We’re both stretched out on my childhood bed, just as it always was, with its polka-dot bedspread and fuchsia pink pillows. It reminds me of Blake, of the countless times we made out on this bed, almost going all the way.
I stare up at the flowery wallpaper and the shelves covered with stuffies. My vanity mirror is framed with old pictures of me and my friends, most of them long gone, save for Mandy who will always be in my life. All the photos of Blake have been removed. The only reminder of him is the jewelry box he made me in shop class – he painted it pink (my favorite color) and added sparkly hearts.
“So what’s the deal with Blake?” she asks. “He’s so hot.”
My heart threatens to leap out of my chest. “Don’t even go there,” I snap.
She laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it… I know he’s your ex.”
“Good.” The last thing I need is my best friend hooking up with my ex.
“I bet he’d be great in bed,” she says. “He looks like he’d know what he’s doing.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I tell her.
She turns to me. “Really?! You never slept together?”
“We fooled around a lot, but I just wasn’t ready. We were so young.”
“You’re such a prude, Maeve. I would have been all over that.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
We stare at the ceiling for the longest time. Finally, Corrie breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Maeve. You must be feeling like shit. First, Peter dumps you. And then you come here, and run into the boy who broke your heart, and he’s kind of a total dick.”
I smile. “Well, I’m glad you can see it too. My mom seems to thinks he walks on water and can do no wrong.”
“Well, he is pretty charming. I’ll give him that.”
“Cocky, more like.”
We study the ceiling again.
“So have you heard from Peter at all?” she asks.
Peter. I’ve been trying to forget him. I’ve been trying to pretend like my other life doesn’t even exist. I haven’t just been fired. I haven’t been dumped at the altar. “Well, like I told you, he sent me an email,” I tell her. “I never responded.”
“What exactly did this email say?” she asks in typical Corrie fashion – there are no boundaries when it comes to Corrie.
I reach for my handbag and pull my cell out. I tap on my Gmail app, and show her the email. Why not? I have nothing to hide from her.
I stare at the walls of my old room as she silently reads the long message. When she’s done, her mouth is agape. “What a dick! Forget about Blake… Peter is the real asshole.”
“Yes, it’s a close race,” I joke. “I wonder who will win the ‘biggest jerk’ award.”
“Peter,” she scoffs. “Definitely Peter.” She’s still holding my phone. “I can’t believe he dissed you about your job, and said you were boring. What an ass.”
She’s livid. I think she hates him more than I do right now.
“We should show him,” she says. “Show him you’re not the ‘sweet girl’ he thinks you are.”
I smile wide. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
She smirks. “Great minds think alike.”
“How do we show him though?”
She bites her lip as she mulls this over. She’s still looking up at the stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. “What if… we did a makeover?” she says.
