Forgotten Rules (Rules 4)

She crinkles her nose. “Almost threw the lady showing me pictures of Romeo the cat out the window, but good.”

Kendrick laughs, picking up Winter’s bag with one arm and banding the other around her neck to tousle her hair. Making our way through the commotion, we answer my cousin’s million questions about her substitute home for the following months.

“Oh, and some American guy on the plane made fun of the way I say sorry. Rude much?” She frowns, her Canadian accent drawing a chuckle from me. A piece of the family has been missing this past year.

But now?

We’re whole.

“Yeah, well…” Kendrick smiles. “Welcome to America.”

Kassidy

I’m bursting into Zoey’s one-bedroom apartment an hour later. Nudging the door closed with my elbow, I kick off my shoes and steer a course to the living room. The first thing I see when turning the corner is Zoey’s floor, covered in a ridiculous amount of mascara-tinted tissues.

Eh. The usual.

On the ground, sitting on a throw up of pillows and blankets are Zoey and my other best friend, Morgan. A bowl of popcorn rests between them—let me rephrase, a bowl in which popcorn should be rests between them. The popcorn in question is all over Morgan’s hoodie. Morgan, being Morgan, keeps trying to catch popcorn into her mouth and failing until the floor is covered.

These two are my ride or die. I have no idea how I would’ve made it to senior year without them. I met Morgan freshman year, while I’ve known Zoey since kindergarten, but it feels like the three of us have known each other our whole lives.

“Came as fast as I could,” I pant.

Morgan snorts. “Hey, Zoey. Bet that’s what your ex-boyfriend said.”

Morgan dies laughing at her own joke, and I inevitably follow. That’s Morgan James for you. Morgan’s the girl with the laugh that’s funnier than the joke, that bookworm friend who’s never seen a penis in her life but loves giving dating advice. When she isn’t crying over fictional characters, you can find her avoiding people.

“Stop!” Zoey whines, concealing her face with perfectly manicured hands. “Don’t talk shit about him. I still love him.”

“What happened?” I sit down.

“He said he needed air.” She flings her arms up. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean? Is he under-fucking-water?”

Morgan bites back a laugh, earning a scowl from Zoey. She can’t bring herself to take Zoey’s drama seriously anymore, and I can’t even blame her: it’s a weekly thing at this point.

“Zoey, with everything that’s happened, did you ever think that maybe… this is a good thing? I mean, the guy cheated on you,” I remind her.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “We were on a break!”

Ross, get out of here.

“Were you though?” Morgan winces. “He said you were over, had sex with some girl at a party, then came back the next morning saying he changed his mind. I mean, I’m no dating expert and all, but that’s pretty fucked-up.” Morgan throws another popcorn into the air, opens her mouth, and misses again.

“He was just confused. And I don’t blame him for that. He made a mistake. Love is about forgiveness.”

Vomit.

“I’m serious.” Zoey blows her nose into a tissue. “It’s been three days and he hasn’t called. I think we’re really done this time.”

She says that every time—every single time. And they always get back together. To Morgan’s and my great disapproval.

Everybody hates Sean.

Pretty sure even Sean’s mother hates Sean.

The guy is despicable, more concerned with the number of cars in his garage than the number of hearts he tramples. He just loves taking advantage of Zoey and her obsession with dating a college boy. Although I have to say she does have a part to play in the way her conquests treat her. She always goes for the lost causes.

Like her obsession with Haze Adams, the school’s ultimate player, a while back. Man, she just couldn’t let this one go. Allergic to commitment, Haze made it clear he just wanted sex from the start, and initially Zoey agreed. Until she slept with him, got attached, and showed up at his house in tears the next day. They went back and forth like this for months.