25
Chloe
Silk Chiffon—MUNA (feat. Phoebe Bridgers)
I sat on the end of my bed staring at my phone screen, an unsent text staring back up at me. Panic coiled tightly around my chest as I dissected every syllable of the message I had written.
Chloe:Hey! Heard about today, I’m sorry. Want emotional-support room service ice-cream sundaes at mine?
Emotional-support ice-cream sundaes?Was I twelve? But Inés struck me more as an ice-cream kind of girl than pizza.
It had not gone well for Inés. She’d lost against Priya Devi. I caught the end of it, and the way Inés glided across the court was beautiful. Graceful, with a quiet, sharp intensity that made her so captivating to watch. She was relentless, chasing down every ball like her life depended on it. But today, it wasn’t enough. I’d loved watching her play anyway.
I had to send this text. It was just a text.Stupid little message.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, and with a burst of bravery, I hit send. The little message bubble appeared in our chat, the first one ever, and panic set in. I hurled my phone to the other side of the bed.
Why was my heart pounding like this? It was justInés Costa, with her cutting smirks and even sharper backhands.
The phone buzzed, and I lunged for it so fast I nearly fell off the bed. My hands fumbled with the phone, and when her name popped up, my pulse skyrocketed.
Inés:Sure. What’s your room number?
I grinned at the phone like a complete idiot. She’d said yes. As quickly as my fingers would allow, I replied.
Was this what it was like to have a friend? A real friend, who wanted to hang out?
A grin spread across my face before I could stop it.She said yes. Heart racing, I looked around, realizing my room was a disaster. Clothes were scattered everywhere from earlier, when I’d been deciding what to wear to my match.
I buzzed around the room, shoving everything into my suitcase, wiping crumbs off the table and fluffing the pillows. As I cleared the vanity, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.A nightmare stared back at me. I pulled out my messy ponytail and tried to smooth the wild waves into something decent.
Pausing, I realized how silly I was being. This wasn’t a big deal. It was ice cream.
A quick knock at the door snapped me out of my thoughts. Anxiety flared, but I took a deep breath and opened the door.
Inés stood in the hallway, dressed in silk pajamas with feathered cuffs, fluffy slippers on her feet, and two gold eye patches beneath her tired eyes. She held a half-empty glass of red wine in one hand, the bottle tucked under her arm, my friendship bracelet dangling from her fingers.
“Here,” she said, bracelet stretched out. “I don’t think thisthingis very lucky.”
I laughed, eyeing her outfit. “You know this isn’t a sleepover, right?”
She pushed past me, glancing around the room with a shrug. “This is what failure looks like.”
Closing the door, I said, “You made it to the quarter-finals. That’s impressive.”
“I lost,” she said flatly. “How impressive is a runner-up?”
“Fine. But for tonightonly, you can mope.”
“Excellent,” she said with a mock smile. “Glad I have your approval. Now, where’s the ice cream?”
“I haven’t ordered it yet.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Have I been lured here under false pretenses?”
I shook my head. “I was cleaning up.”
She paused, looked around the room. “This... is clean?”
