* 18th Birthday
“You’re a fake and a phony, and I wish I never laid eyes on you!”
Olivia Newton-John’s voice filled the room as Sandy Olsson threw her pom-poms at Danny Zuko, all dramatic and angry. The TV screen flickered in the dim light of my bedroom.
“But you’d still do him,” Penny Lou said, her voice flat, like she was stating a fact. She yawned—again—and stretched out on her stomach between me and Adam, like she was trying to get comfortable but couldn’t.
It was my eighteenth birthday. After I blew out the candles and my dad cut the red velvet cake he baked, and after my mom let us have some of the wine she brought home from work, it was finally movie time. Since it was my birthday, I got to pick.
I picked Grease.
We had already seen it. A lot, actually. But it’s John Travolta. And it was my birthday, so Penny and Adam didn’t complain.
“You would, Adam, right?” Penny asked, turning toward him.
Adam blinked. “I would what?” His mouth was slightly open, his face all confused.
I couldn’t help it. A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. The question didn’t surprise me as much as it did Adam.
Even though the three of us had practically grown up together—had witnessed each other at our absolute worst, from scratching our butts to ranking farts by intensity—Penny and I had different opinions when it came to Adam’s sexuality. She was completely, absolutely convinced he was gay.
But Adam, with his always-messy black hair, his permanent grunge aesthetic, and his personal commitment to dark jeans and band tees, had never exactly confirmed or denied anything. And despite having those ridiculously nice blue-green eyes, he rarely looked happy enough to give off any vibes one way or another.
Or maybe I was just oblivious.
“Do John Travolta,” Penny said, completely unfazed, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder as if this was a normal conversation to be having.
Adam blinked. Then scoffed. “Ha! Oh, wow. Original. Truly. Let me just grab my tap shoes and Grease Lightning my way out of this nonsense.”
Penny ignored him and grabbed the remote, pausing the movie just as Travolta and his gang erupted into laughter on the screen.
“Okay, enough foolishness,” she announced. “It’s time to talk about something important.”
Adam sat up, eyes narrowing. “Like what? The deep, existential crisis of Rizzo’s character arc? Because, listen, I have thoughts.”
Penny took another bite of cake then rolled her eyes at him. “Well. So. Since you're eighteen now, Wendy, things gotta change.”
Adam stretched his arms over his head and sighed dramatically. “Honestly, Penny, I think we need to take a moment to respect the sheer level of commitment here. It’s not every day someone willingly chooses to turn eighteen in a strictly VIP event featuring exactly two guests and a ‘70s musical.” He gestured to the screen.
Penny rolled her eyes again. "Whatever. You’d rather be home watching X-Men reruns than at a party.”
Adam sat up, indignant. “Wow. Okay. Unnecessary attack. And for the record, X-Men: The Animated Series is an underrated masterpiece. I will not be shamed.”
"People!" I raised both my hands up to them. “Look, I just don’t see the point in making a big deal out of birthdays.”
Unlike other eighteen-year-olds, I wasn’t that excited about being eighteen. I mean, sure, I could vote now. I could legally buy a lottery ticket. But I still had school on Monday, my mom still expected me home by ten, and people would still probably treat me like a kid, just with slightly more responsibility. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal.
Penny’s eyes widened like I had just said I didn’t believe in pizza. “Not a big deal? Wendy, it’s eighteen. You can vote. You can get a tattoo. You can rent a hotel room by yourself—”
Adam snorted. “Ah yes, the true marker of adulthood. Booking a Holiday Inn without your mom’s permission.”
Penny ignored him and turned back to me. “Look, I’m just saying, you’re eighteen now. You should at least make one reckless decision.”
I frowned. “Like what?”
She swallowed and leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Like... getting a boyfriend.”
Adam let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest. “Penny's right. She had, like, three opportunities to sign you up for a reality dating show, and every time, you refuse.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not even remotely true.”
“Okay, fine, but if it was, you’d still say no,” Adam shot back.
Penny rolled her eyes at him again. “Come on, Wendy. You’ve never even had a crush.”
“That’s not true.” I crossed my arms. “I’ve had crushes.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “Names. Receipts. Who, when, and how intensely?”
I hesitated. Then I looked at Penny for a second and then back down at my hands. “I don’t need a boyfriend.”
