Girls Save the World in This One - Ash Parsons Page 0,40

how naturally the audience fell into the ship, when if their ages were reversed people would probably have had a problem with it.

Okay, but having said that incisive bit of social commentary, I’m not perfect. I ship them, too. Their chemistry is off the charts.

“He better sit by Annie,” Siggy says, her eyes lighting up and her hands balling into excited fists. Like she’s going to bang them on a table, yelling, “More! More!”

“He will,” I say. “It’s what the fans want!”

“You got that right, sis.” Siggy holds up a hand for a high five.

It’s obnoxious, but I can’t just leave her hanging so I give it to her.

Siggy adds a hip bump and a whoop-whoop.

I leave her hanging in that regard.

“Blair’s coming.” Imani’s warning is low.

“What?” Siggy looks worried.

“She’s coming to talk to June.” Imani passes a hand over her hair, sweeping it to one side and down as she turns away from Blair. “Just let June handle it.”

I glance down the aisle and sure enough, my frenemy is walking toward us, a look of determination on her face, which is her usual look, let’s be clear, but this is an added determined look.

A determined-determined look. It’s the kind of look that refuses a blindfold at the firing squad. It’s the look of the captain bravely going down with the ship. It’s the look of someone deciding to wax their bikini area.

“Great.” My voice is flat. “First Scott, and now her. Why not. Everything is about them.”

Leave it to Blair to make a dramatic scene at the thing I’ve been saving for all summer. Planning for, dreaming of.

I wish I didn’t miss her friendship.

I wish I didn’t expect the way she hurt me—what does that say about me? That a part of me knew it all along.

Blair is wearing tight black jeans, ankle boots, and a dark gray shirt. Her blood-spatter VIP collectible lanyard looks like the perfect edgy accessory. Basically, she looks like a rock star, and walks like someone with power, a sexy police officer or something.

Music blares out from the stage. A stagehand with floppy ginger hair is adjusting mics, his shoulders hunched up around his ears like he’s shy to be standing in front of so many people, even if no one’s paying attention to him.

Blair stops right in front of us. A leg pops out, and her arms cross, like she’s waiting to be impressed.

But I know her, so I see it for what it is.

Nerves.

She starts speaking without preamble.

“I’m sitting in the second row, center, and I have a spare seat next to me. And this extra badge.” Her hand pushes out.

It’s another VIP badge, platinum level. Blood-spatter lanyard.

Of course. Another one. Her parents probably didn’t ask, just gave her the money. I’ve seen them with her enough; I know exactly what it looked like: go away. Or I give up.

Two things Blair gets from her parents effortlessly: money and disregard. Her mom, Sherri, is beautiful like her, but cold where Blair is fierce. Sherri’s an interior designer and their house is always perfect, and always changing. Almost like a showroom, and not a home at all.

Blair’s dad, Mike, is big and tan and wears nice suits. He owns a Mercedes dealership, and when he gets home from that it’s like he used up all his words at his job. He doesn’t say much to anyone.

Blair’s older sister, Emma, is exactly the daughter Sherri and Mike wanted. Perfect, quiet, and contained, a queen bee.

Blair’s different, spiky and driven. For good and bad.

It’s almost like she has to take the things she needs.

In front of me, Blair suddenly drops her eyes, looking at the carpet between her feet. “So I thought . . . maybe you’d like to come sit with me, June.”

It’s not a question. Is she asking me? This is so Blair. Everything she does she finds a way to frame it so it’s up to