Page 66 of Can We Just Be Happy Now?

“Hmm?”

“Take a pole dancing class. I heard it’s so hard but so fun. Plus, it’s sexy.” Her eyes dance with mischief.

“That sounds like I’ll hurt myself.”

“Come on, Soph, it’ll be fun. Remember that book we read where the girl pole dances for stress relief? Maybe you’ll make a friend there too.”

“Okay, okay. I saw an advertisement for a place by campus that does beginner classes on Saturdays.”

“You’re also totally getting those pink streaks in your hair that you’ve always wanted.”

My eyes light at the idea. “If I have to.” I giggle. “Add dance on a table.”

“Seriously?” she asks, amused.

I sit, pulling the pillow into my lap and shrug. “Kat Stratford makes it look fun.”

“Let’s do it. Okay, I’m also adding skinny dipping, make the first move on a guy, join a club, and get a tattoo.”

“I am not getting a tattoo.”

“Yeah, you are,” she says so matter-of-factly I almost believe her. But there’s no way.

“Uh-uh. Not happening.”

“Come on, Sophie. That’s like the ultimate test of your willingness to make the most of college. You’re always talking about how we have to experience life like the characters in our books. It’s now or never, babe.”

I groan. “Fine, but it’s going to be small and hardly noticeable.”

“Any tattoo counts in my book.” She grins.

We spend the next half hour filling our list with over a hundred items–a few are as crazy as the first ones we came up with, but a lot are easy and simple like joining a study group and trying every restaurant near campus. We tried to choose things that either won’t be possible or will be more difficult once we graduate college and are out in the “real world,” with relationships and families and big kid jobs. When our list feels complete, we print two copies, doodling our name on our own list.

“I’m excited about this.”

“Agreed.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay the rest of today? You can come to dinner with my family.” Chastity takes my hands in hers and squeezes. Her parents are taking her out to celebrate graduating high school. I appreciate the gesture, but I’d rather do what I always do on my birthday.

“I’ll be fine. I promise. I’m going to make cupcakes and read.”

“Deal.” She showed up first thing this morning with coffee and donuts, but her parents have an entire day of celebrating planned. “Maybe you should call Cooper to hang out,” she says as I stand to walk her out. “You have to get your book from him anyway, right? It’s been a while.” Chastity has always been a major supporter of Cooper and me being together, regardless of how long we’ve been apart.

“Maybe. I’m not expecting him to get me a present. I haven’t seen or talked to him much since Christmas,” I say over my shoulder as I walk down the stairs.

“Sophie, this is Cooper we’re talking about,” she declares as if that says everything.

Rolling my eyes, I pull away. “We’ll see. Go have fun. Seriously, don’t worry about me. If Cooper didn’t get me a new book I can go buy my own now that I have money from tutoring.”

“Okay, bestie. Whatever you say. Happy birthday. Save me a cupcake before you give them all to Cooper.” Retreating backward down my driveway with a knowing look, she waves above her head before sliding into her car.

Shutting the front door behind me, I hear Mom getting out the baking supplies.

An hour and a half later a few dozen red velvet cupcakes are frosted, and half of them are neatly lined up in a Tupperware. “I’m going to take these to Cooper,” I tell Mom and she acknowledges me without a hint of questioning–even though I think it’s a little weird I’m committed to this tradition despite the distance between us these days.

Grabbing the keys to my baby blue slug bug, I open the front door. I nearly trip over the brown paper bag wrapped gift on the welcome mat. A smile covers my face as I set the cupcakes on the porch and sit on the step, anxious to see what book Cooper bought this year. I rip open the wrapping and turn the book over in my hands, running my fingers across the cover. I love new books and that Cooper always gets me one from my wish list. Flipping through the pages, excitement builds inside me. I already can’t wait to get back home and start this . . . 473 page journey . . . Wait. There’s handwriting on the back of the very last page.

The year I realized I don’t know you anymore.

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