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“
West.” Cat puts a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“I…”
I look up. Her blue eyes lock with mine. “Yeah. I’m okay, I guess,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

I force a laugh, but it’s weighted down by sadness. “Dude, I know.”

It’s Saturday, and w
e stand in front of the shopping mall Cat dragged me to (she bribed me with ice cream, naturally) so she could buy what she calls her “new Hogwarts wardrobe,” an idea I was immediately intrigued by. I only saw her pick out a wizarding cape of some sort, though, because I was busy hiding in the back of the building behind the sports bras so I wouldn’t be seen in a girly clothing store, in a valiant attempt to defend my manhood.

People rush all around
here, gossiping and laughing and swinging their shopping bags like weapons in a game of Shopper vs. Shopper. Others shove past us, giving us annoyed looks like we’re somehow the cause of their own recklessness. The sun is out, and it’s times like these where I’m reminded why a) I hate shopping and b) shopping on a sunny Saturday is the worst idea in the history of ever.

God, that
ice cream bribe better be worth it.

“We going?”
Cat asks me.

“To get the ice cream?”

Cat nods.

“Hell yes,” I say, grinning.
“I call a vanilla ice cream with whipped-cream, rainbow sprinkles, chocolate fudge, and a cherry on top.”

She rolls her eyes.
“Oh god, you’re such a four-year-old.”

“I believe the appropriate term here is ‘hipster.’”

“No. No it isn’t.”

“Hater.”

“Freak.”

“Alien child.”

She stifles a laugh. “You are also so weird.”

“Thank you.”

“I meant it as a compliment!”

“Oh,” I say
, waggling my eyebrow at her. “I know.”

She just shakes her head and smiles.

We start walking down the sidewalk, Cat holding her shopping bag full of Harry Potter nerdness and me with my short sleeves and supreme hankering for ice cream. The ice cream shop, of course, is located in the outdoor “kid section” of the shopping mall, wedged right in between the Toys R Us and the tiny Lego store. The crowd quickly thins and soon, parents excluded, we’re the only ones older than twelve walking down the sidewalk. I glance at Cat, who only shrugs. We are not ones to fear the judgment of small children.

I met Cat
for the first time when I was six. Back then she was still infested with a life-threatening case of cooties and I was familiar enough with the virus to know to keep a safe distance away from her, but even so, I remember finding myself thinking that she was kind of cool, even if being with her could put me at risk for the disease as well. So one day when she was on the swings, I walked up to her, blushing hard. I said hi, and she said hi back, and the next thing I knew I was on the swing next to hers and we were talking about how Nemo and Dory would be so cool to own as fish. I remember us giggling and blushing and smiling our six-year-old smiles that day, and we’ve been friends ever since. I get her and she gets me and that was always that. Cat is my only real friend, and she’s always been there for me when I needed it most. Even after Mom’s death, even with Dad’s drunken tirades and my total emptiness, she was always there to touch my shoulder and remind me that everything was going to be okay.

And she was right.

Mostly.

We tu
rn the corner, walk a few more steps, and stop in front of a small ice cream shop,
The Icecreamery
, which is filled with flailing children and their grimacing parents. No one even remotely our age is inside, but it’s not like we care. The shop is an entirely manly place to eat between its pink exterior, its purple-painted chimney, and the fact that there are crayon drawings all over the inside wall.

Cat turns to me. “Are you ready for the experience of a lifetime?”
she says, nodding at the front door.

I grin.
“Is Abraham Lincoln dead?”

“Well… there are theories…”

I shoot her a look.

“All right, all right fine…” she murmurs. “We can get your ice cream.”

“Good! You ready?”

“Of course.”

Then I grab her hand, bellow “ICE CREAM!” and we charge, laughing, into the store. A small bell rings as soon as we enter, as if to say “welcome to heaven,” and proceeds to blast us with cool air and the squeals of small children all around. The door shuts behind us, and Cat and I pant, grinning at each other. I try to ignore the weird looks of parents as I approach the glowing ice cream freezer.

The c
ashier gives a little smile, clearly recognizing us from the hundreds of other times we’ve been there. “You again,” she says as I place my hands on the counter like I own the place.

“Us again,” I reply.
“Good to see you, Sharon.”

She rolls her eyes
. “Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?”

“You did.”

“I could kick you out for disrespecting me.”

“But you won’
t for the simple reasons that I am your favorite customer and also, that I am just wonderful.”

Sharon
turns to Cat, who gives her a sympathizing look. “I’ll serve you first, this time,” Sharon says to Cat. “I like you better anyway.”

I feign a horrified gasp, and Cat elbows me in the side. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.
I’d like a scoop of your finest vanilla ice cream,” she says way too seriously, holding her head up high. “In a kiddy cone, preferably. Also with rainbow sprinkles.”

Then Sharon turns to me, a smile flickering across her lips, enjoying torturing me.
Neither of them seems to understand just how intimate my relationship with ice cream is.

“I’ll have the same,”
I say.

Sharon
nods, turns to the freezer, and when she brings us back our ice cream we pay her and sit down in the corner of the ice cream shop, our cones in hand. For a long moment, Cat and I just stare, eyes flickering between each other and our respective ice creams.

“Are y
ou ready, Cat Davenport?” I say.

“Wait…” Cat scoots in her chair and leans forward
into her ice cream. Then she gives a slight nod, and the ritual has begun. “Ready,” she says.