She waved her hand like she was swatting at something invisible. “Not need. But, come on, have you even looked at anyone?”
“I’ve looked at plenty of people.”
Adam smirked. “She means romantically, Wendy. Not like, ‘Oh, hey, there’s a human being taking up space in my general vicinity.’”
I didn’t say anything for a while, but then I said, “Look, I just wanted to celebrate this with the people who actually matter.” I looked at Adam, hoping he would understand.
And he did. Immediately. “And that’s why I love you, Wendy. You require zero maintenance.” He leaned back against the pillows. “Buy her a book, and boom—pure, unfiltered joy. No extravagant parties. No terrifying public displays of affection involving coordinated dance numbers. It’s refreshing, honestly. I’m living for this simplicity.”
Penny got up and started looking for her flip-flops. “I just did.”
I grinned and held up the paperback copy of The View From Venus. “Which is why, in this exact moment, I am the happiest girl in the world.”
Adam clapped his hands together. “See? No party. No strangers butchering ‘Happy Birthday’ while she mentally drafts her exit strategy. Our girl is chill. Unlike some people.” He shot Penny a very obvious look.
Penny ignored him and slipped on her flip-flops when she found them under my bed. “I just think it’s weird. Every other teenager would’ve thrown a party, invited interesting people—y’know, besides their best friends—and actually had fun.”
Adam gasped like I had just personally wounded him. “Wow. So we’re not fun now? This is hurtful. I feel attacked.” He turned to me. “Tell her we’re fun.”
I shrugged. “I think we’re fun.”
“Thank you.” Adam turned back to Penny, clearly not finished. “And for the record, I personally don’t believe in glorifying the moment I was forcibly evicted from my mother’s womb. So forgive me if I don’t also require an annual parade in my honor.”
Penny smirked. “How sweet. And what about the virgins you’ve been keeping in your basement as sacrificial lambs for when you turn eighteen?”
“Haha! You’re so funny,” Adam said, all dry sarcasm. “Are you sure you want to be a tattoo artist and not a stand-up comedian? Because honestly, the talent is just jumping out.”
Penny rolled her eyes for the nth time and sighed in that way that meant she wasn’t actually annoyed, but wanted us to think she was. “Look, Wendy. I’m just saying. You only turn eighteen once, you know.”
I knew. I just wasn’t sure why that was supposed to mean something.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Inked,” Penny answered.
“It’s a Friday. You have a full shift tomorrow,” I told her, because saying stay a little longer because it’s my birthday felt like the kind of thing that could only backfire.
“Mom and Dad said they wouldn’t give me a single dollar for the Nepal trip. And I didn’t steal that book, okay?” She pointed at the one in my hand. “I had to take extra shifts to afford it.”
I looked at the book in my hand again, turning it over. Penny didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was watching me.
“You really worked extra shifts for this?” I asked.
Penny shrugged. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“I think it’s a big deal,” I said, because it was.
She rolled her eyes, but there was something softer in the way she did it this time, like maybe she didn’t mind hearing it.
Adam shifted where he sat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, sp, by the way, Penny, Jay asked me to tell you—”
“Tell your boyfriend—”
He frowned. “He's not my boyfriend.”
“Whatever. Tell him to beat his stick with Megan Jones. I’m not interested.”
Adam let out a long breath. “I feel like you could maybe deliver that message with a little more grace, but okay. I will pass it along. Against my better judgment.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “I noticed that Megan’s breasts have significantly increased. Did you guys think she had done something with it over the summer?”
Megan Jones was the kind of girl people wrote songs about. Or maybe just the kind of girl guys thought about when they listened to songs that weren’t really about anyone. She had that perfect, effortless kind of beauty—silky blonde hair, blue eyes that could probably see right through you, and the kind of tan that made it look like summer followed her around. She was also captain of the volleyball team and the unofficial queen of Pinecrest High, which meant people either wanted to be her or wanted to be noticed by her.
Penny scoffed. “Obviously. She’s either stuffing her bra or made some kind of unholy deal with the universe. Either way, I do not care.”
