“Last night was amazing.”
I really don’t want to talk about it. Or hear about it. Or think about it.
“He’s so much hotter than he was in high school, too. Like, I know you couldn’t tell because of his T-shirt, but oh my God, Hailey, you should see what he’s hiding under there. And he was so fucking good.” She stretches out her body like it’s still aching from the night’s activities. “I’ve never . . . He was never . . .” She starts giggling, and I seriously might need to crash my car into a tree or something. Maybe Danica’s dad would take pity and buy me a new one. “I hate you for making me leave this morning. I could’ve gone a few more rounds.”
I’m singing outdated pop songs in my head when Danica makes a sound in the back of her throat. “Ugh. I can’t believe he still plays video games though.”
And like an idiot, I break my vow of silence. “You acted like you didn’t mind.”
“Of course I acted like I didn’t mind,” she scoffs. “We just started talking again. It’s not like I’m going to start telling him all the things I can’t stand about him.” She shifts in her seat to face me, indignant. “And were you trying to call me out back there? Because I don’t see why you’d want to be mean like that.”
Me. Mean.
“I’m just not as good of a liar as you,” I say, and Danica rolls her eyes.
“Whatever. Keep telling yourself that.”
I narrow my eyes across the console at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Why don’t you figure it out,” she says, busying herself with crawling her feet back up my dash.
“Why don’t you just tell me?”
Her brown eyes swing over to me and harden as she sets both feet firmly back on the floor. “You think you’re so good, Hailey. You think you’re too good to have a fun time with me.”
“You bossed me around all night . . .”
“You mean I tried to order you to have fun for once in your life? Tried to get you to jump up and down in the crowd with me? Oh, boo-hoo, Hailey. Cry me a fucking river.”
I pick at a chip in my foam steering wheel, wondering if she’s right. Was it my own fault I had such a miserable time? Was Danica just trying to get me to have fun?
“Sorry,” I say, and she grunts.
“Whatever. I’m not your enemy, Hailey.”
“I know that . . .” Do I?
“We’re family.”
“I know.”
“We should act like it.”
I couldn’t agree more.
I’m feeling all sorts of confused when Danica says, “Friends?”
Friends? With Danica?
I think back to riding horses with her when we were little girls, to the way we used to braid their manes and pretend they were My Little Ponys. Those are some of my most cherished memories, but the cousin I loved moved away a long time ago, and I haven’t seen her since.
“Okay,” I say after a while, and Danica gives me a smile before gazing out the passenger window.
“We should find you a boyfriend,” she says, and even though that is so not happening, I try to stay positive for the sake of our new truce.
“Maybe.”
We pass by the college, we pass by the local Starbucks, and we’re close to home when she laughs to herself. “I still can’t believe I ever thought something happened between you and Mike last night.”
“You know I’d never do something like that to you,” I say, and when she looks over at the sincere expression on my face, she laughs again.
“And plus he’s a rock star, Hailey.”
“Yeah?”
“And you’re just . . .”
“I’m just what?”
“You,” she says with another laugh. “You’re just you.”
Chapter 5
My truce with Danica looks a little like this: I bake cookies, she eats them. I suggest watching a movie, she picks the movie. I compliment her on her outfit, she offers to help me burn my clothes.
On Wednesday morning, I dress in calf-high polka-dot rain boots, thrift-shop jeans, an oversized sweater, a bright blue raincoat, a sunshine-yellow scarf that my mom made, and a black knit cap that’s topped by what has to be the world’s biggest, purplest pompom.
“You really should let me take you shopping,” Danica critiques as I grab my umbrella, and I close the door behind me.
I have a hectic morning—first, dog walking at the local animal shelter where I’m interning; and then not one, not two, but three intense exams that I am so not prepared for. The whole morning is crazy, and it gets even crazier when I meet Rowan and Dee for our scheduled lunch.
“Finally!” Dee shouts as soon as I drag my sopping wet self through the college café’s heavy double doors. Her long brown hair is twisted into Hollywood curls, her dark eyes bright as she watches me approach her table. My brow furrows as I attempt to uncoil the sunshine-colored scarf from my neck, and I check the time on a clock on the wall.
“Am I late? I thought we said—”
“You’re fine,” she interrupts, standing up to pull my cap off my head as I continue fighting with my boa constrictor of a scarf. “But I’m not.”
“What’s wrong?”
Rowan gives me a small wave from where she’s sitting, sucking on the oversized straw of an iced coffee, and I wave back as Dee takes my coat and says, “I’M DYINGGG.”