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“Wrenny, baby!” I cut her off with more giggling as Carson just shakes his head at me. “I love how you alwaysh… Alwayshhh…. How you all the time make sure I’m okay. I miss you sooo much, but I’ll be home soon! I quit, bitch! I’m not gonna cheer anymore! I’m moving back home tomorrow, baby!”
“You didn’t try out again?” she asks softly.
I love how she’s trying to not sound excited, because she loves me, and she’s my person, and I’m gonna make out with Quinn Bagley tonight!
“Fuck no, I won’t go!” I shout and then giggle a few more times before sobering. But you know, not actually sobering, unfortunately. Just moving on to more sniffling, crying, and lying, because I guess I’m not only a washed up, former cheerleader. I’m also a big, fat fibber. “Nope. Emily Flanagan is officially an old, dried-up, has-been cheerleader. Tryouts started two weeks ago, and I just realized I don’t have the heart for it anymore. And I’m too old for this shit, Wrenny. My knees locked up when I was sitting on the toilet peeing last month after a four-hour practice; did I tell you that? I was stuck on the fucking toilet, sad and alone with cramped knees. I don’t want to be sad and alone on the toilet anymore, Wren!”
That part is actually true. My knees still hurt just thinking about it, but good Lord, I need to stop talking! Tryouts were two months ago, I definitely attended, and I absolutely made the team again. Wren’s been so busy and so happy with her new man that I didn’t want to make her sad by telling her I was staying in California another year, so I kept putting it off.
Oh tequila, nooo….
“Okay, sweetie, calm down,” she reassures me gently in her sweet mom-voice that always makes me feel better.
“Anyway,” I continue, the lies just pouring out of me, because I guess this is who I am now. “I handed in my resignation. I’ve already packed up my apartment, and I wanted to surprise you once it was all finalized, and now it is, and now I’m celebrating with some of the girls that I’m finally moving back home at….”
I pause and glare at Carson when he smacks my arm for the second time tonight, moving the phone away from my mouth to whisper-argue away his judgement.
“Look, I already sent her a text earlier saying I was going out with the girls tonight. There’s no sense telling her the girls ditched me and getting into all that, or she’ll fly out here with Birdie and Tess and kick all their asses. Where the hell are we again? These gray walls are a vibe, and I’m here for it,” I murmur with a nod as I look around the room with my tequila goggles before bringing the phone back to my mouth and addressing Wren.
“…fuck, I don’t even know whose house, but I think we’re in the Valley. It’s a really pretty house. Anyway, guess who just walked in who is no longer off-limits and I’m going to kiss the shit out of.”
“Good God, woman.” Carson shakes his head at me. “I am never feeding you tequila again. We’re at Quinn Bagley’s house, and we’re in fucking Calabasas! How have you lived here for four years, and you still don’t know where you are or how you got there?”
Like most people who grew up on an island where everyone gets around via golf cart, which negates the need for a driver’s license, I take a taxi or a car service everywhere. Which means I close my eyes, hold on tight, and hope to hell I don’t die before I reach my destination.
Carson is still staring at me like I’m an idiot, and I realize I must have said all that in my head instead of out loud to him, when Wren starts yelling at me through the phone.
“Emily, do not make out with the quarterback of the Vipers when you’re shitfaced!”
“Goddamn, that man is hot.” I sigh, completely ignoring her while I think about how gorgeous Quinn’s eyes were up close and personal.
“Emily Jean Flanagan, no!” she tries scolding me again, but she knows me well enough to understand it’s already too late.
A dare has been given, and a dare must be taken.
“Dude, I’m moving back home to Summersweet Island tomorrow. This is my one shot to show him everything he’s been missing the last four years. YOLO, motherfucker! See you bitches tomorrow!”
“Emily, you are going to regret—”
I end the call before she can finish telling me I’m going to regret kissing the guy I’ve had a massive crush on all four years I’ve cheered for the Vipers, and entirely too many years to count before that. Talking to Wren made me feel better about leaving my dreams behind to head back home tomorrow, and there’s just one more thing to do before I go.
