Through the Lens | Dodie Clark

7

/399 days/

When I arrived home from Bridget's place just after midnight, Margo was still up, watching a rerun of some soap opera. It was one of her guilty pleasures that I had been forced to keep secret. She paused the episode when she heard me enter.

She had gotten better at making sure I was alone before she said whatever was on her mind, so she turned around before letting words out of her mouth. But upon seeing me, the words she had prepared fell flat and were tossed out for a set of new ones.

"Oh my god, Evie!"

I took a step backwards, startled by her outburst of a reaction. "What?"

Her initial look of shock was replaced by one of amusement as she started laughing, and didn't stop. She attempted speaking multiple times, only to start giggling again a few words in.

I sighed. "You're hopeless." I kicked off my shoes and went to the bathroom to see what was so funny. Oh. My rat nest of hair was the least of my problems- my face, neck, and collar bones were covered in Bridget's smeared purple lipstick. My neck also sported multiple hickeys.

"I'm guessing you had fun, then?" Margo popped her head through the doorway, grinning like an idiot.

I groaned, becoming increasingly embarrassed. I was probably blushing madly under all the purple. "I rode the tube like this."

"Wouldn't be the weirdest thing they've seen."

/396 days/

"I don't see why you're going through all this trouble for her," Thomas mumbled, shivering as he held out the tape dispenser for me. He shuffled his feet on the pavement, probably trying to get his blood moving.

"What?" I said, tearing a piece off, "This is for a friend. This is something that friends do." I paused, looking at his pink ears and shaky breath. It wasn't all that cold out (you could just hardly see your breath in front of you), but he had my sympathy. "Here." I offered him my jacket. "Look at me, being a good friend. This is essentially the same."

He accepted the jacket graciously. It was big on me, and slightly too small for him, but he didn't complain. The pink color didn't seem to bother him either. I had come to appreciate Tom's lack of care when it came to how masculine he presented himself, ever since we got past our awkward phase and came to be good friends.

He zipped it up all the way, then tugged his hat down to cover his ears. "Evie, cut the B.S. You wouldn't be doing any of this if you didn't like her. You practically begged on your knees trying to convince Bennie to let you do this, and now you're going to spend the rest of the year kissing his ass. You don't even know if this is something she'll like. I just don't want to see you get hurt when she doesn't return the favor."

I taped the last corner of the poster and stepped back to view my handy work. "I know you're just looking out for me, Tom, but I can handle myself. . . And I wasn't going to say anything for awhile, but I've been seeing someone. I think you peg me as defenseless against her, but I'm figuring things out. Now let's head inside before your twink ass freezes."

---

I stood behind Dodie, covering her eyes as she jumped excitedly in place. She had her hands placed on mine, causing mine to shake slightly, but she didn't seem to notice. Her hair was pulled into pigtails today, and she wore no makeup. I was taken aback when I picked her up that morning, speechless at how effortlessly stunning she was.

"Wait," she said, taking a deep breath through her nose. "I'd recognize this smell anywhere: we're at Red's." I felt her eyebrows scrunch in confusion.

"Well," I said, peeling my fingers away from her eyes. "You've got to start somewhere."

I watched in anticipation as Dodie gazed at the poster for the first time. Being a film student, I had put my photoshop skills to use by putting a poster together. It featured a ukulele, with the text reading 'Dodie Clark's musical debut at Red's Cafe'.

"Evie!"

"I know it's not ideal, but-"

"No, it's perfect." Dodie turned around to face me. Was she crying? "This is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. How many strings did you have to pull to do this?"

"Well, my boss, Bennie, his nephew usually plays with his band. It took some convincing, but I managed to fit an hour for you in. Really I'm the one doing him a favor; this place could use some actual talent. I swear to god it's like they're tone deaf. Anyway, if it goes well, he might even let you be a regular- that is, until you inevitably find a place that doesn't smell like bad chili. You could think of this as practice for when you move on to bigger things."

"I don't know how to thank you." Tears were now running down her cheeks, and I stood dumbfounded, unsure of what to do.

Dodie reached up and grabbed my face, a hand on either side, and pulled me closer. My already beating heart accelerated in response. For a split second I thought she was going to kiss me; her gaze was fixed on my lips, our faces only inches apart. But then she jumped slightly, her eyes widening like she'd just woken from a trance and realized what she was doing. She released me, her hands hesitantly dropping back to her sides.

"Um," she said, trying to recover. "So, how'd your date go?"

"Oh." I contemplated what I should tell her. "It was great, we really hit it off. We're going on another tomorrow."

I wasn't sure what reaction I was expecting, but I was surprised when her face fell. She looked. . . disappointed? Sad? What was it that she wanted to hear? She stared at her shoes. "I'm so happy for you."

Fuck.

We stood in silence for a few seconds, until her phone buzzed in her pocket. She checked the screen. "It's Charlie." She gave a half-hearted chuckle. "He left something in my flat, and now I have to go unlock it. Thanks again, Evie." She turned and left before I had a chance to say anything.

Once she was out of sight, I covered my mouth with the scarf I was wearing and let out a muffled scream. She had a boyfriend, and she set me up with Bridget, so why was she so upset? I was confused and frustrated. Now I was the one crying.

I heard the cafe door's bell jingle, and hurried to wipe the tears from my face. Thankfully it was just Thomas, this time wearing his own coat. He looked at me for a minute, piecing together the situation. He was good at that.

He sighed, not unlike a parent consoling their child, upset after muddying their clothes, after being explicitly told not to go jumping in puddles. He wrapped me in a hug, and I immediately returned it tightly as I started crying again.

"'Figuring things out', are you?"

"Shut up," I hiccuped into his shoulder. This is what I needed. This is what friends do.