Salted Caramel Dreams Read online

  What?

  Shaking, I collapse onto the ground and will myself not to cry. How can she say that? How can she think that? Kiara! My very best friend! Talking behind my back! Does she really think my bags are so awful? Why has she never said anything to me before? And since when is Kiara the type of girl to talk about anybody, let alone her best friend?

  I watch Kiara and her basketball friends giggling. Their conversation has moved on, to science class and sitting next to Carter.

  I wipe the sweat off my forehead and force myself to stand back up. I tell myself I must’ve heard wrong. That I must’ve missed something vital said earlier in the conversation. That there’s no way they’re really talking about me.

  But a moment later, I hear Aliyah. “I’m sorry, but she really is an odd duck,” she says. “Does she even play a sport? What do you guys do together, anyway?”

  Kiara sighs. “Oh who knows? We’re friends because our moms are friends. She’s just someone I have to be nice to.”

  “Ah, gotcha. I’ve got one of those too,” says Mary Beth. “I call her my face friend, because I have to be nice to her face.”

  There’s no doubt who they are talking about now. I think of our last sleepover, of JKDesigns, and all Kiara’s promises that even with basketball, we’d still have time together. Of our secret handshake. The unspoken promise that we’d always be friends.

  Tick tock. Tick tock.

  I think I’m gonna be sick.

  I dash out of the empty classroom and head toward the nurse’s station just as the bell rings. A few steps in, I hear Kiara.

  “Oh shoot,” she says. “Jasmine? Hey Jas, wait up—I can explain . . .”

  But I don’t stop. I’ve done enough waiting.

  And besides, there’s nothing she can say that can repair the hole she’s just blown in our friendship. Nothing that will convince me she’s not lying to my face. So instead I keep running. Down the science wing. Past the English rooms. All the way to the main hall.

  Focus. Breathe. Don’t cry. I repeat this over and over as the nurse’s office comes into view. I’ll say I’m sick. Call Mom. Go home. But when I turn the corner, I see there’s a line outside the office and some eighth graders snickering about a bad batch of chili at lunch.

  Just my luck, I think. I still need to escape, so I slip out the back exit, find a bench, and sit. When I’m sure I’m alone, I let myself cry. Big, salty, heaving tears. They hit me in waves, coming and going as my mind swirls. I still can’t believe Kiara could say that about me.

  Only she did. And she knew I heard her. She yelled after me in the hall.

  And then she didn’t follow me.

  She went to class. Carter is probably with her now, sitting in my seat.

  Head spinning, I reach for my phone. I need to talk to someone. But who? What if Lori and Cameron feel the same way about my bags as Kiara? What if Mom gets angry at Kiara and says something to Mrs. Murphy? That could shut down JKDesigns for good. But then, is there even a shop to shut down? How can I ever face Kiara again?

  Another wave of nausea overtakes me as I stand up and glance toward the street. School’s in session for another thirty minutes, and there’s a crossing guard checking dismissal passes at the main exit. But there’s a path behind the school that leads to my neighborhood. I get low and walk toward it, breaking into a run when I’m close. When I feel the dirt beneath my feet, I relax, walking the rest of the way in silence. My eyes are dry and itchy now, empty of tears. I focus on my footsteps instead of thinking.

  At home, I run up to my room, only retreating downstairs for dinner. With winter break so close, school is busy with tests and projects and last-minute assignments, so I just tell my parents I’m overwhelmed with homework when they ask what’s wrong. And then I spend the rest of the night worrying about what to say to Kiara when I see her tomorrow morning on the corner.

  Only the next morning, she’s not there. Nor the one after that. And at lunch, I find she’s moved to the girls’ basketball table full time, leaving me to mumble something about the basketball coach wanting the team to spend more time together when Lori and Cameron ask about it. I don’t even see her much in science class, because now she’s always the last into class and the first to leave, usually with Carter. And we don’t sit together anymore—Carter’s request to join our group was apparently denied on account of me and him both having the best grades in the class. So now, instead, our lab partners got switched completely. Kiara sits with Carter and I sit in the back with Noah, who’d rather be making paper footballs than paying attention to anything going on in class. Whenever I look Kiara’s way, she stares at the ground or pretends to be deep in concentration, acting like I’m not there at all.

