“I think if I get in my bed next time and there’s popcorn in it, there will be a difference.”
“You mean, you’ll be salty?” She laughs at her own joke. “That was good. My comedic timing is getting better and better.”
Shaking my head at her, I fold the green scoop neck shirt and add it to my suitcase. “I think that’s a stretch.”
She grins and throws another piece up and misses on purpose. “Oops.”
“Sometimes I wonder why I like you.”
“No, you don’t.” She groans as she sits up. “I’m loyal and smart, and I’ll be able to clean your teeth for free unless I fail this last class. Don’t forget how expensive dental hygiene is. I’ll be a big asset to you soon.”
I roll my eyes. “How did you do on the paper you were working on last week?”
“Good. I think. Oh. Big news.” She gives me her cheesiest grin. “I have an informal interview with a dentist office in Rockery. I shadowed a dentist there a few months ago, and they called and said they’d like to talk to me. Cool, huh?”
“Look at you. Taking over the world one tooth at a time.”
She presses her lips together. “Bad joke, Hay. Bad joke.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” I head to my closet and sort through the rack. My suitcase is stuffed as it is, but I feel underprepared.
“You know, they have stores in Nashville if you forget something.” She shoves some popcorn in her mouth. “You don’t have to take everything you own.”
I bury my head in my hands, the excitement, anxiety, and giddiness overwhelming me.
“It’s gonna be fine,” she says. “It’ll actually be better than fine.”
“How do you know?” The words come out muffled through my fingers. I lift my head to look at my friend. “What if it goes terribly?”
“How could it be terrible? You like the guy. He likes you. You’re going to some schmancy party that will include free booze. If things do go bad, just drink until you forget about it.”
I grab a shirt off a hanger and hold it up to me. “Oh, that’s a responsible answer.”
“That’s not a responsible choice of a shirt.” She makes a face as she hops off the bed. “I know this one is comfortable, and I’m all about comfort. But it does nothing for your shape, or your boobs, and if you’re going to spend the weekend with Trevor, at least put some effort in.”
Whining, I toss the shirt on the floor. My bottom lip sticks out as I sink onto the edge of my mattress. Why bother? Why bother putting effort in? The bag of popcorn rustles against my side and a few kernels spill out. I’m too preoccupied to give Claire crap about it.
It’s like a bad meme where the math equations are all jumbled together on top of someone’s head. Best- and worst-case scenarios swirl around. That’s what I am—a big mess of thoughts I can’t segregate into manageable chunks.
Claire sits beside me. “Now is the time I have to do the one thing I really don’t love doing.”
“You’re going to exercise?”
“Lord, no,” she says, clutching her chest. “Don’t scare me like that.”
My chest vibrates with a chuckle I can’t quite eke out.
She puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to be serious. What’s really wrong right now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t know what to do with you right now. You’ve gone with other guys to a family dinner here and there. This isn’t something new. I’m not sure why you’re so freaked out about it.”
“I’m not freaked out about it,” I lie.
“Okay. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of putting together a suitcase.” She chews her fingernail, scrutinizing me from the side. “Or do I know why?”
I sigh. “Claire . . .”
“Talk to me.”
“I don’t want to,” I say.
“Don’t act like you’re eleven.”
“Ugh.”
I hang my head, feeling my heart strum against my ribs. Everything is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m scared if I put my thoughts and feelings into the universe, it’ll make them real. Then I can’t take them back. Then I’ll hear how dumb they sound, and I’ll want to climb under the covers and cry.
I’ve worked so hard to get here—to the place where I’m able to get up in the morning and have coffee and worry about me. There isn’t a guy playing games with my head or a job on the line that I’m tiptoeing around. I have a job at the flower shop and not a thing in the world to worry about outside my own interests, and there’s such an unexpected relief in that. I don’t want to lose it.
Most of all, I don’t want to break my own heart. If that’s what happens with Trevor, it’s on me. I know what I’m getting into. In some ways, it feels like diving into a shark tank and hoping not to get eaten alive. But for some reason, I’m willing to risk it.