Page 1 of We Can't Be Friends

PROLOGUE

CHLOE

Nine Years Ago

10:30 a.m.

I’m going to be late.Again.

Practice is in fifteen minutes.

Scrambling out of bed, I grab my phone from underneath my pillows while rushing to the bathroom.

My alarm was set to p.m. I run a hand down my face, pulling at my cheeks.

“Chloe, what’s up?” He answers on the first ring, as expected. Of course, he’s the responsible college junior up on a Saturday morning at a reasonable hour.

Knowing Aaron, he’s been up for five hours by now.

How annoying.

“Aaron! I’m running late to practice, and my car is still in the shop, and there’s no way I’ll make it if I walk. Can you pick me up?”

“Did you set your alarm, Chloe? This is the third time this season.”

“Yes, Aaron,” I garble around my toothbrush. Toothpaste dribbles down my chin. I spit, rinsing my mouth out. “Are you going to pick me up or not?”

I can hear his eye roll, the one I share with him. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Aaron Henry, my favorite older brother, lives on the opposite side of campus in a house with three of his teammates. I, on the other hand, live alone and love it. We’ve always been two peas in a pod even though we were interested in different hobbies—except for skating. Aaron’s Mr. Popular, even in pee-wee hockey and daycare. Where I was introverted and needed to recoup with flowers or binging reruns ofSurvivor, he was the complete opposite—an extroverted extrovert. Growing up, he’d drag me to birthday parties, and now he drags me to college parties.

He dragged me to this school, too. As soon as Aaron was offered a full-ride scholarship to play hockey, he started telling the coach about me. Now, I have a full-ride scholarship on the figure skating team.

It’s the spring semester of my sophomore year, his junior year. Aaron and the hockey team won back-to-back Frozen Four championships, and he was named captain this year. He’s already being scouted to play in the NHL. I hope for Boston because I’m never leaving the Northeast.

Aaron is home. Boston is home.

“Okay! Thank you. Thank you, thank you. I owe you!” I shout gratefully. “Add it to my tab.”

“Go get dressed, Chloe, you don’t want to be too late.”

“Muwah,” I pretend to kiss him through the phone. “Text me when you are out front.”

I grab my headphones and put on my routine music, a stripped-down version of ‘Face Down’ by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, running through each jump and spin in my head. My hands finding their marks.

Throwing open the doors to my closet, my drawer of leggings and leg warmers is open and empty—I guess it’s laundry day after practice.

If I were a clean pair of leggings, where would I be? Hmm…

I spy my laundry basket and a pair of indigo leggings right on top of it. Reaching for them, I smell them.

Huh, not that bad.

There is the slightest hint of sweat and detergent on them—I wore them to practice three days ago.

Screw it, no one is going to say anything.

Hopping on one leg and then the other, I pull on the spandex pants, hobbling into the kitchen. Dropping a frozen waffle into the toaster, I sprint back into my room to finish getting dressed.

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