Page 14 of Shutout
Dude bro did. He gave me a little smirk that chased a chill down my back. A sort of premonition to the catastrophe that was about to unfold.
“You think?” my asshole best friend asked, instead of telling his buddy to back off.
“Totally. Chicks ask me if you two are together all the time.” At the ensuing silence, dude bro added, “But like you’re in totally different leagues. She’s a boring dweeb and you have everything it takes to rule this college. Plus, you said you want to get laid, right?”
“I—uh, right.”
“So you’re gonna ditch her and finally have some fun with the team?” He handed over a beer to Brooklyn as incentive.
And Brooklyn took it, saying, “Sure.” Complete with a shrug and a swig, like he just didn’t tacitly agree with the other guy who called me a boring dweeb.
Like he just didn’t break my freaking heart.
Our friendship definitely started out of pity when we were five year olds at a classmate’s birthday party, where I sat all by myself eating carrots with lactose-free cream cheese because I was allergic to basically all but one of the cake’s ingredients. Everyone made fun of me, but not Brooklyn. He came and sat with me and we bonded over Dragon Ball.
Did he pity me for fourteen years?
And then if that wasn’t all, Brooklyn also didn’t refute the comment of me being well under his league. Which I’ve always known. Brooklyn’s girlfriends in high school were the hottest of the hot. He always grew bored of them but kept me around. So I thought…
I really thought I stood a chance. Until that night.
My resolve about confessing was replaced by a different one. Before the dude bro steered Brooklyn away, I called attention to myself, looked dead into the deep green eyes of my about-to-be-former best friend, and said famous last words.
“Stay the hell away from me for the rest of our lives.”
After that, I only endured a couple of days of Brooke’s texts and phone calls until I blocked him and unfollowed him from social media.
No, not Brooke. Brooklyn. Orthat guy, even. We’re strangers now.
I pull into a public parking lot near O’Malley’s and roll the windows back up. The preternatural stank will accumulate again but I don’t trust the thick clouds on the sky. Before stepping out of the car, I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and close my eyes.
I know Brooklyn had no idea I had feelings for him back then. If it hadn’t been for that little issue, I’d have just been pissed for a couple of weeks or something, until eventually giving him a chance to explain himself.
But it’s now been a year and a half after that mess and I still don’t have enough courage to face him. Even though he hurt me, I’m the one who destroyed our friendship. The longer time passes, the less I know how to fix it.
Finally, I can’t take a second longer of the musty smell in the car and open the door. Thunder rumbles above me, which feels too cheeky for my taste. My keys and wallet are already in my pocket tied to my jeans with the kind of chain that was infashion like twenty years ago. I grab my phone from the dashboard and stuff it in my other pocket with my emergency EpiPen, and off I go.
Mina and Dee are already at a table when I walk in. They must’ve arrived right before the crush of people, and it takes some elbowing and stepping on literal toes with my Dr. Marten’s until I reach them.
“Hey, guys.” I flop in the booth seat next to Mina. “Sorry I’m late. Big line at the admin office.”
“Did you get it fixed, at least?” Mina asks me, genuinely curious after I spent the whole morning moaning about it.
“Yeah. It just shaved ten years off of my life.” Of which nine and a half were because of Brooklyn freaking Tatum and his freaking shoulder muscles.
“Well, now you’re here and that’s what matters.” Dee slides a chilled, unopened bottle of kombucha my way. “Here. To your singlehood.”
Mina smacks a hand on the table. “No, I said we should toast to Liv’s new sluttyhood.”
“How about we just toast to whatever she wants to do?” Dee shrugs.
“Boom. Someone’s got the right idea.” I grab the bottle and smash its mouth against the edge of the table, at the perfect angle to pop the lid off. Never fails to delight people. “Cheers,” I say, tucking my tongue out in a cheeky way.
As we clink various drink recipients, Dee asks, “Can you teach me that trick?”
“It’s not that hard,” I tell her. “All you have to do is?—”
Mina leans closer to me and wags her eyebrows. “Are you ready then?”
