Page 89 of The Friend Game

Suddenly I’m back in that metaphorical beanbag chair, sinking down into it with no hopes of ever getting out again.

My life has become a series of me getting stuck again and again.

I swipe at the tears on my cheeks.

No. I refuse to be stuck again. Okay, I am once again jobless and boyfriendless, but that doesn't have to define me.

I get up off the couch. I refuse to just sit here. I don’t want to go out with them, but maybe I need to.

“Let’s go,” I grit out, striding shakily forward.

I don’t look back at them, so I can’t be sure, but I imagine the four of them exchanging bewildered looks on my account. They must decide it’s best to just go with it, because when I reach my front door they’re all behind me.

“Are you sure about this?” Jill asks me.

“Shh!” Brooke hisses at her. “She says she wants to go out, so we’re going out.”

“I’m not sure this is going to end well,” Jill mutters.

“Do you want to change?” Brooke asks me tentatively. “Not that the grunge look isn’t in,” she adds, eyeing the two-piece heather gray jogger set I put on as soon as I got home, “but we are going out…”

“No,” I say flatly. My motivation to be unstuck only goes so far.

“I’ll drive,” Sydney declares; she looks at Jill. “Assuming Max doesn’t mind Caroline hanging out here a bit longer.”

“I already texted him earlier that she was going to be spending the night,” Jill replies.

“Great.”

The five of us traipse out to Sydney’s car and pile in. Brooke in the front, me, Belinda, and Jill in the back.

“Where to?” Sydney asks.

“Do you really have to ask?” Brooke replies.

“Of course, Twist and Shout here we come,” she replies, flooring it away from Jill’s curb.

“Mascara,” Brooke says, holding it back to me. I stare at it. She sighs. “Fine.”

“She looks just fine as she is,” Jill tells Brooke.

“Well, duh. She’s gorgeous,” Brooke says. “I just know that personally I feel more confident in a cute outfit and with at least a little mascara on.”

“That’s because you and I both have blonde lashes,” Jill retorts. “Hannah here got legit dark lashes somehow.”

The two of them bicker back and forth about this to the point that I wish I could go back in time and accept the mascara from Brooke just to shut them both up. Or so I could stab myself in the eye with the mascara wand. If my eye hurt, maybe it would distract me from the aching of my heart.

“Just ignore them both,” Belinda says, patting me on the arm. “I have Connor Wilhelm’s number pulled up. You want me to call him down to Twist and Shout? I’m certain he’d be willing to be your rebound. Or Mark Hancock,” she scans my outfit, then adds, “and you know as a gym teacher he prefers athletic wear.”

I shut my eyes and shake my head. “No thank you, Belinda.”

“Of course, dear.”

After what seems like an eternity we arrive at Twist and Shout. Thursday night isn’t as busy as a weekend night, but still usually attracts a sizable crowd. That’s good. The more people there are here the easier it will be for me to hide.

Sure I don’t want to be stuck, but I already came out tonight. That’s enough.

A first step.

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