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There is a third option. "I'm tired. I'm going to head home and take a nap." I wipe my frown off my face. Rory is still staring at her phone.
Does she even care that I'm here?
"Good idea." She taps something else into her phone. "Get some rest before the party."
"Party?"
"Yeah, at his place, tonight. I told you, didn't I?"
No. I'd remember.
"Piper?" Her eyes stay glued to her phone. "You're coming, right?"
"Where is it?"
"His place in Long Beach. Let me text you the address." She taps her phone screen. "Starts at eight but most people will be rolling in around nine or ten. It will be fun. Drinks. Weed. Cute guys."
Before Carter, she'd never say weed like it was a necessary part of a fun evening.
I try to shake it off. I hate feeling like the uptight one.
I'm not an idiot. I can see that she's ignoring me. That I mean nothing to her compared to her boyfriend. I'd understand if Carter was somehow cute, interesting, smart, something. But he's not. He doesn't have a job. He doesn't go to school.
He doesn't do anything but drink and smoke weed.
But she's my oldest friend...
Finally, she looks up from her phone. "You'll be there, right?"
"Maybe."
"Please, Pipes. We never hang out anymore."
I wonder why. "I have plans tonight." To text Kit until I can't keep my eyes open any longer. But that's still a plan.
"Oh yeah?" She slides her phone into her pocket. "Tell me it's a date."
"Kinda."
"Really?" Her brown eyes light up. "You'll tell me when you finally..."
"Yeah." Maybe. At this point, it feels like I'm going to die a virgin.
"Bring him."
"I don't think it's his scene." This conversation is making me queasy. Or maybe that's hunger. Or lack of coffee. Either way, I'm not enjoying talking to Rory. Has our friendship been this crappy all semester? All year? I'm not sure. I push myself up and take a few steps towards the parking lot. "I'll let you know."
She smiles, completely unaware of my frustration. "If not, let's hang tomorrow. Coffee?"
"I have to check my schedule."
"Great." She pulls out her cell phone and motions to it. "If I don't see you tonight, I'll text you."
"Yeah. Later." Usually, we hug goodbye. I'm not in the mood today. I nod my goodbye and I march to my car.
The stereo flares with my pop music mix CD. The peppy vocals are grating. I switch to something angry and I white-knuckle the steering wheel all the way home.
I pull the door open with a huff, ready to storm to my room.
