There are some things every child looks forward to in their lives. Certain milestones were more important than others, depending on how you looked at it. These milestones, no matter how ridiculous or inconsequential, always made us feel a bit bigger, a bit better. We were one step closer to being a grown up. As a teenager, there were a few things to look forward to. Sweet Sixteen, driver's license, graduation, first job. Today was one of those magical milestones—my Sweet Sixteen.
Whoever titled it 'sweet' didn't know just how bitter sixteen years old could taste. This was not a happy time for me. Birthdays were depressing, to say the least. But I plastered on a smile and acted like I cared—mostly for Cash's sake. She always got so excited on birthdays. Like it was her job to plan the party, to wrap the presents, to do literally everything. She was the self-titled birthday manager of the household. That morning, she pounced on me like a cat on a mouse.
Literally. She bounded across my room and leapt onto the bed, landing right on top of me and Killer, scaring both of us to pieces. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DIANA!" she shouted, almost right in my ear. My features cringed—but I couldn't tell if that was from the noise, or the sharp ache in my legs from her body weight landing on them.
"Thank you, Cash..." I groaned, pushing myself up to sit.
Killer barked and dove off the bed. He wasn't having any of this birthday nonsense. "Aren't you excited?!" Cash practically squealed. "I'm gonna plan the best party ever! All I need is a guest list. Should I invite Archie? Probably not—that would be awkward and ruin the mood. Jughead! You're invited!"
Jughead looked as unamused as the dog, rubbing his eyes as his head popped up from beneath the blanket on the love seat, "Good to know."
"Come on, get out of bed! You're gonna be late for school!" Cash said, before bouncing off the bed.
As soon as she was out of the room, I dropped back onto my pillow in a flop. She'd come back in and belted a warning of lateness. And in fifteen minutes, I was up and in the bathroom. Shaving my legs on the side of the tub while Jughead brushed his teeth in the sink. Walking into school, with my ear buds in, I could feel however I wanted. Because Cash wasn't around to lie to. I could relax my shoulders, maybe even frown a little.
Why were birthdays so depressing? My parents died less than a week before mine.
What no one knew about that day still stuck with me. The official story was a car accident, some drunk driver that wasn't paying attention. Because, well, he was drunk. But that was a lie—just like the rest of my life. I was there when they died, watching. It was just a drag race, dad had said. I'd seen him race before. He won a lot of them. And mom was always in the passenger seat. She was the family's true adrenaline junkie. Maybe that's where I got it?
I'd successfully made it to my locker without incident. And then tragedy struck, a small village somewhere was destroyed, all because Archie Andrews decided it was a good time to bother me. At first I didn't notice him. The Neon Trees album in my ears was too loud. But he flagged me down, standing right next to me, and I sighed heavily as I yanked out an ear bud. "What, Archie?" I asked, disinterested.
He looked a little nervous, timid. "Um, I just wanted to, you know, say happy birthday."
"That's very swell of you," I thanked, with a dry-looking attempt at sarcasm. "You know what would make it happy? If it ended."
"Come on, Diana. You don't really mean that, do you?" he inquired, sounding a bit hopeful.
"My parents died two years ago as of Sunday, so, yeah," I bobbed my head.
That was when all attempts of joy on his face fell flat. And a second later, I got a page from the administration office. It was the perfect escape to leave that Titanic of a conversation at my locker, along with the red haired boy that initiated it, and run. I'd stuck the other ear bud back in and started down the hall to the office.
Not many people knew when my birthday was. Only Archie, Ben, Cash, Jughead, and Cheryl. FP knew at one point, but you never knew for certain if he'd remember each new year that it came around. I made my way to the administration office, but I'd picked up Jughead on the way. Apparently Veronica found out it was my birthday because Archie let it slip in the student lounge before coming to tell me happy birthday at my locker.
I groaned, but it sounded like a beached whale. "Jug," I whined. "This is turning into one of those corny teen Disney movies and it's not even nine-thirty."
