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Sydney and Trish sat in Sydney's living room watching the closing credits roll across the screen. Both of them were draped over a piece of furniture. For Trish, it was the big blue armchair in the corner. Her legs hung over one arm and her head over the other. On her stomach sat an empty bowl. Sydney lay face down on the couch, one long arm dangling so that her hand touched the floor. The rest of her body was tangled in a homemade crocheted afghan.
“I love Patrick Swayze,” Trish sighed.
Sydney glanced at her and swore she saw her best friend rubbing at her eyes.
“Yeah,” she said, thinking of Trish's bedroom walls, “I know. Are you hungry?”
“Well, I just finished the chips...but I could eat.”
“How do you feel about pizza?”
Trish looked at her watch, knocking the bowl to the floor in the process. “It's after midnight. Jerry's only delivers until eleven.”
“Oh, Trish.” Sydney rolled her eyes and struggled to free herself from her afghan. “We've got instant dough in the cupboard. We'll make our own. Dad does it all the time.”
“Yes, but...”
“But what?”
“Um...”
Sydney knew what Trish wanted but was to tactful to say. The last time Sydney had made them dinner, it had been a disaster. “How hard can it be?”
“For you?”
Now free, she threw her pillow at her friend. It hit Trish on the side of the head with a soft thump. When this produced a giggle and not retaliation, she got to her feet and beckoned Trish towards the kitchen.
“Are you sure your father won't mind?”
“Trish, I'm sixteen years old. He's not going to ban me from the kitchen.”
“My parents still treat me as if I were ten.”
Sydney knew how strict her friend's parents were, which was why they spent most of their sleepovers here. Randall let them have free run of the house, and he was gone a lot. That night, he hadn't come home yet, and Sydney didn't expect him for several hours.
“Dad trusts me.”
She entered the kitchen and headed for the cupboard. She knew where the pizza mix was and most of the stuff to put on it. Trish headed to the fridge and opened the door wide.
“There should be some pepperoni in there,” Sydney told her, “and some cheese.”
“I sure hope you know what you're doing.”
“A twelve year old could make this. You worry too much.”
She turned and flipped the box to Trish, who was holding both the cheese and the pepperoni. Trish jumped out of the way and the box clanged against the fridge and dropped to the floor.
“Oops. Sorry.”
Trish just made a face at her and went to put her burdens on the sideboard. Sydney snickered and picked up the box, wondering if she had dented the sauce cans.
Things were silent for a few minutes as Sydney went to work making dough and Trish started grating cheese. After a moment, Sydney couldn't stand it and had to tease her best friend.
“Be careful with that. You know how you are with sharp edges.”
“Oh, ha ha...Ow!”
Sydney grinned and raised an eyebrow.
“That was because you distracted me....Speaking of distractions, what's up with you and Tony?”
The smile immediately fell from Sydney's face. “We had a fight.”
Trish sighed heavily. “I gathered that. What about?”
She beat her dough silently for a moment as she thought about the words she and Tony had said to each other the day before. It was their first fight, and it was over something stupid.
“Hey, go easy on that. It can't fight back.”
“It was stupid and all my fault.”
“Sydney Fox admitting she was wrong? The world must be coming to an end....Ow!”
“I really should have called him today to say I was sorry, but I was still angry. I'm a jerk.”
Trish stopped grating to look up into Sydney's face. Sydney avoided her eyes and ran the dough through her fingers. She didn't feel angry anymore, just dumb.
“What happened?”
Sydney shrugged as she started putting the dough on the pan. “We were both tired from practice. He saw me talking to Jason Melor while I was waiting for him. He asked what we were talking about—you know how he feels about Jason. I got defensive, so he got mad. It kind of escalated from there. Over nothing. When I see Jason on Monday, I think I'll kick him in the shins.”
Trish laughed. “He probably deserves it. What were you guys talking about?”
This time, she let out her ire on the can opener. “He asked me for Monica Jefferson's phone number!”
“Why would you have Monica's phone number? You hate her.”
“Apparently sitting next to her in English is a privileged position.” Sydney frowned, thinking of the perky blond whose annoying voice drove her crazy.
“Oh, I forgot about that. You poor thing. Here, have some pepperoni.”
Trish waved the meat at Sydney, who ducked so it wouldn't hit her in the face.
“Easy with that, Sir Lancelot. I could be the first teenager to die by pepperoni.”
“At least I didn't throw a box at your head,” Trish declared, sticking out her tongue.
Sydney took the pepperoni and handed Trish the opened cans of pizza sauce. “Does that dough look big to you? Is this package supposed to make two pizzas?”
“Beats me...So, are you going to call Tony?”
“Not tonight. His mother would kill me if I called at almost one a.m. I'll call him when we get up. How thick do you want these, anyway?”
“Quite thin. About Monica, I heard she's moved on to Biff Martin.”
Sydney snorted. “She'll have dated the whole football team by the time we graduate.”
“Except Tony.”
The thought of Monica and Tony together made her stomach roll. “If they know what's good for them.”
By then, Trish had finished with the tomato sauce, so they sprinkled the pizza with pepperoni and cheese.
“You know, Syd, this looks great.” There was surprise in Trish's voice.
“What'd I tell you? You should have more faith in me.”
The pizza went into the oven with a bang of the door.
“So, what's next?”
Sydney looked at the clock. “I think Romancing the Stone is coming on at one. Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas running around the wilds of Columbia. Who could resist?”
“You just like it because it reminds you of relic hunting.”
“And you just like Dirty Dancing because you like Patrick Swayze's a...” Her comment trailed off into a laugh as Trish roughly pushed her into the hallway. “Hey!”
“If you don't want to miss the beginning, you'd better get moving,” Trish said, still pushing as they went down the hallway. Then, suddenly, she stopped.
“What is it?”
“Did you remember to put on the timer?”
The end