“I know you would,” he says softly. “You’re a good person, Lara. It’s why I really, really fucking like you.”
Present tense, still. And I guess in a way, it’s present tense, still, for me too. But it isn’t the way I feel about Jasmine. It’s like the tail end of a romantic comet that’s about to fizzle into something that isn’t dazzling in the same way, but is more permanent, still stellar. “I would really, really like to stay friends,” I reply. “When you’re ready.”
He nods. “Not yet. But someday. Maybe you’ll come to one of my college games.”
“I’d like that,” I say, and I mean it. “I just need to spend a little more time on my face paint skills.”
He gives me the tiniest trace of a smile, and I tuck it away to remember us by because I have no idea what it’ll be like to see him in school on Monday. Things aren’t gonna go neatly when his friends, my friends, and everyone else find out that not only did the Homecoming queen dump the king right after the dance, but she did it for another girl.
I’m probably in for day after day of hell.
And somehow, that feels better than when I was supposed to be in for day after day of heaven, and it felt like nothing at all.
We exchange quiet goodbyes, and my first thought is that I should head straight to Jasmine’s, but the truth is, I’m not ready. The reality of Chase Harding might not have been what I wanted it to be, but this is still the end of a dream. I need to mourn it.
And the only person I wanna do that with is waitingfor me at home with tubs of ice cream, bright-green sheet masks, and every single rom-com Netflix has to offer.
Four hours, two movies, a thousand calories, and much glowing skin later, my mom makes what I suppose is an inevitable suggestion. “Why don’t you invite your friends over for the next one? I’ll order from Bamboo House and I think we have a few more of these sheet masks lying around.” She gives my hand a quick squeeze. “I think you’ll be happy to have them to talk to instead of just your old mama.”
The thing is? I really want to.
The thing is? I’m really scared to.
The thing is? I think I need to. And if my mom is offering Bamboo House, I know she thinks I do too, because that’s a special occasion place for us, and I guess in a way that’s what this is.
“Okay,” I say, my voice a wimpy whisper as I grab my phone and open our endless text chain to type out an invite that contains exactly no information other than that there’ll be a movie and Chinese food.
I expect I’ll get at least one of them replying that she’s too hung over to make it out, but apparently chicken lo mein is exactly what they all require for recovery, because half an hour later, the three of them are standing at my door.
The second I see their faces, I crack. “Chase and I broke up.”
Silence.
Then finally, Kiki says, “Holy shit.”
Gia immediately sweeps me into a hug, and I know she thinks he dumped me, but I let her do it anyway, let them usher me inside and onto the couch. My mom is out picking up the food, and their attention is on me, waiting for me to pour out my heart. It takes me a minute to figure out what to say, and Gia takes the opportunity to jump right in. “Do we hate him?” she asks.
I laugh and squeeze her hand. “No, we don’t hate him. He’s great. It turns out I’m just… not his fangirl anymore.”
Shannon’s eyebrows shoot to the sky. “Wait.Youbroke up withhim?”
It’s hard not to exchange glances with Kiki, but I know if I do, Shan will pick up on it immediately and demand the truth. And while I finally feel safe figuring out my shit with them, I don’t know what to say until Jasmine and I figure out where we go from here. “I did. I… realized I’m looking for something else.”
“Wow.” Shannon looks at me—really looks at me—and the corner of her mouth curls into the tiniest hint of a smile. “You really did change this summer.”
My mom lets herself in then, the sound of the door saving me from having to respond. I jump up and take the bags from her hands, giving her a peck on the cheek and scurrying into the kitchen. I’m pulling out the takeout containers when I hear footsteps and see that Shannon has followed me.
“I’ll be out in a second,” I tell her, searching the cabinets for paper plates.
“I know.” She glances into the living room, where mymom is chatting with Kiki and Gia, and turns back to me. “Look… I’m sorry I was kind of shitty, telling Jasmine and everything. That wasn’t cool.”
Thank God there’s nothing in my hands but plastic cutlery, because at the sound of Shannon Salter saying the word “sorry,” forks and spoons go clattering to the countertop. “Did you justapologize?”
“It happens occasionally.”
“It doesn’t, though. We’ve been friends for more than ten years and I don’t think it ever has.”
“Okay, well, shut up, because I’m making it good.”
