Page 1 of Girls Will Be Girls
PROLOGUE
Haveyou ever blushed so hard it feels like your whole body is preparing for an attack?
I’m overly familiar with that fight or flight response where your blood drains, heat travels up your chest, and you feel like you might be about to die. It happens to me regularly, and not because I’m being chased or hunted — like the adrenaline was probably intended to be used by our cavewoman ancestors — but instead it happens when I feel a slight lack of confidence in social situations.
I’m not great under pressure.
I panic. I’m a terrible liar. I blush constantly.
I have to talk for too long? Blush.
Someone compliments me? Blush.
The huge lie I’ve told has gotten wildly out of control and is about to force me into a metaphorical ten-car pile-up? Blush. Everywhere.
While I hyperventilate with my head in my hands, I can’t help but think that maybe if I kick this rickety shelf in front of me hard enough, that rusty mop bucket will fall on my head at the right angle and give me mild amnesia. I could be likeRachel McAdams, just without the fedora-wearing husband I’ve forgotten.
It’s socially unacceptable to be angry or demand an explanation from the girl with mild amnesia. I’m sure if I manage to get it to drop perfectly on its side, it’ll give me a suitably gross gash, and then I’ll avoid blowing up my life in front of a restaurant full of people. A harrowing situation to deal with without a head injury, but throw in a little amnesia — chef’s kiss.
That mop bucket is my last hope. It’s my getaway car out of here. All I have to do is nudge it, let it spread its wings, and soar down like an angel from heaven.
Save me, rusty angel.
“Louisa.”A raspy whisper comes through the crack in the door. “Are you hiding in here?”
I pull Frida into the broom closet before anyone hears her, slam the door shut, and stack a tower of toilet paper rolls in front of the door to keep anyone else out.
“You look well.” She deadpans, eyeing me up and down like I’m a crazy person.
Before I can say anything, the rolls topple down as the door swings open. Dylan shuffles in, closing the door behind her.
“Thisis your great plan?” She whisper yells. “Do you have a head injury or something?”
My eyes flit to my potential rusty savior.Not yet…
“Maybe I can just leave?” I say. “Ditch the heels, run until I reach a border. North or South, I don’t care. We’re probably closer to the North one here. It’s fine. I can learn to like hockey.” I ramble.
“Why don’t you just come clean?” Frida offers.
“I can’t.” I shake my head frantically. “I’m in too deep. And what about Lou?”
The reason for my broom-closet-hiding breakdown.
The reason my blush is beaming a red hue into the room.
The reason for the lie.
We’re all packed in here like a sardined subway car, everyone’s eyes on me like they’re waiting for a solution. I look over to Lou, and he grins at me. “Hey, baby girl.”
“What do we do?”
1
HOT GIRL SUMMERS SHOULDN'T INVOLVE CRYING ON THE SUBWAY
17 DAYS EARLIER
Past me would’ve loved this story.
