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Lyndsey’s boyfriend Nate is having a party tonight, and knowing Connor will be there was the whole reason Chelsea pleaded with us for a girls’ night in. They were together for a year, and while the breakup blindsided her, we saw it coming from a mile away. Connor has always been a notorious playboy and being a football player was his golden ticket to unlimited pussy.
I guess he finally decided to cash in on it.
The football team is what you would consider to be royalty at our school and are worshiped for nothing more than that title of football player alone. All the girls want to fuck them, and all the guys want to be them. And standing right beside those pompous leaders of our school is us.
The cheerleaders.
The popular girls who, from an outsider looking in, truly believe we live that perfect charmed life. Little do they know it’s all an illusion. We have our problems just like they do. My friends have just mastered the art of hiding it, exuding superiority over others and belittling those they believe are beneath us.
It has always amazed me how cattiness and rejection of those deemed unworthy of entering the inner circle can elevate a group’s status in the social hierarchy.
But here we are. The in-crowd that everyone dreams of being part of because, in their eyes, it’s so much better to live in the spotlight than it is to be in the shadows. While I’ve never experienced the latter, I admit I have grown weary of the spotlight. I have grown weary of all of it. I’ve never understood the need to stereotype people or make them feel bad about who they are, and it’s this mentality that has made me feel like an outsider at times, even though I am technically anything but.
Running my fingers through my blonde locks, I take one last look over my appearance. My hair cascades down my back, skimming along the bottom of my low-back, silver halter top, which shimmers under the vanity light. My skinny black jeans mold my legs like a second skin and hug my hips, accentuating every curve in my slim frame.
My phone vibrates on the bench, and I pick it up, swiping the screen to see a message from Lyndsey.
Lyndsey: I’m outside, babe. Hurry up
Quickly adjusting my top and spraying myself with my favorite floral perfume, I collect my phone and bag, then head downstairs.
Before I reach the front door, I detour into the large living room on the left. The lamps cast a warm glow throughout the room, creating a soothing ambiance, and I glance over to the brown leather sofa, seeing that my mother is still fast asleep. Just like she was when I arrived home from school. Clutched tight against her chest is a photo album, and my chest tightens as I watch her for a moment. You would think after six years of coming home to my mother passed out on the couch because she is too drunk to walk up the stairs, that I would be immune to it by now. Perhaps I am.
Perhaps the pain I am feeling is that I have come home and am now going out without her knowing or even caring. It’s hard to believe that she was once a loving and caring mother.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
Hearing Lyndsey’s horn beep outside, I shake off the melancholy and turn around, heading out the door.
When I jumpinto the front seat of Lyndsey’s black SUV, I spot Cadence and Chelsea already sitting in the back. That’s the perks of being the best friend.
Shotgun is automatically mine.
Lyndsey’s emerald-green eyes sparkle as she greets me with a bright smile, looking every bit like the queen she was born to be. Her tight red dress hugs her slim athletic frame, and her rich chocolate-brown hair, which is currently tied up in a high ponytail, sheens like silk under the interior light of her car. She really is stunning.
Lyndsey Montgomery is our queen bee, the captain of the cheerleaders, and my best friend. From that first day in third grade, when she sat down next to me and decided that I was her people, we have been inseparable. And because she only lives three doors down from me, it meant that we practically lived in each other’s houses when we were growing up.
“Hey, babe. Have you texted Logan to let him know you are going?” she asks as we pull out onto the main road.
“No. He was pretty bummed when I said I wasn’t going, so I figured I would surprise him.”
“You guys are so cute,” Chelsea sighs, and I give her a sympathetic smile, knowing how much she is hurting right now. “I wish I had what you guys have.”
“They’re disgusting,” Cadence huffs. “They make me want to vomit the burrito I had for dinner.”
“We have our problems just like everyone else,” I add defensively.
There is more truth to that statement than what they realize. Our relationship has been under strain for months. Once upon a time, Logan and I were inseparable, but now we hardly spend any time together at all.
He’s the starting quarterback for the football team and has been my boyfriend for three years. But he’s actually been part of my life for as long as I can remember.
Our fathers attended Harvard Law School together and became partners in their own law firm when they graduated. With our families having this connection, Logan and I grew up together. We went to the same elementary school, had countless family dinners and our families went on vacation together nearly every year.
What started out as a friendship blossomed into something more when we turned fifteen. We were each other’s first kiss, and we lost our virginity to each other. Through some of the darkest times of my life, he has been there and was my shoulder to lean on when my mother turned to alcohol to dull the pain.
Up until recently.
“Why would you eat a burrito?” Chelsea asks Cadence, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Do you know how many calories are in that thing?”
