Page 24 of Enemy Crush
Naomi quickly said her mother was calling and I was cut off, the video call ending without a proper goodbye or plans to talk later. A sense of doom and gloom washed over me, worse than hearing about our financial demise. Celeste and Naomi were supposed to be my best friends, lifelong friends, future college roommates and each other’s bridesmaids. We’d been like sisters, yet so swiftly I was being brushed aside, out of sight, out of mind.
I reached to pick up the fallen broom, forgetting about the broken board and narrowly escaped breaking my ankle as I stumbled again.
“Stupid thing,” I muttered to myself, picking up the plate of waffles, now as sorry-looking as I felt. I threw them onto the lawn, despite the rumbling of my stomach. And though I was definitely hungry, the emptiness was less about a lack of food and more about the unfolding reality that I was well and truly on the outer now, that moving schools had irrevocably changed our friendship and I seemed powerless to stop it. Celeste and Naomi were moving on without me and I feared texts and video calls wouldn’t be enough to keep us connected now that we were a town apart and I had no car, not to mention the awful secret I was hiding.
That’s when the relative silence was interrupted by a loud revving sound out on the lane, followed by an engine roaring to life. The noise faded, only to go full throttle again seconds later. I crossed the lawn, peering through the overgrown hedge to see the bright green flash of a motorbike pulling up outside the Trask’s house. Miller was riding it without a helmet, which I was pretty sure was against the law. His hair was all wind-blown and messy and for some reason I was captivated by him, kind of majestic sitting on his bike, and surprisingly cute in a flannel-and-motorbike kind of way.
A moment later I jumped when an unexpected loud bark came from the other side of the hedge followed by the scuffling of a dog on the move, then more barking.
“Hamish?” The sound of Mr. Trask’s voice bellowed from across the lane, “get back here, boy!”
Terrified I’d been caught spying, I sped back across the lawn like I was being chased, my heart beating at a million miles an hour. Yet when I got back to the safety of the porch and crasheddown on the chair, I realized I was smiling. Hamish the dog had just given me the ten most exciting seconds of my life.
Chapter 8
QUINN
Istood in front of my mirror, combing my hair back into a tight bun. I dabbed on some perfume and scanned my row of clip-on Squishmallows, switching up the one on my bag for Maui the Pineapple. All Squishmallows had a name and a story, and with her cute, sunny face, Maui hated being scared and believed in facing her fears. I needed that attitude desperately before the bus ride from hell. Expecting the bus kids to be in mean mode again, I dawdled, then sat near the front of the bus. Cowardice maybe, but I didn’t want any aggravation this early in the morning. Also, I didn’t want to sit near Miller Trask, a flush sweeping across my cheeks at the memory of him on his motorbike. Ughh! That had been so bizarre.
As a bunch of freshmen jumped on, the noise levels rose. I put my earbuds in and turned up my music, blocking out the rest of the bus. Keep to myself, lay low and soon enough I’d have my place on the soccer team and start to feel a sense of belonging.
I managed to avoid Miller at our locker but knew I’d have to see him in Health and Nutrition class, rushing to get there before him. As fast as my feet moved, I hadn’t beaten Ash and therefore would be forced to sit next to Miller, though the sight of him entering the room in an unbuttoned red and black flannel shirt open over a black t-shirt sent another shiver down my bare arms. I hugged myself and regretted leaving my sweater in my locker.
Miller’s glance was one of vague recognition, like sitting next to me was the pits of the earth. And for some crazy reason that stabbed at me, causing me to reach out to Maui the Pineapple, to squish her and feel the softness in my palm, a little bit of comfort.
Luckily, there was a worksheet to complete so no interaction was needed with Ash or Miller and I kept my head down, flying through the work which wasn’t too challenging. I’d covered macro and micro nutrients at Brizendine.
“Now, let’s analyze last night’s meal,” Miss Deeley said. “Share with your desk what you ate last night and work out the nutritional value of each meal.”
I jolted in total panic, knowing the soda and bag of potato chips I’d ended up consuming contained no nutrition whatsoever. Just a bunch of empty calories. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I had a proper meal with meat and salad and vegetables.
Ash volunteered his food intake first, a home cooked meal of fried chicken, potato wedges and green beans. It ticked all the boxes for macronutrients, if not containing too much fat.
Miller looked at me expectantly, but I shook my head. “You go.” I was still desperately racking my brain to come up with something. Ramen noodles or potato chips was going to make me sound like a loser.
“Hamburgers,” Miller said with a bit of a laugh. “Ground beef, cheese, lettuce, pickles on a bun. Oh and ketchup, of course.”
Ash and Miller argued over the choice of ketchup versus mayonnaise while analyzing the ratio of carbs, protein and fat. In the meantime, I decided I’d say pizza. Pizza was universal and inclusive and nobody could criticize me for it. Though at the thought of it, I craved one more than anything. I was starting totire of the sandwich, Oreo cookies and grapes combo I’d been eating everyday for lunch.
I listed a bunch of toppings to ensure I had a variety of nutrients, pepperoni, mozzarella, mushrooms, spinach and tomato sauce. It sounded divine, my mouth watering as we worked out it was a carb heavy meal but there was protein and calcium in the cheese and some iron and vitamins in the vegetables. At least it made me seem normal.
“Was it from Pizza Blast?” Ash piped up.
“Huh?” I wasn’t expecting any questions.
“Pizza Blast? Or Heavenly Slices?”
“Uh, um...” I dithered, “Um, I’m not sure. Mom got it.”
“Was it in a red box or a black one?”
I felt my cheeks flame, worried he was going to catch me out in my lie. I couldn’t recall having been to either place and maybe mushrooms and spinach weren’t a thing here. “What does it matter?”
“Pizza Blast comes in a red box. Their bases are thin crust, so less carbs,” Ash said.
“Oh. I think it was a thin crust. Yeah, it was definitely thin crust.” I smiled, but my stomach churned in unease. Lying sucked, and so did Miller’s narrowed gaze, scrutinizing me as if he knew I was telling tales.
Desperate to move on from the topic of fake pizza, I asked, “Hey, was that your motorbike I heard last night?” .
