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The weekend isn’t even over yet.
They gave us the day off on Friday. Had the fire department go around the school to make sure the boys didn’t leave us any more… surprises. I’ve never been this impatient to go back to school in my life.
Two words: Hate letter.
I’ve been obsessing over getting that stupid piece of paper back since they sent us home on Thursday. Thanks to the boys’ stunt, the library was closed all weekend, which meant no work for me, and no opportunity to burn the damn thing.
I’m probably overreacting. The odds of someone finding the letter before I do are next to zero. Ms. Callahan made it known she owns copies of all essay books to help her grading process, so she definitely won’t go looking for it, but I’m still terrified of getting caught.
“So, what’s Xavier’s punishment?” I ask. “If he took the fall, it’s got to be serious.”
“Eh, I don’t know yet.” Dia shrugs. “I don’t even think Xav knows. But since he’s a first offender and all, probably detention?” Dia’s phone chimes with a text, and she checks the screen quickly. “There’s this thing at Theo’s later. His parents are gone for the night. You in?”
“Let me think about it.” I pause. “Pass.”
“That wasn’t thinking about it,” Dia scolds.
“I’m a very fast thinker,” I tease, and she heaves a discouraged sigh. “What happened to hanging out just the two of us tonight?”
She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Vee, you know I love you, but… we’ve spent three years hanging out just the two of us. It’s our senior year. Don’t you want to make sure we live it?”
Deep down, I always suspected Dia wanted more.
More popularity, more parties, more flings. And, if I’m being honest, part of me has been dreading the inevitable day where “more” would want her back.
Waiting for the day Easton’s airhead boys would wake up and realize my best friend is drop-dead gorgeous. Dia is of Spanish and Indonesian origins. The tan, dark-haired beauty who’d have no problem racking up millions of followers on Instagram if she just tried.
I don’t mean this in an envious way.
I’m confident enough to say that I’m no dog myself. On my good days, I even like how I look—my butt-length, wavy, caramel-brown hair, my hazel eyes with flecks of green, even the freckles I used to cover up, but I’m nowhere near as comfortable in my skin as Dia is.
I don’t do shorts, crop tops, or bikinis. I’m a turtleneck, one-size-too-big mom jeans kind of gal, and as much as I like my wallflower style, sometimes I think it’s gifted me with the power of invisibility. As far as the male population is concerned, anyway.
Meh.It’s probably for the best.
My papa used to say Silver Springs was a dead-end town. Called it a “Loserfest.” He was this close to convincing Mom to get the hell out before he died. He’d roll over in his grave if he saw his little girl focusing on anything other than her dreams. Right now, the only thing that matters is getting a scholarship.
“Earth to Vee?” Dia waves a hand in my face.
“Sorry. Look, if you want to go see Finn, just say so, it’s okay.”
“I don’t,” she says, and I arch an “are you for real” eyebrow at her. “Okay, fine, I haven’t seen him all weekend, but I want to hang out with you, too.”
“It’s cool, D. We’ll just reschedule. I’ve got to pick up Ashley in half an hour anyway.” I haven’t even taken a step before Dia’s leaping off her bed and holding me back.
“Vee, do you know how many people at school would kill to be invited to these things?” She grips my shoulders as if to drill the words into my brain. “In a few months, high school will be over. Done. Forever. If you don’t at leasttry to enjoy what’s left of it, future-you will regret it.”
Hesitant, I chew on the inside of my cheek.
“Come on, we’re just going to play pool, have a few drinks. It’ll be low-key. Just us and the guys. Pleaseee.” She joins her hands together, shamelessly begging.
“Jesus Christ, fine,” I relent. “I’ll stop by after I’ve picked up Ashley, but if it sucks, I’m gone.”
Squealing, Dia traps me into a hug. “It won’t suck, promise.”
Withdrawing from the hug, I say my goodbyes and make my way out of the Mitchells’ house.
* * *