"Be cool, soda pop. I doubt Veronica's going to do anything. If anything, she'll just say happy birthday like the rest of us," Jughead tried to assure me.
Though I knew it was fleeting, I tried to nod, take a deep breath. The thought of my birthday becoming public knowledge was an anxiety attack waiting to happen. I hadn't celebrated my fourteenth birthday. Because there was nothing to celebrate. Fifteen was only important to Cash, so we went to the Twilight Drive-In after dinner at Pop's with Jughead. Sixteen? It was beginning to look like I didn't like it. Still with nothing to celebrate, I marched into the office.
Jughead was beside me, but he was behind a stride when I slowed to a stop in front of the desk, my eyes stuck on the ornate arrangement of pink, white, and purple flowers. "Oh, no. Please don't say those are for me," I said, my shoulders dropping. Mrs. Philips only gave me a side-eye from behind the desk in reply. I pinched one of the pink flowers between my index finger and thumb, as a certain unreadable emotion filled my stomach.
"Are those-?" Jughead stepped up beside me.
"Sweet peas," I answered, as I exhaled, not needing him to finish to know what he was about to say.
The white flowers were small clumps of baby's breath, while the purple flowers were some kind of bell. I could almost feel Jughead smirking at me. "Classy," he commented, stoically sarcastic. "At least he got a card." He reached past me and snatched a coral envelope from off the top of the desk. It was right beside the flowers, but I hadn't noticed it. Jughead broke the seal with a quick finger swipe before I took the card back.
There was no way I was letting Jughead open it. I might have hated my birthday, but if it was addressed to me, I was going to be the one to enjoy opening it and reading what was inside. My fingers slid into the envelope and gently tugged out the card. It had a pink and white polka dot border, with sporadic doodle hearts on the white center background. The pink block words had the occasional filled in, patterned letters. The words were, 'Happy Birthday My Sweet Heart.'
It looked like something my grandmother would send me. Jughead snickered and my elbow instinctively shot right into his left set of rib bones. As he hissed, bending as he took a step back, I pushed open the card to read the inside. It was your typical write-in card. In the open space was a sloppy, loose hand writing that only could belong to a Doctor. But I knew who it was before my eyes got to the slightly larger SP scribbled at the bottom.
Jughead stepped forward again to peer over my shoulder, a hand still across his middle. "This is a disguise?" he sarcastically faked surprise. "And here I thought he just had feminine taste."
Sweet Pea knew all the reasons why I couldn't expose our relationship to the whole school. This was his way of giving me a reason to lie and say it wasn't from a guy. Because no guy would send their girlfriend this kind of card—or a bouquet of sweet peas. Only I would recognize the flowers' level of symbolism. And Jughead, but only because they'd met. A small smile pulled the corners of my lips up in a curve as I folded away the card.
"I didn't realize you guys were birthday-level serious," Jughead said, giving me a semi-worried look as I grabbed the bouquet off the counter.
I shook my head, walking toward the hall, "I didn't tell him it was my birthday."
"Then how'd he know to send cheap flowers and a Dollar Store birthday card?" Jughead questioned, walking quickly to catch up to me.
I'd only rolled my eyes, but I honestly had no definite answer for Jughead. There could be a few options. He could've gotten it from FP, but that wasn't very likely. I supposed maybe Tall Boy knew my birthday, considering he and my mom were half related. But that was also circumstantial. I shrugged, "I don't know. I'll tell him you asked, though."
That was the last i'd actually spoken to Jughead until lunch. It was the worst experience at a lunch table I'd ever had. I'd almost hit someone in the face. And that someone was Archie Andrews. Because, the second I sat down beside Jughead, across the table from Veronica, everyone sitting at the table began singing. It was just the typical birthday song. But it made me think of things. Things i'd chosen to leave at the home I left on the South side.
My knuckles were white, gripping the sides of my tray, by the time they finished. Jughead sat in stunned silence, but I could feel his eyes on me. I didn't look up from my tray. Not at first. But, when I did, my eyes were just about to water as they became daggers aimed for Archie. "You're an idiot, Andrews," I spat, before abruptly standing. I climbed out from the table and stormed away, like a self-absorbed princess looking for attention.
