Page 80 of The One I Want
“Yes, you did,” Oliver says. “The problem was, Wes and I were across the playground still with Amelia. We couldn’t get to him in time before Randy’s little crew came out of nowhere and jumped Shane.”
“So the three of us started running over,” I say. “But before we could get there, we realized that Shane wasn’t alone.”
Simon puffs out his chest. “I was there to save the day.”
“I could have taken them,” Shane says.
“You’ve been trying to sell me that bullshit for twenty years. It’s not working, my guy.”
“Why did you help?” Betsy asks. “It wasn’t your fight.”
Simon shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I was in the same class as Randy and Amelia. The guy was an asshole. Copied her homework. Said mean stuff behind her back. And he broke up with her on the playground right before they were supposed to get married. You don’t do that. It’s just not the manly thing to do.”
We all laugh. “And that is how our group was officially formed.”
We each hold up our glasses, toasting to the memory. And not just that memory, but all of the ones since then. The days on the football field. Days playing ball in the field behind my parents’ house. As we got older, things didn’t change. We went as a group to all of the school dances. We were there the day Shane told us he was going to enlist in the Army. We were there when Amelia found out she was pregnant with Luke right after graduation. They were there for me when each of the kids were born. They threw me my divorce party.”
These people have been a part of nearly my entire life. I don’t know what it would have been without them, and I don’t want to.
“So that’s us,” Oliver says, pointing to Whitley and Betsy. “Now, what I really want to know is how the two of you found each other.”
They look at each other and start giggling. “We met at the Little Miss Camelia pageant when we were ten years old.”
“Oh, this is going to be good,” Simon says.
“Wait,” I say. “I thought you two didn’t meet until you were teenagers?”
Whitley shakes her head. “No, that’s when we became friends. But we actually met when we were ten.”
“I beat her for Ultimate Grand Supreme,” Betsy says with a flip of her hair.
“The only time she beat me,” Whitley adds in.
“We don’t need to bring that up.”
“So wait,” Oliver says. “Aren’t beauty pageants cutthroat? If you beat her, why did you become friends with her?”
“Because,” Whitley begins, reaching for Betsy’s hand. “Much like your story, ours involves a bully.”
“Her name was Cyndi Mae Thornton, and she was a bitch.”
“She was,” Whitley continues. “We were competing for Miss Teen Alabama. That’s a major competition, so everyone’s nerves were high. We were rehearsing, and I dropped my baton.”
“Wait!” Jake yells. “All of these years we’ve been together and I’m just now finding out you were a baton twirler?”
“Focus, Jake,” Whitley says. “Anyway, I was practicing, and I dropped it more than I usually did. I was flustered, and it didn’t help that Cyndi was in the wings making snide remarks. I was just going to ignore her. Every pageant has a Cyndi.”
“But, like Simon, here I come to save the day,” Betsy says. Simon tips his glass to her as Betsy bows in her seat.
“What did you do?” Oliver asks.
“What no one else had the courage to do,” Betsy says.
Shane’s eyes go wide, clearly engrossed in this story. “Kick her ass?”
Betsy shakes her head. “And break a nail before pageant day? No. See, we Southern women don’t get violent. We get personal. So I did what any other teenager would do in the late 2000s—I went and friended her boyfriend on social media, liked a bunch of his photos, and also replaced her hair gel with Vaseline and hid all of her left shoes. She dropped out the next day.”
Everyone stands up, giving Betsy a well-deserved standing ovation. She just laughs as Whitley gives her a side hug.
