed from Ireland, started a law firm. So Asha’s “bedroom” is really an entire ground-floor apartment with a view of the mountains reflected in the lake. We could hang out in my bedroom, but there is hardly enough room for the bed. We’re never invited to Emma’s house. I’m not sure why. She lives partway between me and Asha. But who wants to go anywhere else when there is this place?

  I knock, but it’s only a courtesy, so I walk right in.

  Emma is already there, sitting on the bright-red couch and watching a black-and-white movie on her iPad, her earbuds in. Her thick blonde bangs are clipped back away from her face and the rest of her hair is in a low pony. Her face is clear of makeup. She is wearing faux fur slippers, red plaid sweatpants, and a gray oversized tee that reads Dance like no one is watching.

  The annoying thing is, Emma can wear whatever she wants and she still looks beautiful. She has this bohemian, hippie vibe going on with her long flowing hair, even though I know her monthly highlights don’t come cheap. She’s obsessed with movies, and I can totally see her being a famous actress someday.

  Behind her, the lake glimmers in the lights from the large wraparound deck. A fire is flickering in Asha’s gas fireplace, and Jura, Asha’s large yellow cat, is curled up in Emma’s lap. There is no sign of Asha.

  Emma glances up, and I give her a big smile.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks. Then she pulls out her earbuds and repeats the question like I’m the one who can’t hear.

  “Like what?” I ask, still smiling.

  “Like this.” She copies my fake grin, and her silly smile relaxes mine into a real one. I need to work on making it more natural, less fake.

  “It’s my to-do thing. I’m trying to smile more,” I explain, dropping my bags on the floor and setting the cake down on the table.

  “Why?” she asks.

  I shrug, taking off my coat. Saying that it’s part of my “likability” plan sounds a little too intense to admit out loud. “Smiling is contagious. It makes people feel better.”

  “Does it make you feel better?” she asks.

  I’m not fazed. “That’s not the point.”

  “It kind of is.” She pushes one earbud into her left ear and leaves one dangling. It’s her way of including me.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say, and she nods. I pull my lips back from my teeth with one finger. “Do you think my teeth look any whiter?”

  “I guess so. Why?”

  “Tooth whitener strips. They were
on sale at Kmart last week.”

  “How long have you been doing it?” she asks.

  “Since last night.”

  “Oh. Totally working,” she says, and gives me a thumbs-up sign.

  “Thanks.” I laugh.

  I take off my shoes and join her on the couch, feeling the tension slip out of my shoulders as I puddle down into the warmth and soft cushions. Jura opens her eyes to a slit of green to acknowledge my presence, then closes them again. Emma doesn’t put both earbuds back in, but she doesn’t need the sound. She has the closed captions on because she likes to make sure she doesn’t miss any of the dialogue. I don’t recognize the film, but I’m sure Emma’s seen it a million times before by the way she is mouthing the words along with the actors on the screen. She’s on an Audrey Hepburn kick right now.

  I tuck my feet up under the flannel throw. The warmth of the blanket and the fire make my eyelids droop.

  Emma glances at me. “Don’t start that. We have all night to party and you are not going to be a big old pooper.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “I’ll catch up. Promise. Where’s the birthday girl?”

  “Upstairs. Finishing family stuff.” Emma crosses her long legs and chews contemplatively on a red Twizzler, her eyes never leaving the screen.

  The three of us have spent every birthday together since we were ten. We only missed Emma’s birthday one year, when she had her tonsils out. She was thirteen. Even then, Asha and I stayed in the hospital as long as we could for visiting hours before the nurse kicked us out.

  Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe we’re all best friends now. It certainly didn’t start out that way. Emma, yes. Asha, no. In the fifth grade, Asha was already a born leader: always the first in class to call out the answer to a teacher’s question, the first to laugh at someone else’s misfortune, and definitely the first to cross any finish line ever created. Emma and I were completely intimidated. But then we were assigned to the same group for a science project in Mrs. MacLeod’s class.

  Asha immediately took charge. She decided we would experiment with the ideal amount of water needed to make a bean sprout grow. She assigned me the task of watering Plant One every day until it was almost dirt soup. Emma was supposed to lightly mist water on top of Plant Two every few days. And Asha herself was in charge of Plant Three. She watered it religiously every two days, no matter what. We met every Tuesday after school at Asha’s house—right here—and recorded our data.

  Then one day, Emma accidentally left the plants outside in subfreezing temperatures. The plants all died and the experiment was a bust. But I was the one who stepped in to keep Asha from going ballistic. I suggested we change the title of our project to “How to Fail Your Science Fair Project.” It was definitely risky, so, of course, Asha loved it. We got a C, but the three of us have been inseparable ever since.

  I take out my phone and check ChitChat. I must make some kind of noise because Emma asks, “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s this girl from work. She’s always posting her gym pics and stupid check-ins at random places. Like anyone cares.”

  I hold up my phone to show her Harmony’s post from yesterday. There’s a photo of a punching bag, and a “check-in” at a gym.

  “I hate that,” Emma says, picking up another Twizzler and refocusing on the movie. Emma isn’t into working out and, for some weird reason only known to the god of genetics, she doesn’t have to. “Who is she?” Emma asks.

  “You don’t know her. She’s a senior.”

  “So why look at her posts?”

  “Just curious.” I shrug. “It’s stupid. I know.”

  Harmony likes posting tough-girl pics. It’s just about scaring people, and she’s doing a good job. I’m not surprised she’s a fighter. That makes her even more intimidating, but that’s what makes her happy. I’ll continue to keep my interactions with her to the bare minimum. Smile and nod. Don’t comment. Especially not online.

