“What’s her name again?” I ask nonchalantly, wondering if I’ll run into her tonight.
“Jenna.” He says flatly, turning to glare at me. “Try not to fuck this up. She means a lot to Marley and I don’t need you and your little dick fucking it up for me.” Sauntering away, he flips me the bird and a little bit of the weight I’ve been carrying comes off my shoulders.
“For your information, my dick is huge!”
CHAPTER TWO
jenna
“Why is your hair blue?And why is there so much construction paper… and is this a laminator?” The rustling noise I hear coming from the living room is now barreling towards my room.
“Jenna, can you hear me?” Marley, my roommate, waves her hand in front of my face as I lay partially comatose on my bed. Is it possible to lose all ability to make decisions and answer questions all in one day? I smack her hand out of my face and resettle myself into the comfortable lump I had established.
“My hair is blue because Aiden Creston decided that the best way to get my attention during my art lesson was to hurl his paint tray at me. The construction paper is for a science project I need to prep and the laminator is for my new insurance card. I want it to be pretty.”
“Oh my god, when did my best friend die and this 60-year-old woman inhabit her body? Laminating your insurance card?” I keep my eyes closed but can picture Marley standing above me with a disgusted look on her face. “That’s it. Get out of bed, you’re coming with me!”
I decide to stay as still as possible, maybe if I act dead, she will leave me here to rot. Today has been the longest day of mylife. My feet hurt from not having a moment to sit and I can’t get the ringing in my ears to stop from thirty tiny humans screaming “Ms. Waters!” at me.
“Come on Jenna, get dressed! We don’t want to miss out on all of the fun! The party started an hour ago,” Marley screeches from her perch on the bathroom counter.
I’ve been listening to my best friend and roommate simultaneously blast Chappell Roan and get ready for the past thirty minutes while I have been mulling over the options of calling in take-out or taking a chance on whatever mystery frozen meals we have in the freezer.
“Marley, trust me you don’t want me there. You’re meeting Max. I’ll just be in the way.” My not-so-subtle way of announcing that being her and her new boyfriend’s third wheel sounds less than exciting.
Although her excitement for this new boyfriend has truly piqued my interest. Since meeting Marley freshman year of college, I’ve only known her to date around and “see what life has to offer.” Whatever that means. I swear she dates enough for the both of us.
But never once has she dated someone for more than a month tops, never wanting to be tied down. I listen to the lull of Pink Pony Club and watch her throw clothes out of my closet as she picks through my excellent collection of cardigans.
Something has changed since Marley started dating Max. It’s been three months since they met, and I have yet to hear any mention of a red flag or, in a normal ’person's view, a mildly yellow flag. She once stopped dating a guy because his haircut was too close to a mullet.
My eyes hurt from how hard I roll them in their sockets, knowing that I actually do want to meet the guy who has wormed his way into my best friend’s heart.
Lifting my head I run my gaze over my trashed room. Who knew someone so tiny could cause so much chaos? Marley holds up a black dress I wore to a funeral once and a lime green cocktail dress I wore to my junior prom with an over-exaggerated look of disdain. She shakes her head at her options and throws them haphazardly back into the closet.
“Come on Jenna, you never want to go out anymore and I miss spending time with you. I also really want you to meet Max and his friends.” The soft thud of her body against the bed has mine bouncing slightly. “They are great… and not bad to look at, if you know what I mean. Maybe you’ll have a fun hookup.” She says, wiggling her eyebrows.
I’m definitely not one to be out on the prowl looking for a quick hookup, but I do need to get out of my bubble. My days are starting to blend together.
“A quick hookup? Well, shiver my timbers why didn’t you say that in the first place?” I shimmy my shoulders for extra affect as Marley throws her body to lay next to me. She giggles as she lightly nudges me with her shoulder.
“Come on Jen, we never get to spend time together anymore. I miss you and don’t make it weird but I really want you to meet Max.” She wiggles closer and we lay there in a cozy silence, her in her tiny party dress and me in my “Read More Books” shirt.
This year I started teaching at one of the local elementary schools in Cranson Creek, quickly realizing that being the new teacher means I’m the one who gets volunteered for everything. Dances, pep rallies, PTA—you name it, I’m always the teacher chosen to be there.
That, on top of trying to get a handle on new curriculum and planning lessons, means I’m at work until 7 or 8 p.m. some nights. I barely see my best friend anymore before I’m eating dinner, taking a shower, and climbing into bed for the night.Every day has become Groundhog’s Day. If it wasn’t for the fact that I love teaching so much, I’d consider changing careers.
Being twenty-six and always busy with work or constantly exhausted isn’t doing great things for my nonexistent love life.
Mar’s phone dings between us and I watch as she runs her hand across the comforter at a ridiculously fast pace. We’re the same age but she knew early on that her future was in technology. Now she owns her own tech business and I can’t for the life of me actually tell you what she does every day. But I’ve always envied her ability to make her own schedule and create a stress-free, easygoing work environment for herself.
With a deep breath, I unglue myself from my bed. “Fine, I’ll go. But I’m wearing something comfy, and you need to promise me that I’ll be greeted with a drink upon arrival to said party.”
“Done!” Marley flies off the bed, engulfing me in a rib-crushing hug. Her hair whips me in the face and I think I momentarily go blind from how much of it lands in my eye.
“Just please lose the cardigan… and the granny sneakers. This is a party, after all.”
I look down at the shoes I did extensive research trying to find. The best sneaker for arch support, is what I had typed into the search engine. Placing my hand on my heart, I look her right in the eyes and feign disbelief, “How dare you talk badly about my granny three-thousands.” I look back down at my shoes again. Assessing them from an outside perspective, they really are ugly.