I lean forward. “Goooood. Race to see who finishes their ice cream first?”

“Of course.”

“Winner buys the other ice cream next time?”

“Again, of course.” She takes a breath. “On your mark,” Cat says and smiles.

“Get set,” I say and smile along with her.

“GO!” we shout at once.

Then, we
both jump forward and shove our ice creams into our mouths. I attack mine one giant bite at a time, ripping the cone in half and ignoring the rainbow sprinkle casualties. I eat way too fast, vanilla ice cream flying everywhere (and let me tell you: it is one
hell
of an ice cream.) I glance up at Cat, whose cone is down to about half. I rush to eat more but before I can, she devours the entire thing in a bite. I stare at her in horror.

She
just shrugs. “I win,” she says.

“Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“You heard me, Davenport,” I say, and finish my ice cream. The “loser’s bite,” we call it.

When I’m done eating, Cat and I move on to laughing about random things and, of course, trash talking each other in preparation for the next ice cream contest. Cat has vanilla all over her mouth and I’m sure I do too, but I don’t think either of us even cares.

“I change my mind,” Cat says. “
We
are so weird.”

“
It’s pretttty freaking awesome. You know, being weird,” I say.

“It is.”

I wipe my mouth with the napkin. “So are you going to tell me about your Harry Potter apparel?”

“You mean my Hogwarts wardrobe?”

“Sure?”

“Oh, well, it’s nothing vital. Just a new line of nerd fashion that’s going to alter the lives of Harry Potter fans across the globe. NBD.” She says it all so blankly that I can’t help but laugh.

“Wow. That sounds bleak.”

“Also, with these new clothes, I’m probably going to attract some paparazzi and everyone is going to want to be
me because of how incredibly hot I look. So, the usual. You wouldn’t understand,” she adds.

“I wouldn’t?”

“Oh yeah. You just don’t know what it’s like to be awesome.”

I toss my hair. “Bitch, I’m
fabulous.”

I catch her stifling a giggle, which makes me smile
, too.

“Sure thing, West. Sure thing. All the girls flock around you on your way to your kiddy ice cream shop, too, am I right?”

“Yep. They cling to my killer biceps the whole time.”

“I can’t even picture that.”

I shrug. “It’s only the natural reaction when you see a hot guy walking down the street.”

“No, I mean I can’t picture
you
having
biceps
.”

At t
hat, I stick out my tongue at her like a true adult. “Okay. Fine. You got me there, Davenport.”

“I totally did.”

There’s a pause, and my gaze wanders to the scribbled-on white wall in front of me as I listen to the squeals of the kids and the methodic shushing of their parents. Surrounded by the smell of ice cream and the cool air of
The Icecreamery
, I realize once again how glad I am to have Cat and these Ice Cream Saturdays. Anything to keep me from being cooped up at home with my dad, with only my camera to escape to, is more than welcome.

I turn to
Cat after another minute, opening my mouth to say something about her Harry Potter wardrobe, but I close it when I notice a sliver of vanilla ice cream still on her lips. “Oh,” I say, and I reach for my napkin. “I think you got something there…”Without even thinking, I grab the napkin, lean forward, press it to her lips, and gently dab the ice cream off. “There,” I murmur, and sit back down, the warmth of her lips seeping through the napkin and tickling, almost tempting, my fingers. “All better.”

It takes me a moment to realize how tense Cat’s body suddenly is, how she’s staring at me with those wide blue eyes of hers, a mix of alarm and a faint
hint of curiosity on her face. My stomach drops, and I feel my muscles freeze, too. Shit. Did I do something wrong? Shit shit shit.

My whole face flushes when I realize she’s tensing over the napkin. Oh god
, was that wrong? Too far? Too overfriendly? I wasn’t even thinking when I did it, I just assumed it would help and then… boom.

“I… um… am sorry,”
I mutter and snap my gaze back down to my feet. I can’t help but notice how the warmth of her lips lingers on my fingertips. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just wanted to help…”

“It’s nothing,”
she says quickly. “I was just surprised… is all. Yeah,” she says, nodding to herself. “Surprised. That’s it.” 

“So, how was the ice cream?” I say after another instant of us both blushing and not meeting each other’s gazes, changing the subject immediately.

She
takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and her face goes back to normal like nothing ever happened. She proceeds to look at me like I’m an idiot. “West,” Cat says. “It’s ice cream. What do you think my answer is going to be?”

“Along the lines of ‘badass’ and ‘best thing ever.’”

“You know it.”

“Dude, I totally do.”

We keep talking until the conversation slowly devolves into pulling out our phones and checking random memes. I sift through my vlog page without thinking and glance at some of the comments when an email pops up. It’s from Harper. Immediately, I click it.

from: Harper Knight

to:
Sam Green

subject: OMG

I just saw an ad for a box-set of Stars Wars and Harry Potter mugs. Do you know what this means for my life?????? Awesome things, Sam Green. AWESOME THINGS.

I glance up at Cat, who is busy checking her phone, careful to make sure she doesn’t see what I’m doing. Like with my vlog, I’d rather her not know about Harper. I’m not sure why, but I almost feel like I’m somehow cheating on her with Harper. I mean, yeah, it’s stupid because Cat is strictly my best friend and Harper is, well… she is the girl I want, but I still feel like it.

T
hat’s not a weird feeling to have, right?

I close my eyes
. Oh who am I kidding? That’s
totally
weird. I have no idea why I feel that way, either.

Finally, I type my response.