We’d always been best friends — until I learned one secret too many
It’s always the strangest detail that attaches itself to a memory, so that when you recall it, that little thing overshadows your thinking.
When I think about Shayna’s parents, I think of my olive-green sweatshirt with those snap buckles on the cuffs.
Shayna and I were the kind of friends people referred to by one name — Shayna Libby. We were on the phone all day and all night and did practically everything together. When my alarm clock broke in the 11th grade, I didn’t bother replacing it; I knew I could rely on Shayna’s phone call every morning to wake me up. I had the cordless on speaker while I brushed my teeth, and then, to my mother’s consternation, we “had breakfast” together on the phone.
Shayna was the first to know when I lost or gained a quarter of a pound, I was in the loop about every one of her sister’s dates, we even shared some of our clothing. On Friday, we spoke all the way up to the zeman, then we got together Shabbos afternoon, and the minute Shabbos was out, we were on the phone again.
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