Adam shook his head. “Also, I feel like this is one of those things we’re not supposed to openly discuss? "
Penny 's hand was already on the doorknob when she turned back to us. “Megan's boobs are as fake as her smile,” she said, tossing the words over her shoulder like she was flicking away lint. Then she pulled the door open. “Okay, see you on Monday, freaks.”
Adam waved lazily as she walked out. “And there she goes. Spreading joy wherever she steps.” He turned to me. “Also, why does she always insist that Jay and I have some epic, forbidden romance brewing?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.” That wasn’t true. I did know. But there was no point in telling him. Penny was Penny, and she liked to get under his skin.
The next words came out before I even thought about them. “Do you beat your stick with Megan Jones, too?”
Adam blinked. “Wow. Okay. Just diving right in there, huh?”
I felt my face heat up. “I didn’t mean—”
Adam’s jaw tightened. “No! Listen, can we not talk about Megan and her boobs for like, five minutes? That’d be amazing.”
Before I could say anything, he reached into the side pocket of his jeans and pulled out a tiny blue box. It had a little bow on top, like it belonged in one of those fancy jewelry commercials where everyone’s too happy.
I frowned. “What’s that?”
He rolled his eyes. “You could open it and find out, silly.”
So I did. And inside, nestled in a tiny cushion, was a blue hair tie. Just a simple one. But it was nice.
“To keep every rebellious strand of hair from escaping and ruining your whole aesthetic,” Adam said, grinning like he had just handed me the meaning of life.
I could’ve smacked him for teasing me about my hair again. But for some reason, I didn’t. Because the gesture was… cute. And thoughtful. And kind of unexpected in the best way.
I twirled the hair tie between my fingers. “Thanks for the reminder that I should probably keep my noodles together.”
He laughed. “That’s all I ask.” Then he leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “Man, I cannot wait for school to be over. And then… off to Nepal we go.”
“Same here. But if I get accepted, then off to Chicago I go.”
Adam pouted. “Okay, but hear me out—why don’t you just take a gap year? You could, I don’t know, find yourself or whatever people do in those travel-slash-volunteer programs. Maybe get some deep, artistic inspiration for your next great masterpiece.”
I sighed. “Adam, we’ve already talked about this. And I’ve already talked about this with my parents.”
As I spoke, I finger-combed my hair and tied it up into a ponytail with my new hair tie. It felt nice. Secure. Like something small was suddenly in place.
I looked at him expectantly. “How do I look?”
He made a big show of appraising me, then reached over to pull at a few rogue strands that had refused to cooperate. “Oh, fabulous. Just effortlessly chic. It’s giving ‘girl who has it all together’.”
I laughed, nudging his shoulder. “So… why not?”
He blinked. “Why not what?”
“Megan.”
His face twisted like I’d just suggested he date a relative. “Oh, we’re still talking about her.”
“Come on! She’s foxy. I mean, I’m sure you feel something whenever you see her in those tight shorts and that tiny shirt, parading her sweaty body around after volleyball practice. Obviously asking for attention.”
By the time I finished talking, I realized I was scowling. And for some reason, I felt really annoyed.
Adam sat up and pulled on his sneakers. “I’m not interested in her.”
“You don’t have to actually be interested in her to, you know, think about her when you do your thing,” I said, pushing forward. “Adam, it’s literally the most natural thing that every human being with a penis does.”
I didn’t know why it mattered so much, but it did. Maybe because we were best friends. And best friends tell each other everything. At least, we always had. Back when things were simple. Before high school made everything weird.
He stared at me like I had just grown an extra head. “Seriously, Wednesday Elizabeth—”
“Don’t call me that.” I pouted.
Adam laughed as he headed for the door. “Wendy, give it a rest, okay? Frankly, I have way more important things to do than… beat my stick with Megan or any girl for that matter.” He smirked and threw me a wink before stepping out, leaving me alone with John Travolta frozen on my TV screen.
Or any girl for that matter.
His last words hung in the air, stretching out longer than they probably should have.
What if Penny was right?
But whatever. If Adam was gay, then great. It didn’t change anything.
I flopped onto my bed, hit the rewind button, and watched Olivia Newton-John meet John Travolta again. They looked so in love already, even though they’d just met. It was the kind of look I’d only ever seen in movies—or in the way my dad’s eyes lit up whenever my mom walked into a room.
Yeah, right. Keep dreaming, Wendy.
