Page 152 of Goalkeeper
I can’t keep wallowing like this, but I don’t feel like doing anything else. I’m heading home tomorrow. Luckily, Nate and Megan are coming to get me, so I don’t need to find an alternate ride to the train station. Jake’s not home yet, so I texted Megan and told her my ride to the station fell through. She said a road trip is just what she and Nate need, so they’ll be here in the morning.
I should pack, but that feels overwhelming. My face hurts from crying and drying my tears with tissues—even the soft aloe kind (thanks, mom).
So, I do what I always do. I go to my happy place. And if that makes me “too fucking cheerful,” so fucking be it.
I plop my ass in my leopard print chair, switch on my ring light, grab my makeup stash and fire up my tablet.
“Hey, Pretties,” I say into the camera. “It’s Paige. I’m a mess, my lovelies. I can’t fix my broken heart, but I can fix my face. And please, no angry comments about my guy. Well, my ex guy. It ended, as most things do. I’m heartbroken, but don’t hate on him, okay, Pretties. I just can’t take it.” I take a deep breath. “So, let’s try a glow up, huh?” I gather my tools as I chat, explaining why I use micellar water and how green will neutralize red, but it should be used sparingly. “I know you feel me, Pretties. We’ve all been there, right? Whether it's a bad breakup, a family fight, a job you hate, whatever. We’ve all been there. And I can’t solve anyone’s problems, hell, I can’t even solve my own, but what I can do is teach you how to put on your face. And sometimes we need that armor, and that’s ok. Fake it til you make it, right, pretties?”
Twenty minutes later, my face looks like I’ve never cried a day in my life. I need to edit it, but first, I check my phone to see if maybe Spence texted. I hate myself for hoping, but here we are.
There’s an alert on my phone, and for a second, my stupid heart is convinced Spence is apologizing for his supreme assholery. But no such luck. It’s an alert from the testing site that my LSAT score is available.
What the hell? I might as well check and chalk today up to extreme crappiness. I’ve been dumped by my boyfriend—the same one who said he loved me twelve hours earlier, and I’m about to be cut off financially from my family. Hurray! Let’s rip this band-aid right the hell off.
I login quickly, having memorized all the necessary information after logging all those damn practice quizzes. And there it is, in black and white, my score. Undeniable proof that, though I may be fun to have around, and I may know adorable parlor tricks like how to apply flawless lip liner, I will never be important to someone. I’ll never measure up to my parents’ expectations. Yep, right there, in black and white it says my score is a lowly… Wait. What. The. Hell? I read it half a dozen times. I refresh my screen. I look away and look back and the score is still there.
166
I did it.
I actually did it.
My parents wanted a 160 and I earned a 166.
They’ll keep paying for school. My mom even started dropping hints about a car last week when we talked.
The only catch is that I’ll need to go to law school.
I flop back onto my bed. I can’t tell if my day just got better or worse.
23
Paige
I’m exhausted. I feel like I haven’t slept at all, but I know I’ve slept at least twelve hours. Can you get too much sleep? I don’t feel rested; I just feel like crap.
I crashed hard last night after making my video—the video I still haven’t edited or posted, which is just as well. I doubt the internet needs to see my meltdown. I stayed awake just long enough to call my parents. They were elated, of course.
And when I woke up this morning, it took a minute for my brain and my heart to remember yesterday. I keep checking my phone, but there’s not so much as a text from Spencer. I guess I should get used to that.
After I pull on leggings and a sweater, and toss my hair in a bun, I brush my teeth, slather on some moisturizer, and declare myself presentable. There’ll be no makeup how-to’s this morning. I cringe just thinking about the video I made yesterday. I probably looked like a fresh mess.
Wandering around my room, I grab random stuff and toss it into my duffle haphazardly. I’ll probably end up with 12 pairs of underwear and no bras, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m awake, and I’m dressed, and that just has to be good enough today.
I walk outside to see Nate and Megan already pulled up at the curb. He rounds the front of the car and wraps me in a hug. “We are so proud of you, kiddo!” Megan opens her car door and I get scooped up into another hug.
“Mom said you might have some boxes for us to take back?”
“Oh, yeah. I totally forgot. There are a couple of plastic bins right inside my closet with off-season clothes and shoes.” I fish my key from my bag. “Here, I’ll come up with you.”
“I’ve got it,” he says, waving me off.
“Do you, um, think I could use your restroom, while we’re here?” Megan asks.
“Of course,” I smile. I swipe my card to let them in the building before popping the trunk and storing my duffle inside. I’m digging through my bag for my earpods when I sense motion on my right. Before I even look up, I know it’s Spencer. My heart hasn’t yet adjusted to his absence, and I can feel him standing next to me.
Fuck. I’m not ready to face him.
