Girls Save the World in This One - Ash Parsons Page 0,23

autograph seeker, and doesn’t seem rushed at all, and he just seems so nice.

Also because he’s movie-star gorgeous, of course, with a lean, muscular build, and when he smiles, man, those dimples.

He’s actually hugging people across the table.

“Quick survey: Will you ask for a hug?” I ask.

“Yes!” Siggy yelps.

“Yes!” Imani says.

“I want to know what he smells like,” Siggy says.

“Ew,” Imani says.

“I’m conducting a study,” Siggy says.

“Double ew.”

“Smell is an underrated sense,” Siggy says.

“You smell like thirst and desperation,” I say.

“Whatever!” Siggy gives me a play-shove. “At least I didn’t go dry-mouthed when Hunter got onstage.”

“Quick survey: who wants to change the subject?” Imani says. But she’s just playing with us.

As we draw closer to the front of the line, a flock of butterflies flutters in my chest. A herd? A gaggle?

What’s the collective noun for a group of butterflies?

I think it should be an anticipation. An anticipation of butterflies nestles in my chest.

While we’ve been creeping forward in line, a few VIP pass holders have used their exclusive cattle chute to jump to the front. But so far it has only been a few of them, so it’s easy to ignore it.

Until Blair walks up.

We all see her at the same time, but no one says anything.

It’s petty, but I don’t want to watch her get her autograph or anything, so I put my back to the stage.

There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence, and I can’t help it, it hurts again. It shouldn’t. It’s been over a week already, basically, and it’s not like Scott and I were in love or anything. He was a guy I was dating, he was a boyfriend, not my boyfriend.

Still, I feel poisoned by the hurt, and by my anger at Blair.

“I should just forgive her already,” I murmur. “I feel guilty that I can’t.”

“You’re entitled to your feelings,” Imani says. “Even your pain.” Her voice is gentle, accepting.

“But I haven’t even let her explain.”

“What could she say?” Siggy’s voice is firm. “It wasn’t confusing. We all knew what he meant to you.”

“I know, but—”

“He lives thirty minutes away, for God’s sake.” Siggy shakes her head. “She had to work to go behind your back. It’s not like they were in the same class every day.”

It hurts so much. Even though Blair and I have always had a weird-intense friendship, the kind with sparks and sharp edges at times, we’ve always been close, too.

We’ve been friends forever.

And friends don’t just date the same guy their friend is dating, even if their friend and the guy aren’t exclusive. It’s an unwritten rule of friendship that everyone knows. You don’t just date the guy that your friend has told you about, breathlessly, rhapsodizing, reading aloud her text conversations with him, so excited and so clueless.

I know I’ve played my part in our little friendship spats before now. My mom always says there are three sides to a story: mine, yours, and the truth.

But maybe that’s just a saying suckers tell themselves so they feel safer about all the other people in the world.

I keep trying to tell myself I’m over it. That I’m better off without both of them. But the hurt, ashamed feeling won’t go away.

It’s a total zombie. Because the feeling just keeps coming back alive and will not stay dead—as much as I want it to.

“She’s going now,” Imani says.

I don’t look. Next to me, Siggy holds up a hand, a reflexive wave back to Blair.

Habits die hard, I guess. Even though we’re all mad at her, we all miss her, too. I know. I live with myself, so I miss talking to Blair, too. I miss her like a limb.

I don’t like the way that feels, acknowledging that.

Surely I don’t miss her like a limb. More like an appendage. A toe.