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“Oh, I’m not quitting. You’re right, I’ve already invested way too much of myself in this catastrophe. If I quit now, it was all for nothing. But I’m done following someone else’s script. After today, we’re doing it my way. I’m taking a page from your Bachelorette book. Since someone seems to have beach plans anyway . . .”
Nicole gives me a sheepish nod, finally acknowledging the trip she never bothered to disclose.
“I’m taking spring break week off. I’ll hole up at my mom’s for the week where no one can find me. The next official date will be a group event at Mom’s house the following week.”
“Wait . . .” Her mouth hangs open. “Your mom’s house? As in with your mom? Are you high?”
A hysterical laugh erupts from my throat. “Isn’t there always one ‘meet the family’ episode on those bachelor shows?”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Usually . . . ?”
“I’m sure my mom would love meeting the guys . . . and cooking for them.” It’s about time I give myself a little home court advantage in this ridiculous competition.
Nicole laughs. “You’d actually subject them to your mother’s cooking?”
I shrug. “Anyone willing to eat my mother’s cooking must really like me. Hell, I don’t think I like me enough for that, so this should be interesting.”
“You can say that again,” she mutters.
“The spring formal is only a few weeks away, and I want this over with. If my mom can scare off at least two of the four, that’s two less dates I’ll have to endure.”
“If that’s what you—”
I sear her with a look. “You know what I want.”
She nods, and I swear her whole body deflates like a week-old Mylar balloon. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
“For now, the only . . .” I lose my train of thought as Grant, Elijah, and Caleb step out of the restroom. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me!”
Only Grant looks halfway normal in his khaki Dockers. But he’s swapped his blue button-down for a plain black pullover.
Elijah looks like he stole someone’s high school letterman’s jacket and a pair of my mom’s old jeans—with the whitest sneakers I’ve ever seen.
And Caleb . . . poor Caleb got the brunt of this sadistic costume party with a pair of black cargo pants and a red flannel lumberjack shirt under a worn denim jacket.
A string of colorful curses tumbles past my lips. They’ve dressed us up as the cast of The Breakfast Club.
“There she is, right where I left her.” Todd struts over and hands me a tiny pink sweater and points me toward the restrooms. “Go put this on for me, princess.”
The name sounds all wrong coming from his lips.
“Why?” I cross my arms over the white blouse I’d worn specifically for this occasion. I look good. Maybe a little more starched than normal, but I’m not interested in looking like an eighties throwback with a bad perm.
Todd inhales a sharp breath through his nose. “Kelly!”
Her platinum hair catches the light, blinding me as she power walks across the room. “What now?”
Without a word, Todd glances from the bubblegum-pink sweater in his outstretched hand to me.
Kelly takes the sweater from him to inspect the tag. “Is it the wrong size?”
“The wrong decade,” I say with a toxic smile.
She rolls her eyes, shoving the sweater into my hands before turning on her sharp heels and power walking back to the makeshift command center.
Her silence leaves me speechless.
Nicole nods toward the bathroom and mouths “scholarship.”