  A whole week passes without a word from Kiara. At first, I keep waiting for her to reappear, at my locker, or on the street corner, or even at Dolce. But every time I turn, expecting to hear her throaty “Hey girl,” she’s never there. I guess our friendship is really over.

  Turns out, losing your best friend right before the holidays is pretty awful—every special event is a reminder of what’s happened. Like on Friday, when the student council delivered the peppermint grams in seventh period, and for the first time there wasn’t one with my name on it. And then on Sunday when I signed on to FriendChat and saw tons of pictures from this big party at Aliyah’s house. Kiara was in a bunch of them with Carter. I wonder if they’re going out now.

  Brushing the thought aside, I head for science. It’s finally the last day of school before break, and science is my last class of the last day. In forty-five minutes, I’ll be free for ten whole days. Normally, I’d be ecstatic at so much free time—but now, those long empty days do not sound appealing. Because there’s no JKDesigns to launch. And we’re not going on any big ski vacation or trip to some tropical island. My break is going to be just a lot of babysitting the twins and helping Abuela with her holiday baking and wondering what went wrong with Kiara. I guess I could work on my patterns, too, but just the thought of designing anything makes my head hurt.

  When the classroom door comes into view, I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for Noah’s onslaught of sports trivia. Then I feel a tap from behind. It’s Lori, sucking away on a peppermint stick.

  “Hey Jas, we’ve missed you at lunch this week,” she says.

  I force a smile and try to laugh. “Oh yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been finishing up some social studies extra credit,” I say. After the first day Kiara abandoned our lunch table, I’ve been skipping the cafeteria for any excuse I can think of. Not that I don’t like Lori and Cameron, but seeing Kiara smiling a few tables down can be a lot to take.

  “Cam mentioned something about that. But still we missed you. After the peppermint grams, we’ve had a lot of crushes to update. I need to fill you in!”

  “Yeah, I heard,” I say. “Maybe we can get together over break.”

  “Maybe,” she says. “Though next week I’ve got this piano camp every day. And then we’re going to visit family in Ohio . . . but after break maybe. Or maybe after winter concert, when rehearsals calm down.”

  “Yeah sure,” I say, knowing the odds of us hanging out are small.

  “But anyway, I know we don’t have much time, but I heard this thing last weekend and it’s been bothering me.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s just, I know that you and Kiara have been close forever. And I know she stopped sitting with us at lunch, but you said that was because of basketball.”

  “Right. That’s what she told me, anyway,” I say.

  “Yeah, same. I texted her about peppermint grams—I just had to get the details about her and Carter!” she says.

  “Oh yeah, definitely,” I say, relieved to hear Kiara went along with my story, yet sad to know Lori’s still talking to my old best friend.

  “But anyway, when we texted the other night, everything seemed totally normal. I told her I was bummed she had to sit with the basketball girls at lunch and she
said she was sad too. So then when I heard this thing the other day, well it was all kinda shocking. But is it true? That you and Kiara aren’t friends anymore?”

  Her words hit me like a punch to the stomach.

  “Wait. What?” I say. It stings to hear her say the truth out loud. And if Kiara didn’t say anything, then who did? My knees begin to shake as Lori reaches for my hand.

  “You and Kiara. That’s why she’s not sitting with us, isn’t it? And why you’ve had all those extra credit projects during lunch?”

  My cheeks burn as my head starts to spin. “I . . . I . . . who said that?”

  Lori frowns. “Aliyah. She said you got into a big fight about Kiara playing basketball. That you were, uh, jealous? And made a big scene about it?”

  “She said that? To you?” My heart pounds as I try to control my breathing.

  “No, not to me. Cameron overheard it. At Aliyah’s party on Saturday.”

  “Cameron was there?”

