This was also bad, because it meant my Angel reprieve was over.
Shanti and Joey led the rest, which was surprising since Raye was usually the ringleader.
Then again, if Shanti and Joey hadn’t engaged in a staredown with Cheyenne that had her feet retreating toward her car, Raye wouldn’t have been free to grab my arm and start dragging me to the gate.
Shanti and Joey advanced so Cheyenne had no choice but to get into her car while the rest of them herded me through the gate, up the stairs and right to my unit whereupon Gemma opened the door (really, did all of them need keys?).
While I second-guessed this, they shoved me in, Shanti and Joey now bringing up the rear.
Joey closed the door.
And there I was, facing off against Raye, my ride or die, bestest bestie of all time, blonde, blue-eyed, tallish, semi-curvy, all of this hiding her inner badass.
Also Jessie: lean, brunette, edgy and always in black (like now, though she sometimes cut this with white, just not right then).
And Harlow: girl-next-door cute and currently wearing a pleated mini and a tee that said Tell Your Dog I Said Hi knotted at the waist, looking like she just came from cheerleader practice.
Then there was Shanti, who was Black and recently had a multitude of long, slender, twisted extensions put in, and they looked awesome on her.
Along with Willow, who was just Willow, cajz, herself, now wearing boyfriend jeans and one of Gabe’s tees, which meant she rolled out of a bed he was in that morning and confiscated it.
Rounding out the last of the group, there was Joey, who was edgier than Jess by a smidge, and was kind of a mini-me version of Martha, one of our neighbors at Oasis Square, a woman who told it like it was and had zero filter.
And finally, there was Gemma, cute, sweet, and dressed like she lived in a thatched roof cottage in a Disney movie and talked to mice.
Willow started it, and she did this with her eyes glued to the paper coffee cup in my hand.
“You went to JL Patisserie?”
There was hurt in her voice.
Then again, she was a pastry chef and in charge of treats at The Surf Club.
And she, like every Phoenician, knew you didn’t go to JL only to get coffee.
I could get in-depth about how you couldn’t compare the two. Willow made cookies, cupcakes, muffins, shit like that, and they were outstanding. JL did croissants, macarons, scones and shit like that, which were also outstanding. But they were two different kettles of flour and butter, thus not comparable.
Unfortunately, before I could begin my litany of how you couldn’t compare the two, Raye belatedly assumed the mantle of ringleader.
“We can discuss that later. Now,”—she looked at me—“we gave you space. It’s time, once and for all, to share what the hell is up with you and Knox.”
On the one hand, I got her.
It had been over a year, and it wasn’t like they were blind and deaf. They saw our shit. They heard our shit. And as friends, naturally, they cared that our shit was obviously shit.
Last, I had not confided even a little bit of that shit.
They thought Knox and I had been circling each other, and they all wanted us together.
They had no idea.
But you know what?
It wasn’t their business.
Yes, they were my friends.
Yes, they were the best friends a girl could have.
