Page 11 of Becoming Us
Her eyes widened, round as saucers. Holly never liked her. She said Dana was manipulative. I never saw it. I didn’t think it applied tome.
I was so fucking stupid.
“You smoke weed, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sometimes.”
“And you drink. You go to those parties. They have all sorts of stuff. You could just ask.”
Another person to add to the growing list of people who thought Noah Rossi was abad boy. The list just kept getting longer.
I slipped my hand from hers and forced a smile. “Sure. I’ll ask around,” I lied.
Her grin made her look vapid. “Thanks, Noah! You’re the best.” She kissed my cheek and stood from the bed again.
“Same. See you around, Day.”
“Text me whenever,” she chirped.
She’d said the same thing when I asked her out the first time. It didn’t sound nearly as promising now.
As the elevator took me down to the lobby, I stared at my reflection.
So what if she didn’t want me like that? So what if I wasn’t boyfriend material? It’s not like I was in love with her.
My chest tightened and I swallowed the knot lodged in my throat.
This was nothing. A blip.
And it was fun—I couldn’t say it wasn’t. I’d probably misread everything, and now here I was, holding it against her. Maybe we could still see each other again.
The bell dinged, and I blinked at the image in front of me.
What was it? What did they see? Was it the same thing she did?
I blinked a few more times.
“Hey, kid. Are you going up or down?” a man asked, cutting through my daze.
“Sorry. Off.” I stepped out quickly.
He gave me a once-over, exhaled heavily, and shook his head.
The doors closed, and I watched my reflection distort in the brushed metal.
Did he see it too?
CHAPTER
THREE
AFTER
By the time Atty got back from his trip, I’d already figured out that all you needed to be a member of the club was to pay for it. Easier than it should’ve been—but a week later, Holly and I were walking in, way too excited.
Things between Atty and me still felt like walking on eggshells, but I asked if I could come see him at work, and he said it was fine. That same day, they roped him into coaching beach volleyball at the club’s summer camp, so we headed straight to the beach, spotting the nets as we wove through a horde of teenage girls.
“Jesus. Why the Miss Puberty Awards? Is there a tournament or something?” Holly muttered, sidestepping a cluster of giggling girls.