  Lori frowns. “Oh, we only got invited because we all share homeroom. I’m sure you would’ve been asked too, if not because of—well, you know.”

  So Lori was there too. My voice creeps higher as I try to stay calm.

  “Okay, well that’s not what happened! I don’t know. I never said anything to Kiara. Nothing at all! And I certainly never made a scene! I can’t believe they’re saying this,” I say in a rush. “Kiara was the one who was saying mean stuff about me! I overheard her in the hall, and she saw. And then—then she just started ignoring me, and never apologized or explained or anything. And now she’s spreading rumors? About me being jealous? It’s not fair!” The tears spill over onto my blue plaid shirt.

  Lori’s arms wrap around me. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I had a feeling it wasn’t true. I couldn’t imagine you ever making a scene. But I thought you’d wanna know what people were saying. And if you ever want to talk, just text me. I’m not home most nights until after eight, and then I’m usually doing homework, but after that I’m all yours . . .”

  “Thanks,” I say, wiping my eyes on my arm. Even though we both know I’ll never text her that late, it feels good to hear her offer.

  “Well, I’m sorry to dump all this and run, but I gotta go. And seriously, don’t worry about Kiara. It’s probably just a misunderstanding or something. I’m sure it’ll all blow over soon.”

  I shake my head. “Maybe,” I say.

  She smiles. “Don’t worry. It will. And we’ll hang out. After the concert. Okay?”

  “Yeah, sounds great,” I say, even though I feel anything but great.

  The bell rings and the last thing I want to do is enter that classroom, but I do, surprised to see Kiara already there. For a moment I debate stopping at her desk and telling her exactly what I think of her and her new friends, but at the last second I chicken out. Instead I stare right at her as I pass by, letting the anger bounce from my eyes to hers. She brings her hand to her face and shuffles the papers on her desk before turning back to Carter, a wide grin hiding any sign that she even noticed me.

  Without a word, I walk straight ahead and sit down. I feel naked sitting there at my table, as if everyone can see right through my skin to my thoughts. Does everybody think I’m jealous of Kiara? Who did she tell that to? And why? Maybe she could tell I was sad about being left out, but why act like this? Was I not a good enough friend?

  I try to shake the thoughts away, but the pain of Kiara’s betrayal stings like a burn. I can feel the heat radiating from my cheeks as I scan the classroom, trying to spot anyone looking at me. But of course there’s nothing I can do about it if they are, and nowhere I can go. So, breathing in deep, I take a cue from Kiara and pretend that nothing’s wrong until the bell finally rings and class is over. Then I disappear out into the street and the empty days of winter break, wrapped up tight in my puffy coat.

  Chapter Six

  THE FLYER

  “Come on, honey, are you sure you don’t want to go with me? I’m headed to the fabric store after I drop the boys,” Mom says, lingering in the doorway of my room. I’m in the home stretch of winter break now—just two more long, boring days to go—and since Christmas last weekend, I have barely left the house. Lucky for me, Santa thought to fill my stocking with books. As much as I’ve missed my sewing, every time I’ve pulled out my dress patterns or tried to work on my bags, I have felt a little sick.

  “I told you, I’m done with all that. No more fashion design.”

  Mom sighs. “And let me guess. You still don’t want to talk about it. Well, you know you can’t hide from me forever.”

  I frown. Ever since I stopped hanging out with Kiara, Mom’s been on my case. How she noticed, I’m not even sure, given that Kiara wasn’t around much lately because of basketball anyway. But then, she does talk a lot to Kiara’s mom, so maybe she mentioned something—not that I can imagine Kiara telling her mom about what’s really going on, either. But somehow, Mom figured out I was upset and has been hounding me ever since. I start to resist her pleas again, but I can tell from her pursed lips that my week of moping has started to really worry her. Maybe it’s time to give in.

  “Fine. If you really want to know,” I say.

  “I do, honey. I really do. Tell me about it.”