But I had to leave quickly. It was either that, or sit there and let the entire group see me cry after hearing people sing the birthday song to me. I was sure that Jughead was telling them why I'd left. If not him, maybe Archie. Archie knew full well why I hated that song, why I hated this day. And yet, he let me down. Again. I'd found myself eating lunch alone in the barn. My lunch being a bag of carrots I would have to pay Lewis back for.
I'd eat some, then hold it out to Indiana so she could take the rest. It may not have been the typical example of comfort. But it was better than the idea of sitting with the others. My cheeks had dried after a few stray tears slipped out—the only ones to escape before I reined myself in. That was when I deemed this unacceptable. I hadn't owed anyone an explanation. No one deserved it from me. But after a while, I made my way back to the lunch table.
All seemed awkward, and quiet. I'd guessed that was what happened when your friends tried to do something nice for you and you returned it with anger and an over dramatic exit. I stepped up to the side of the table, turning nearly all heads. I took in a deep breath. "My parents died when I was fourteen. A few days before my birthday, actually. Sunday was the two year anniversary," I explained, gaining looks of sympathy. "I didn't like my birthday after that—understandably so. But the last time more than one person sang that song...was that Sunday morning. I don't even remember why, but we had to celebrate early, so we had cake on Sunday. Then they left, and...never came home."
"I am so sorry, Diana. I didn't know your birthday had that much history," Veronica immediately apologized.
Archie spoke up next, "I've known you for two years and I didn't even know all of that."
"Guys, really- I'm not looking for sympathy. I just want you to know why today is so hard for me," I explained, as calmly as possible. "It's not you. It literally is me. My sister's planning a birthday party, but only because she's nine and thinks that planning it will somehow bring our parents back."
"Wait, there's a party?" Cheryl walked up from the left, suddenly appearing out of seemingly thin air.
"Not that kind of party, Cheryl," Veronica shook her head, eyes narrowed at the red head standing beside me.
My hand pulled out my cell phone as I spoke. "Cash texted me the guest list before I even got to school," I said, opening my inbox. "Betty, Kevin—and his plus one, Veronica, Jughead, and Cheryl. There are more, but they aren't here."
I tried to ignore the look on Archie's face as his eyes became downcast, his features saying he knew his name wouldn't be on the list. Cheryl was over the moon that she was invited. Mostly because she adored Cash. And Cash adored Cheryl. But not as much as she adored Jughead. His name was in all capitals on the list. Half the names were misspelled, but they didn't need to know that. Throughout the day, Cash was texting me the plan.
It turned out I was having a pizza party this year. She was going to the store with Ben after school to get the dough and proper toppings. The only things I was allowed to decide were soda flavors, toppings, and ice cream to go with the cake. The cake was always a surprise with Cash. It would be apart of her big reveal at the very end of the celebration, just like every other year. When I got home, the kitchen had been turned into a pizzeria.
Prepackaged dough sat on the island, along with the containers of toppings, plastic utensils, and plastic plates and cups. They were all purple. My favorite color. It wasn't my favorite shade, but it was the same basic color Cash knew I liked. Cash nearly took me out at the knees the second I walked in the door. "DIANA!" she shouted, latching onto my waist like a leech. "We're all ready for the party!"
"I see that. Great job, Cash. It looks great," I smiled down at her, hugging her back.
It took everything in me not to scream. It took everything not to stomp my foot and shout from the rooftops that this was only making me feel worse. Cash's hopes would've been crushed, and I would've had to see her cry, and that was something I'd vowed never to be the reason for. So I went with her to the couch, where we sat and ate Oreos that she snuck in the cart at the last minute while shopping with Ben.
We ate them while watching an episode of My Little Pony. It was Cash's favorite show. But, sometimes, I would catch her watching Days of Our Lives. Yes, she was nine years old and watching a soap opera. It was mom's favorite, so I didn't really question it too much. I'd just tell her that she should watch something else, that it wasn't a show for a nine year old. She would pout but do as told and put on SpongeBob, or whatever happened to be on at the time.
