Stacy squints at us.
“Sorry. Please forgive me, and do proceed.”
Glancing around the lunchroom, I haven’t been able to get a visual of Weston. He has yet to make an appearance in the cafeteria, and it’s distracting me. I can’t stop myself from craning my neck to check out the jock table every couple of minutes.
I start my story. “So, yesterday after he went to practice and I told Alexis Peterson to kiss our asses, we went to Kyoto. That was fine. All we did was chat and eat. Well, okay, we did get into an argument because I think he’s kind of stringing me along. Not on purpose, just…he doesn’t have time to date, you know? Anyway, I walked out on him and he chased me into the rain.”
“Oh em gee, like in The Notebook?” Jenna squeaks.
“Huh? No, Jenna, not like in The Notebook. Not at all. Where do you come up with this? Ugh, anyway, he runs out of the restaurant and we climb into my Jeep, because at this point, it’s pouring rain.”
“Did you fog up the glass? Eh, eh?” Now my best friend is winking at me, but instead of being sly, she’s coming off as incredibly pervy, and then she gives me a onceover. “You look super cute today, by the way. Why haven’t I seen that shirt? I totally dug through your entire closet Saturday night.”
I glance down at my top. She’s right, it is super cute. It’s an aqua-blue lace shirt that hangs slightly off my shoulders, and underneath it is a blue tank top. Paired with skinny jeans and brown equestrian boots, it’s definitely one of my better days.
Suddenly I’m feeling warm and fuzzy and decide to be generous. “Yeah, we totally made out in the back of my car. It was amazing…”
“Yes! I knew it! I’m not even going to ask if it was any good because I can tell just by the dreamy look on your face that it was. Nice.” Jenna takes a bite of her turkey sandwich and chews for a little bit before asking, “So, he felt you up, and then…?”
“Well, this is where it got weird. His parents called and wanted to meet me, but his dad was…not pleased. You know, he thinks I’m…” I struggle to find the right words to describe the moment.
“A homewrecker? A slut? Vixen. Trampy.” I stare holes into Jenna, giving her the are you done yet glare, but she doesn’t take the hint. “A hoe-bag. A floozy. He thinks you’re one of those girls, doesn’t he?”
“Jenna, stop.” At this point I’m laughing because really, is there any better way to react? She’s cracking me up.
The other girls at the table are openly curious, but they know better than to ask us what’s so funny. As much as I hate to admit it, Jenna, Tasha, Maddie, and I are a tight clique that’s almost impossible to penetrate.
“Oh shit, there he is. Damn, he’s good lookin’,” Jenna says as she bites into a Hostess cupcake. She shoves the last piece in her mouth in one large chunk then makes a production out of moaning and groaning. “Mmmm, oh yeah, baby, this is good.”
My fork pauses halfway to my mouth, and I roll my eyes. Okay, I’m kind of amused.
Kind of.
“Any day now…” I mutter, tapping my fingers on the table with a small smile on my face as I wait patiently for her to stop showboating with her cupcake. Such a guy thing to do.
“Okay, but honestly, Molly, he’s so hot. Light your pants on fire, hold on to your daughters, H-O-T hot.” Jenna takes the hem of her shirt and fans it, letting the cool cafeteria air graze her skin.
“Jeez, Jenna, don’t you think it’s a little rude to be talking about someone’s…your friend’s…” I wave my hand around in the air, searching for a word that’s not boyfriend. “Your friend’s whatever he is like he’s a piece of meat?”
Jenna gets quiet, and she gives me a look I’ve seen a million times—the one that says, What the hell are you babbling about, because I am not amused. With her eyebrow cocked and lip pulled up into a tight purse, kind of like that Olympic gymnast…what’s her name…McKayla Maroney.
That face.
Then she says, “Are you kidding me? You’re going to deny me the opportunity to ogle? I’m dating Alex Mitchell, for crying out loud, who I’m pretty sure has a pocket protector stashed in his sock drawer. So no, you don’t get to comment on my harmless infatuation. In fact, you kind of owe me in a way…”
“What! How do I owe you?” I am practically screeching—not a good look for me, as I’m pretty sure my face and chest are beet red.
“How don’t you? Are you freaking kidding me? You haven’t dated anyone in, well, ever, and as your best friend”—her eyes dart around the table and she gives everyone knowing glances, like a queen addressing her public—“as your best friend, all I ever do is sit and tell you about my fantastic love life”—I raise my eyebrow at this proclamation—“and you never have anything to tell me about yours! So yeah, you owe me. It’s been seventeen years in the making, doll face, so get used to it.”