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Bastian claps his hands together in front of his chest. “Okay, guys. Let’s get some pizza and then we’ll go around the group and share our updates so Sequoia can get a feel for things. Then if she’s up to it, she can tell us her story.”
Everyone shuffles toward the pizza table, but I stay behind and slide my desk closer to our new member. “How long did you date Ryan?” I ask quietly. Not that I’m any good at this kind of thing, but the group has helped me so far, and maybe I can return the favor now.
She peers at me through her eyelashes, tears clinging to her tanned cheeks. “Three years.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to make my voice comforting and compassionate even though I know the same sentiment did nothing for me when I was heartbroken. “My boyfriend left me two months ago after we’d been together since eighth grade,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Bastian’s right. I know what you’re going through, so trust me, I won’t give you any bullshit about it being easy to recover.”
She perks up, lifting her head and watching me with more than the passing interest of before. “My parents think I’m an idiot for even crying about this.”
I snort. “My parents all but said they were happy he dumped me because they think I can do better.” I say the last two words with disdain. “No one understands your pain except the people in this room.”
“Hey, snowflake,” Emory calls from across the room. We both look back, and he holds up a plate. He gestures toward the pizza. “You want cheese?”
“Yeah, thanks,” I say. Butterflies rise up in my stomach at the revelation that he knows what kind of pizza I get.
“You’re cheese too, right?” he asks Sequoia. She nods and then gazes over the rest of the group who is still hovering around the pizza. She leans closer to me, her knuckles gripping the edge of the desk. “Did he call you snowflake?” she asks with a little chuckle.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
She smiles. “Well at least you’re not here because of him. That makes you better off than half the girls in this school.”
Her phrasing—HALF the girls in this school—makes my stomach knot up and then I am immediately embarrassed for even caring. Emory is not a saint. He’s made that much clear. I hold my smile, unwilling to let her or anyone else know about my secret, tiny, microscopic, pointless crush on him. Before I can say anything else, a bright blue paper plate with two slices of cheese pizza smacks down my desk. An identical plate appears on Sequoia’s desk and then Emory slides into the next desk beside me.
Ciara sits next to Sequoia, busy on her phone. A few seconds later, I get a text from her.
Ciara: What’s with this snowflake thing?
I look over at her, and she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. I roll my eyes and type out a reply.
Isla: He’s just an idiot.
“Mhmm, sure,” she says aloud. Luckily Emory doesn’t seem to notice.
Everyone else settles into the circle of desks and Xavier kicks his backpack aside, muttering something about not being able to find his cell phone charger before he joins us.
“I’ve always hated that prick,” Emory mutters under his breath, folding his pepperoni slice in half before he takes a bite. “You’re one of
the sweeter girls in the female population. He had no right to hurt you.”
“It’s okay, Em,” Sequoia says, rolling her eyes. “I’m serious. The last thing I want is for you to end up in jail because of me.”
Emory swallows and lifts an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’d get caught?”
She rolls her eyes and Emory smirks. I stare down at my pizza.
Bastian starts the meeting with a retelling of his weekend, how he went to the waterpark with his hotter older brother. According to him, every girl in the place was drooling over his brother, just like his last three ex-girlfriends had done. He tells us the story in an upbeat way, which I’m not sure is an act for our benefit or if he’s really being this positive about being the less attractive brother in his family.
“So guys, I have a plan,” Bastian says when I’ve nearly dozed off at the end of his long story. He straightens his shoulders and pushes his wire-framed glasses back up his nose. “I’m joining a gym.”
When no one says anything, he continues, “My brother and I are a lot alike, but he’s the muscular Asian athlete. That’s why girls like him. So why shouldn’t I work out and get swole, too?”
Trish shakes her head slowly, and I can tell she’s debating if she should speak or not. Bastian runs a hand through his hair and looks out at us. “Well? What do you guys think?” He holds up a thin arm and flexes. “I think it’ll be fun.”
“I’ll work out with you,” Emory says, dropping his pizza crust back onto his plate. “It will be fun.”
“I don’t know man,” Trish finally says. She sighs and slinks down into her desk chair, her Nikes sticking out into the circle between our desks. “You’re a cute kid, Bastian. You don’t need to put all this energy into trying to look better. Girls should like you because of you, not because of some muscles.”
“But working hard to get in shape will help his self-esteem,” Emory says. “Which will help with his dating life.”