We sat on the couch, her body across my front as she sat on my lap, my legs off to the side and propped up on the coffee table. She held the container in her lap, occasionally allowing me to snag another from the half empty row nearest me. It was like that for a couple hours, until the guests began to arrive. Jughead was already at the house. But the first to show up was Veronica, accompanied by Betty, Kevin, and Joaquin.
Joaquin was in logoless attire, the best option for stepping into the Blackwood house. He and Kevin walked in last as I ushered the group inside. "Happy birthday, D," Joaquin said, stepping in beside Kevin. "You're forty now, right?"
"Well, at least I'm not eighty-two," I countered, closing the door behind them.
"Um, where should I put these?" Kevin asked, as I turned to face them again.
He was holding two small, wrapped boxes in matching paper. I knew that—if Joaquin happened to actually get me something, he would never have wrapped it himself—Kevin must have chosen the style, considering it was a festive explosion of confetti on white paper. I gestured to the coffee table, "Oh, um, there is fine."
"DIANA!" Cash shouted from the kitchen. "GET IN HERE!"
After almost being made deaf by my little sister, I made my way into the kitchen. Cash was rushing around in a blur trying to get everyone a chunk of packaged dough. Betty was tying an apron on Veronica, and Jughead was sneaking bits of pineapple from the open plastic container. On her way back toward my end of the kitchen, Cash smacked his hand. He protested, but she warned him that he wouldn't get any pizza if he stole any more toppings.
So, begrudgingly, he stopped. The kitchen was loud with giggles at the nine year old marching around, directing pizza makers like a four-foot Gordon Ramsey. Cash was the queen of the kitchen. She paired everyone up to make pizzas. Betty with Jughead, Veronica with Joaquin, and me with Kevin. It was the weirdest pairing decision ever. But it worked. Kevin and I briefly argued over his obsessive need to sprinkle cheese literally everywhere.
For the rest of it, I was too busy laughing to really care what the stupid pizza looked like. "Why does ours look like the back of someone's head?!" Jughead questioned, staring down at his pizza, trying not to laugh. Betty was in a fit of laughter already, with Veronica sharing in the humor beside her. Jughead thrusted a finger over at me and Kevin. "You got yours out of the freezer, didn't you?"
"We're just better than you," I stuck my tongue out.
Jughead's eyebrows popped, "Oh, really? You're better than me? Can you do this?"
With a flick of his wrist, he'd sent cheese across the island in a flurry. The small but thick pieces pattered across Kevin and I. Something in my chest reared its head as my mouth fell open. Everyone in the room was silent, all with gasping expressions. This was an act of war. "Yeah, I can," I taunted. "But I can also do this!"
I grabbed a fistful of olives and chucked them across the room like I was the star pitcher at the big game. Betty and Veronica squealed, moving quickly to get out of the way before most of the olive rings slapped Jughead in the face. Cash looked like she was about to explode when sauce started flying. It'd missed me completely, but flicked all over Kevin, and the wall by the kitchen doorway. Kevin shrieked, "Guys! Seriously?!"
For a moment, there was a pause. All eyes turned to Kevin. He looked around at us disapprovingly. Then he grabbed a fistful of pineapple chunks. "You're doing it all wrong!" he said, obviously trying to hide a grin at this point. "If you're gonna have a food fight, do it right."
Before I knew what was happening, he was right next to me, dropping the pineapple down the back of my shirt. As I gasped from the slippery cold fruit dripping down my spine, the kitchen once again erupted in laughter, and now Veronica was in on it. I immediately went for the bowl of shredded cheese, turning on Kevin. He held up his hands to block it from hitting his face as I threw fistfuls at him.
With a quick glance to the left, I could see Betty was being forced into the fight as a means for survival. Veronica was using the pepperoni slices as throwing stars like a ninja. The kitchen was a mess. We would get in a lot of trouble when Ben got home. But I didn't really care anymore.