My mass of curly hair flopped around my shoulders with each shake of my head.
“Two months after you are attached to the show, I get this mysterious paperwork in the mail. Tsk tsk. Your pranks are usually a little more elaborate. You have to step your game up, my friend. You’re slipping,” I teased.
She scoffed, her light voice cackled like an evil villain in a cartoon. “Remember when I first got the offer letter to work with Julia Jones on The One and you kept giving me shit?”
I smiled even though my eyes narrowed suspiciously. Standing by my desk, I let my fingers slide across the old leather bound book of poems by Pablo Neruda that I took everywhere.
“Yes,” I replied slowly, before making a beeline to the oversized reading chair in the corner of the room. I tucked my legs underneath me as I got comfortable in the chair. “When my best friend gets hired to work with the Makeup Guru, we celebrate. Even if she’ll be working with her on a show that highlights the death of the feminist movement.”
We both chuckled.
“Do you remember how wasted we were when we celebrated?” Koko asked.
“We?” I laughed, shaking my head at the memory. “Do you remember that night at all? You were the one who got drunk.”
“I was so drunk,” she giggled again. “But do you remember how I kept saying that I was going to get you back once I was sober again?”
“Mm-hm. And the next day you told Ethan that I wanted to hook up with him.”
“No…” She stretched the word out longer than necessary. “Well, yes, I did do that. But that wasn’t to get you back; that was a favor. You need to keep Ethan interested and on your radar. He’s a catch!”
I closed my eyes and groaned. “When are you going to let that go? Ethan is my boss and we are just friends.”
Ignoring my protests, she continued, “So anyway, that was a favor, not retaliation. You’re welcome.”
“Ugh,” I grunted in exasperation, throwing my arm up and kicking my legs out. “When I get back to Los Angeles, I’m going to fight you.”
“So as I was saying, I knew exactly how to get you back for saying that I would be painting the faces of—.”
“Of women who possibly have Stockholm Syndrome,” I interrupted, finishing the statement with thinly veiled amusement. Unable to hold back, my head tilted upward and a deep belly laugh erupted out of me. “That was funny. I crack myself up.”
“It’s still funny… which is why I had to come up with the perfect way to get you back.”
I stared at my black tipped fingernails, focusing on a small chip I hadn’t seen earlier. “Faking this letter and this paperwork is pretty good,” I admitted begrudgingly.
“Wait, I haven’t even told you the best part,” Koko insisted between giggles.
“The best part? The best part was how good of a job you did with the legal jargon. Maybe you should’ve attended law school with me.”
The line went silent as my words hung in the air.
Shit. Here it comes.
“Well…now that you brought it up, are you ready to talk about the bar yet?” Koko’s tone shifted abruptly from flighty to serious, catching me off guard.
She wasn’t talking about Breakers Bar, the bar in which I worked. She was talking about the California State Bar Exam, the exam in which I skipped.
I frowned, shaking my head even though she couldn’t see me. “Nope.”
Koko made a grumbling noise from the back of her throat. But it wasn’t a judgmental noise. It was the noise she often made when she was struggling to hold her tongue.
I exhaled nosily in defeat as I slumped deeper into the chair. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate her concern, because I did.
“I just couldn’t do it. It’s—it’s hard to explain.” I lowered my voice so my mother couldn’t hear me if she was walking around. “My mom is here and I haven’t told my parents yet. But as soon as I get to the airport, I’ll spill.”
“Swear?”
“Swear. But you mentioned something about the best part?”