“Yup,” I chirp, turning my smile on her like a weapon. “That’s where I’m going.”
I give them all a small wave, barely glancing at Will. “See you later.”
And then I turn and walk away like I’ve got somewhere better to be. Like my chest isn’t cracking in half with every step.
As I’m leaving, I hear Missy say, “She’s so cute.”
My teeth clench so hard I’m surprised they don’t crack.
I don’t want a bonfire. I want a voodoo doll with her face on it, a million pins, and the complete and permanent eviction of Will Flowers from my chest cavity.
The moment I’m out of sight, the mask drops. The smile disappears. My face aches from holding it in place. My lungs feel like they’re wrapped in wire.
I walk.
Gravel crunches underfoot. The buzz of the fair fades behind me, replaced by the thud of my heartbeat and the rush of wind through trees. There’s no Trey Evans. No fire. Just me. And the silence I used to be better at surviving.
I’ve walked a few blocks when a truck pulls up beside me. The passenger window rolls down.
“Hey, Phern!” Bonnie calls. “Need a ride?”
I wipe my face quickly with the back of my hand. “Where are you headed?”
“Into town.”
“That’d be great.”
She pulls over, and I climb in, pulling the door shut behind me like I’m trying to keep everything else out.
The moment it latches, the tears come fast and hot.
“I’m so sorry,” I manage through the sobs. “I can get out if you want?—”
“Heck no,” Bonnie says, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “A friend wouldn’t let a friend walk it off alone when she’s clearly in heartbreak hell.”
“Thanks.”
She hums thoughtfully. “Boy troubles? Or life imploding? Or all of the above?”
“Ding ding,” I croak, wiping at my cheeks. “All of the above.”
“Well,” Bonnie says, turning onto the main road, “you’re in good company. Cry it out, sister. I’ve got the perfect song for you.”
She scrolls through her playlist and lands on a heartbreak anthem that somehow hits all the right notes—soft, sad, but not pathetic. It makes the ache a little less sharp. Makes me feel a little less alone.
By the time we roll into town, I’ve mostly stopped crying.
We pull up in front of Knot and Spur, and Bonnie throws the truck in park and cuts the engine.
“You want to talk about it?”
I glance at her. There was a time when she and I were close. Shared secrets in locker rooms, skipped class to cry in the truck bed over boys who didn’t deserve us. But life happened. College. Work. Drift. Now she’s technically more of a town acquaintance. Works part-time at the bar. Closer to Will’s orbit than mine.
Still, she offered me a song when I was falling apart. So I decide on a middle ground. A version of the truth that doesn’t lay me bare, but still gets the ache out of my chest.
“I’m still a virgin,” I say, voice quiet but firm.
Bonnie’s eyebrows shoot up.