  “What’s up, peeps?” Asha jumps down the last three steps into the center of the room. She’s wearing the cute striped paper birthday hat I recognize from her earlier post on ChitChat. She’s holding two more hats for me and Emma, and she hands them to us.

  I stifle a yawn as Emma and I dutifully put the hats on our heads.

  “I see Luke came through with the birthday cake,” Asha says, peering into the box on the table. “Get ready to sing.”

  I sigh. Caffeine. I need caffeine. I notice Asha frown and I quickly plaster a smile on my face. I’ve seen a disappointed Asha, and no one wants that.

  “You didn’t want a bigger party this year?” I ask, getting up off the couch to go pull a soda out of the fridge. Last year, Asha threw a big blowout upstairs, and then we had our traditional three-person sleepover afterward.

  “Yeah,” Emma says. She dislodges an unhappy Jura from her lap and follows me to the fridge. “What happened to inviting a zillion people?”

  Asha pulls me and Emma into a big hug. “You guys are all the people I need.”

  I’m not a hugger, but this one feels pretty good. There’s nothing like being with your very best friends in the whole world. Asha is right. This is exactly what I needed.

  I open the fridge, take out a can of soda, and take a big sip. Better. “Okay. Let’s get this party started,” I say.

  “We need some music,” Asha says, running over to her laptop. Within a few seconds, a playlist of dance music is blasting out of the speakers and we are jumping around the room like maniacs. Emma raises her long, graceful arms over her head and does a little spin, as only she can do. She smells like lavender and lemon, and in her bare feet she is still a head taller than I am. Asha grabs Emma’s hands and they start a sort of weird square dance that has us all in giggles.

  “Just think.” Asha stretches her arms out wide like she’s hugging the sky. “Only a few more months until summer vacation!”

  Emma catches my eye. She is slightly out of breath. “Did you hear anything about the internship yet?” she asks me softly.

  I shake my head, lifting my chin. I hate pity and I hate feeling like I put all my eggs in one very long shot of a basket. “But everyone is still probably recovering from the November elections,” I tell them, hoping it’s true—even though it’s March.

  “I know you’ll hear something soon,” Emma says reassuringly. “Senator Watson is going to love your application. You’ll see.”

  I hope so. Even though it was a struggle finding the time, I spent hours helping build that Habitat for Humanity house this past summer. And then there’s student council, plus the math tutoring I did in the fall. With my schedule at work, there wasn’t any more I could do to make my application rise to the top.

  “No worries,” I say, wanting to change the subject. I raise my Diet Coke in a toast. “Tonight we celebrate Asha’s seventeen trips around the sun.”

  “Hear, hear,” Asha says, beaming. “Cake time.”

  We take Luke’s cake out of the box. I light the candles, like always, and Emma starts the song, like always, and we sing as loud as we possibly can. Like always. The faces in the candlelight have changed over the years, but we are all here.

  I have to stop singing to clear the lump in my throat. Feeling a little silly, I blink rapidly at the emotion that rushes into my eyes. Then Asha leans over the cake to blow out the candles and the three of us are clapping and cheering.

  Then we cut the cake and take pictures for ChitChat—#happybirthdayAsha—before digging into Luke’s amazing chocolate creation.

  “Hey, anybody want to go snowboarding tomorrow?” Asha asks, her mouth full of cake. “I’m going up to Steamboat.” Her voice gets all soft and pleading. “Come on. Fresh powder.”

  “I’m working,” I say, when I can talk through the chocolate.

  She gives me a pouty face. “You’re always working.”

  “I know,” I say. “But then I’m going to Luke’s house after. So that will be fun. Anyway, aren’t you seeing Nate tomorrow?”


  Nate is a snowboarder from Steamboat who Asha met over winter break. I’ve yet to meet him in real life. From what I’ve seen of him on ChitChat, he’s a six-foot-tall, lanky white guy with blond dreadlocks who is always on academic probation. He likes to shoot gun fingers and wink at people when he talks. And he’s always talking. He and Asha send each other a million videos a day. In typical Asha fashion, though, they only see each other face-to-face on occasional weekends. Long-distance, every-once-in-a-while loves are Asha’s trademark.

  “Yeah.” Asha shrugs, studying a piece of cake on the end of her fork. “But it’s better with my besties there, too.” She glances hopefully at Emma.

  “Nope. Can’t.” Emma wipes chocolate frosting off her lips with a napkin. “The Lyric Cinema is holding a screenwriting contest and I’m going there in the afternoon to hear about the deets.”

  “Just be that way, then. Abandon me. I’ll get over it,” Asha says dramatically. “And in the meantime I shall cheer myself up with presents!”

  “What did you get today?” I ask.

  Asha smiles widely. “My parents gave me a GNU B-Pro snowboard.”

  “Very cool,” I say, knowing that was tops on her list.

  “And anything from Nate?” Emma asks.

  “No.” Asha frowns, then looks at us expectantly.

  That’s our cue. We leave the chocolate cake behind to pull out our gifts. I reach into my Kmart shopping bag and hand Asha a gift card for iTunes so she can download her latest running playlist. She smirks when she pulls it out of the envelope.

  “Thank you,” she says in a singsong voice, then gives me a hug. It would have been more thoughtful if she hadn’t told me exactly what to buy her, but as usual, I didn’t disappoint.

  “I have some presents for you, too,” Emma says, and I can’t help but cringe a little. Emma gives the perfect gifts—thoughtful, unique, and beautifully wrapped. It’s her thing, and I’m sure this birthday is no exception. She holds out a box tied with a silver ribbon. Asha picks at the tape carefully, trying not to tear the hand-stamped, personalized wrapping paper, but Emma finally exclaims, “Go ahead. I know you want to tear it.”