The Breakup Support Group

The Hastings house sits on the very edge of Deer Valley, where our small Texas town goes from suburban neighborhoods to farmlands for as far as you can see. Alexander’s family has lived in Texas for as long as Americans have been in the state. His ancestors acquired so much land and oil that fifty generations from now, they’ll still be hella rich. He’s a good friend to have when you want to throw a party for two hundred people and guarantee that the police won’t show up. Because Alexander’s uncle is the police chief.

I find Nate’s truck in the field to the left of where the road dead ends. I pull in a few spots behind him, grateful when Kaylee and Tess arrive just a few seconds later and park next to me. They’re also on the Spirit Squad.

“Hey, guys,” I say when I get out of the car. “Care to help me carry in cookies?”

“Sure,” Tess says with a smile that kind of looks like she’s pitying me.

“What?” I say, handing her a tray of cookies.

Kaylee comes around to the other side of my car and takes two trays from the backseat. “We weren’t sure you’d come tonight,” she says.

“Someone has to deliver my mom’s cookies,” I say with a laugh like this is not a big deal.

“Yeah but isn’t it weird?” Tess asks. She closes my car door with her butt, and we all carry the trays through the field and to Alexander’s long, concrete column-lined driveway. “I mean, it’s a Warriors party, and you’re not going to our school anymore.”

I sigh. “It’s not like that was my choice. Besides, Nate wants me here, so I’m here.”

That last part was bitchy, but I don’t care. Out of the ten of us cheerleading rejects on the Spirit Squad, I’m the only one with a football player boyfriend. It’s kind of like I’m Queen of the Losers, but whatever. These girls are my friends, or at least they’re supposed to be, and friends shouldn’t point out that you don’t exactly belong anymore.

An uneasy thought filters into my mind, and I shove it away. Kaylee stops at the double door entrance to the Hastings house and frowns. “Still, doesn’t it feel weird? Like suddenly you’re not a part of the group anymore. I mean, we still love you, but it’s weird.”

The uneasy thought comes back again. Screw them. I’ll just make new friends at my new school.

Once again, I shove the idea to the back of my mind, smile, and ring the doorbell. We’re let inside the house by a drunken wide receiver and it’s not even eight o’clock yet. Marcus Garcia’s face lights up when he sees me. “Girl you know the way to my heart,” he swoons, grabbing the tray of cookies from my hands.

I roll my eyes. “Enjoy,” I say, as we slip into the party which is already packed with other seniors. I scan the area for Nate, but he isn’t in the living room where couples have already paired off and started making out on couches. He’s not in the crowd of mostly girls who are dancing to pop music so loud it drowns out my own thoughts. Kaylee and Tess disappear into the crowd, along with the rest of the cookies. I pull my phone from my back pocket and open a new text.

Isla: I’m here. Where are you?

I gnaw on my bottom lip and tuck in next to a potted fern that’s as tall as I am while I wait for Nate’s reply.

After ten minutes of watching my phone alone, I’d settle for any friendly face right now. But all around me are people who go to my old school, hanging out in small groups, talking and laughing and drinking without me. My boyfriend is nowhere to be found. I double back to the kitchen, grab a red plastic cup and fill it with something blue from a glass pitcher on the counter. It smells heavily of vodka.

The bass beats from speakers hidden in the ceiling, and I can feel the heavy vibrations in my cup. I take a sip and then check my phone again. Still nothing. I take another sip. Someone calls my name, and I look up, nodding to the passing group of athletes. I give them a small wave, and I act like everything is fine. Nate will find me eventually, and this party will become fun. I take another drink and memories of my first party at Alexander’s flood into my body—or maybe that’s just the warmth of the liquor.

It was freshman year, and Nate had just made it onto the varsity team, the only freshman to accomplish a starting spot on the team that year. We’d caught a ride with Marcus’s older brother and the older guys immediately gave us drinks and welcomed us into the party. I felt like a badass, like a trophy girlfriend. Nate and I had sneaked off into one of the guest bedrooms and made out, taking things way further than we ever had before. From the very first sip of this classic blue drink, I had known that high school would be awesome. And so far it has been, but tonight …

“There she is.” It isn’t Nate’s voice, but I look

up from my phone’s home screen and see him and Ford, both wearing their football jerseys and jeans. Ford is all toothy grin and glassy eyes, and I’m pretty sure the red cup in his hand has been refilled a few times. He holds out his fist, and I bump knuckles with him. “We were just talking about you,” Ford says.

“Oh yeah?” I look at my boyfriend, and he’s looking at Ford. “Hey you,” I say, poking Nate in the stomach. “Is this how you say hi to your girlfriend?”

Ford keeps talking, unaffected by my question to Nate. “We were asking around, and only that Casey chick is going to the other school this year. And that sucks for you, ’cause she’s a bitch.” He draws out the last word and looks around as if he’s afraid anyone will hear him. He grabs my shoulder and squeezes so hard it hurts. “Good luck next year, kid.”

I pick up his hand and toss it off me. “I’m the same age as you, idiot.”

Ford laughs. “Fuck it. I’m drunk. Everyone’s a kid.”

“Hey, give us a minute,” Nate says to Ford. I hold back the urge to make a joke about how apparently Nate does have a voice. Maybe he’s also drunk. He really doesn’t seem like it, though. He’s usually the sober one out of his group of friends, which is another reason why I love him.

“Sure thing, kid,” Ford says, tossing me a wink before walking away.

“He’s so annoying when he’s drunk,” I say, stepping closer to Nate. His football jersey is the only shirt he has that doesn’t cling to his muscles like a second skin. I wrap my arm around his waist and give him a quick hug.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” he says, frowning at the cup in my hand. “You know you’re a lightweight and someone might take advantage of you.”

I lift an eyebrow. “This is my first drink. Besides, you’re here.”