parts of the past.” I lift my drink and toast Jen once again. “I’ll start.” I talk and talk and talk until I can’t stand the sound of my own voice, but I know if I let her talk she will never finish her drink and all of the energy I put into this little plot would have been for not. I talk about how we met, what I thought of her in those first moments—a stark contrast to what I thought about Harper. I thought Harper couldn’t be real, and I thought Jen was the real thing. That right there, my friend, is irony. I talk about the countless football games we’ve been a part of, about prom, about the countless shopping trips I’ve accompanied her on, the time I drove her to Florida so she could get her hair cut at some fancy studio that some celebrity she idolizes once went to. In all honesty, her hair looked the same to me even if it was five hundred dollars later.
An hour drifts by, Jen has long since finished her drink, and now I’m just buying time, shooting the breeze as if I actually had something to say.
Jen talks about everything from the color of her nails to the next car she’s about to have Daddy purchase.
“You know”—she reaches over and claps my hand in hers—“when the time is right, Daddy said he’d buy us our first home. Nothing like the hovel you’re living in now. I’m talking a home we can raise our children in.” She looks down and places her hand over her stomach. “Starting with this one.”
Crap. The world wobbles around me once again. It hasn’t stopped doing this since she let me in on her—correction—our little secret.
“I hope it’s a girl who looks exactly like you.” She sighs—momentarily forgetting the fact she has put down Trixie for years. Yes, a little girl who looks just like me would be the exact representation of my sweet sister. “I’m going to hit the little ladies’ room. Maybe we can go to the student store afterwards and pick up a little mini Whitney Briggs T-shirt?”
“Sounds like a great idea.” My gut grinds as I push the words out. “But before you go… About the baby—” I pull the box from the little brown bag I’ve hauled in with me and slide the pregnancy test across the table. The girl at the drugstore said this would read positive even if she hadn’t skipped a period yet, and according to Jen, she’s nearly skipped three. She promised me it’s mine. Not sure how she could promise me anything like that, but she shook me to my core. My head hasn’t been the same since that day. “I need you to prove it to me.”
Don’t Mess with the Girl in the Red Dress
Harper
Whitney Briggs University is bustling with life at this, the tail end of a long, hot, exasperating summer. School starts up in two weeks—which means if I don’t score student housing, I’ll be left to scan the outskirts of campus for an apartment, and as much as I might be afraid of heights, I dread the thought of living isolated from campus just as much. I suppose I could wrangle up a roommate on short notice, but I’m two for two as far as rotten roomies go. Knox was a great roommate until he made me feel like someone who invited herself to the party. For as much as Knox made me feel loved, he made me feel that much more horrible. It’s as if a weight—as heavy as the world—was tied around my waist and I can’t stop sinking into this dark pit. I know I’m not supposed to give other people the power over my happiness and all that other psychological bull, but Knox made me happier than I’ve felt in years. He filled something in me I didn’t know was missing. I thought Justin came close, but he wasn’t even in the same solar system.
I make my way out of the student relations center after placing myself on the waiting list for every single dormitory on campus and scan the area. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for anymore. Am I looking for Knox in hopes he’ll find me? In hopes I can steal one more look at that hotter than hell body, that face that can set off an entire angelic choir? Or am I looking for signs of Justin so I can avoid