  I nod. “Well then, I guess it all happened a couple weeks before break . . . I heard Kiara and her basketball friends talking in the hall. They were . . . they were ripping apart the new bag I made and saying I’ve got awful taste. And then Kiara was saying she was just nice to me because she had to be. And then some other girls at school overheard rumors that Kiara was telling everyone I was the one talking about her because I was jealous of basketball, only I never said anything!”

  The words I’ve locked away for weeks spill out faster than the tears as I bury my head into Mom’s lap.

  “All this time I thought we were friends! We were never really friends at all,” I say between heaves.

  Mom rubs my back, and lets the tears fall. I stare down at my purple comforter and try to focus on its geometric pattern, hoping it will help me calm down. But I still feel sick, even as the tears slow.

  For a moment, neither of us speaks.

  Then Mom shifts her weight and breathes in.

  “You know, honey, growing up is tough,” she says. “Everyone’s jostling around, trying on new identities, seeing what fits and throwing out what doesn’t. Right now, Kiara seems determined to get these basketball girls to like her. Though let me tell you, if these girls are so quick to make fun of you, they’ll never be her real friends. People who put down others are too insecure to have real friends. And as soon as they feel threatened by Kiara, they’ll be talking about her. Just you wait.”

  “But Kiara . . . I just never thought she would be that way. I mean, how could she say that about me? And then twist it around to her friends?”

  Mom shakes her head. “I don’t know. I really don’t. But the important thing is you don’t take it to heart. You are still the same incredibly talented and hard-working girl today as you were before she said those nasty things. And your bags are gorgeous! So many beautiful details and intricate stitching. They’re works of art! And it’s not just me who sees it. Every time I see Ms. Chloe, she goes on and on about how talented you are.”

  “But what am I supposed to do? Kiara’s mom’s the one with the fancy camera! She was gonna help us start the shop!”

  “Well, why don’t I run down the street and borrow it from her? I don’t even have to tell her what we’re doing. Or, we can go down to Ms. Chloe’s and use hers. She’s always uploading things to Etsy. I’m sure she can teach us.”

  My eyes widen at the thought, but then I shake it away. “No. No more bags. No more Ms. Chloe. I need a break.”

  Mom nods. “Fair enough. But I’m not gonna let you wither away in here all winter like some dried-out prune. If you don’t want to sew, that’s fine, but then you need to choose another activity.”

  “Another activity? No! Please, can
’t I just take a break?”

  “From your bags, yes. But not from life. Now throw on some clothes. I have to drop the boys at practice, but when I get back here, you and I are going to the movies. No complaining.”

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Great!”

  I gather a towel and head to the shower as the front door slams, amazed at how Mom can so quickly move from outraged at Kiara to invigorated by her new plan. But then, I guess that’s Mom. She’s always more of a doer than a thinker. Me, I’d rather live with my thoughts for a while before deciding what to do about them. But Mom never even takes time to pause. Part of me hopes her busy schedule will keep her from worrying too much about mine. But that’s the other thing about Mom—once she’s put her mind to something, she rarely changes course.

  So I’m not surprised the next afternoon when she barges into my room, interrupting my hundredth futile mystery boy FriendChat search, with the town Parks and Rec flyer in hand.

  “I’ve got it! The perfect activity for you! In fact, it’s so perfect I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!” Mom says, as I minimize my laptop screen.

  “So I guess you haven’t forgotten,” I say.

  Mom laughs. “Of course not! And look here! Salsa dancing!”

  “Salsa dancing?”

  “Yes!” Mom is bubbling over with excitement now, dancing around my room, busting out moves I’ve never seen. “You can be just like me. Come to think of it, I started dancing right around the time I was your age. Back in Texas, salsa was huge . . .”

  I roll my eyes as Mom’s eyes glaze over, her mind clearly back in Houston, years before she met my Yankee dad and moved up north. Even though I’ve seen her old pictures and videos, her long hair and slender legs shaking and shimmying up on the stage, it seems weird to imagine her as any younger than she is now.

  But even harder to imagine is me doing any of that shaking business.