“I’ll go first,” Wren says, shutting her laptop and pushing it onto the coffee table. “Okay, so I got new skates from my mom as a pity gift for missing my birthday. Classic Hacks. And I got to use them while I went skating with Miles and his sister. Boring updates, but I’ve got a boring life now.”
Wren sulks and we clap, like we always do. “Still great, Wrenny. Still great,” I say, patting her arm. “My first update is that I got that Buelli painting I’ve been eyeing for a while.But,I have to work with Evan for our class project, so that’s fantastic.”
“There it is,” Kennedy whistles, beaming at me. “You can’t get through an update without mentioning him.”
“I do not,” I retort with a gasp.
“You do,” Wren adds and Kennedy nods. “I still stand by what I said. I think you need a good fuck to get it out the way. Hate-sex is much better, according to my readers.”
“The only thing Evan is getting from me is a slap to the face,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Anyway, Kenny, what are your updates?”
She smiles wide, her lined dimples popping out. “You know that project I was stressing out about? As soon as you guys left, I cracked it and it’s done. It’s not perfect, but my teacher said it’s probably going to be the best in the class. Not that it matters, of course, but it felt amazing. And I alsohadaonenightstand.”
Her last few words blend together, not making sense as she pulls her hair into her face, a thing that she does when she’s nervous. “Didn’t quite get the end of that, babe.”
She sighs, blowing her hair out of her face. “I had a one night stand!” she shouts and mine and Wren’s mouths hang open.
Kennedy doesnotdo casual. Ever. Mostly because she doesn’t date and gets the ick too easily. If she wants to be in a relationship, she’ll be in one. She hates the uncertainty of situationships, so her sleeping with someone randomly is insane.
“Who?” Wren and I gawk at the same time, looking at each other and then back to Kennedy.
“I will neither deny nor confirm if it was someone from the hockey team,” she whispers. Wren’s hand goes to her chest dramatically.
“Kennedy, you wouldn’t,” she mutters and then Kennedy very slightly, it’s barely noticeable, but she nods, and we both know who it was.
Harry Butler, the guy she’s been on and off with since the start of this year. They never actually dated, but after a kiss during a game of seven minutes in heaven, I’m sure they’re not strictly best friends, as much as Ken likes to hide it.
"We were both sad and emotional and he was there, and I kissed him, and he felt good and the next thing I knew we were naked," she explains, doing a poor job at trying to hide her blush.
"Oh, my fucking God, Ken," I whisper.
"I know," she mutters back. "It's terrible. But we're just friends, so it's never going to happen again."
"Just friends, huh?" Wren mocks. Kennedy tries to nod, showing that she's telling the truth, but the way her face looks like it's radiating heat is enough of a giveaway.
Wren tackles her to the ground, pestering her with excited questions and I’m about to join in, but my phone lights up with a text.
UNKNOWN:Hey, we should meet up soon to start working on the project.
My heartbeat triples in pace. Evan and I never text. If I ever needed to contact him, I’ve only done it through Miles or if I’m desperate, it’s through Instagram. I don’t like the thought of him having my number. It feels like we’re crossing some sort of invisible line. The kind of line that has been put up for several reasons.
ME:How did you get my number, u weirdo?
EVAN: Miles gave it to me under strict conditions.
ME: Which are….?
EVAN: Not to piss you off because then you’ll tell Wren and Wren will tell Miles and Miles will tell me and I’ll never hear the end of it.
Huh. I’ll have to give Miles some brownie points for that one. Even when I was fooling around with his dickwad of a teammate, Jake, Miles was the only one I could tolerate, which is why I’m glad Wren is dating him.
ME: And how well is that working out for u so far?
EVAN: You’re still texting me, so I’d say pretty well.
Ialmostcracked a smile.
Apparently, he’s more bearable over text, which is probably because I can’t see his smug face and I can have more than five seconds to think of a reply. Being in his presence makes me nervous and not in a good way. But texting him feels easy. Easier to insult. Easier to talk to. It’s a win-win.
