Page 93 of The Chemistry of Us

She was pointing at the two racing motorcycles. “Hell yes, I’ll play, and I’ll win. I don’t let people win, Tru, you know this, so prepare to get smoked.”

“Yeah, okay.” She waved me off. “Now give me money so I can get those token things.”

My heart exploded. Money had always been a weird topic for us because I had so much and she’d basically gotten bought as a charity. I’d always wanted to give her the world, and she’d always made me feel bad by rejecting it.

Did that mean I could buy her a new purse?

A car?

Okay, I was getting ahead of myself, but still.

I’d never handed my credit card over faster. “Let’s go add fifty on one of those game cards. Prepare to lose, Tru.”

“Prepare to eat shit, Van.”

She said my nickname.

She said it.

I almost tripped over my own feet.

And two hours later, I did, in fact, eat shit, but it wasn’t because I was sucking on purpose. It was because she called me Van.

And we both knew that meant a wall had come down between us.

“How many tickets do we have?” She smacked me on the chest for the eighty billionth time that night. “I’m feeling greedy.”

I held up our little receipt. “Nine hundred and eighty-seven.”

“Not bad.” She tapped her lips with her finger. “I mean, we can’t get any of the big stuff, so I say we go quantity over?—”

“Quality.” I finished for her. “I like the way you think, Tru, and I’ve had my eye on one of those Chinese finger traps for a solid five minutes.”

“Not to be too overhyped,” she added. “Next to the slinky and fruit-flavored Tootsie Rolls.”

“The vanilla sends me every time.”

“It’s cherry for me.”

“There's a dirty joke there somewhere, but I’m too wiped out from dodging all the teenagers in here trying to cut in line.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms as we continued to wait in line for some five-year-old to pick out two more candies. “Justin was clearly asking for it.”

“I can’t believe you threatened a fourteen-year-old.”

“He cheated.” She pointed at me. “And then told me I threw like a girl, which is offensive to all girls everywhere. I mean, what does that even mean? It’s offensive. Hell yeah, I throw like a girl, and that little bitch saw it firsthand when I handed him his ass.”

“Dear God, I forgot how much tequila makes you feisty. I think we need more shots.” We made it to the front of the line. I handed over our joint ticket receipt and picked out my Chinese finger traps while she went for her slinky. Naturally, we added in some snap bracelets and some friendship bracelets along with some Laffy Taffy and finished off our little paper bag with Tootsie Rolls.

I handed her the paper bag. “Happy birthday, Tru.”

She held it up to me. “This was fun.”

It was more than fun.

It was one of the best nights of my life.

Dare I say better than a stupid sex bet? What the hell had I even been thinking? I wasn’t. I was too hurt to think. Not that the hurt had gone away or lessened, but it felt good to just be us without our pasts.

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