Page 18 of The Love of My Next Life
She gestures to my neck, where my “curling iron burn” is in the early stages of healing. I force a smile.
“Yeah, that’s lucky.”
“Next time you decide to try and curl your hair, though, maybe let me do it,” she adds. “That’s what you get for always wearing your hair in a French braid. You don’t even know how to work a curling iron.”
She laughs at my expense, and I join in, mostly because I’m just glad she and Eric bought myI’m so clumsy and silly that I accidentally burned myself with a curling ironstory. It’s the oldest lie in the book, but because I’m innocent ol’ me, they bought it.
It’s much better than theI was mauled by my best friend’s delinquent pothead brother, and I maybe liked it a little more than I should havetruth, anyway.
“Wanna go through my closet so I can pick you out something to wear?” Claire asks, but I immediately shoot her down.
“Claire, you know your clothes don’t fit me. My hips are too big, and my boobs are too small.” Sometimes I think she offers to do stuff like this just so she can feel better about herself. I work hard to mask the insecurity I feel, especially being best friends with a bombshell like Claire, but it’s exhausting.
“I’ll wear something of my own. Somethingme. If he doesn’t like it...” I shrug, and Claire lets out a dramatic sigh.
“You’re no fun.”
“I never have been,” I say, half-joking. “Why start now?”
“What are you doing Sunday?” My shoulders tighten at her change of subject.
“On Sunday? Nothing. Why would I be doing something on Sunday?” I say it slowly and keep my eyes on the television, but I still worry that it sounds fake. Claire pops more popcorn in her mouth before responding.
“I dunno. Before you set up that date with Eric, you told me you wanted to be home early on Sunday.” She takes a sip of her Diet Coke before adding, “I figured that meant you had plans.”
“Oh, no. Just some college application stuff.”
She hums, buying my lie, and refocuses on the movie. We watch in silence for a while when her phone starts to buzz on her nightstand. I check the time on my own phone. It’s one in the morning. Who would be calling her at this time?
I watch her check the Caller ID, and then her face twists with irritation.
“What?” she barks into the receiver, waits a moment, then rolls her eyes. “Put him on, then.”
I raise a brow at her, and she mouths,Macon.Then she looks at the ceiling as the voice on the other end of the phone tells her something she doesn’t like.
Huh.He hasn’t ridden with us since Tuesday, and he hasn’t so much as looked at me in free period the rest of the week. What’s he gotten himself into tonight?
“Why can’t one of you bring him?” Claire asks. “Have Sam take him back to her place.”
Another pause. Then a groan.
“This is bullshit, Casper.”
Casper? I thought she was talking to Macon.
“Yeah, fine,” she huffs out. “We’ll be there in fifteen.”
She hangs up the phone and gets off her bed, stomping toward the door.
“C’mon,” she says as she leaves the room. “We gotta go pick up the dumbass.”
Two minutes later, I’m sitting in the passenger seat of Claire’s car, wearing nothing but sleep shorts, my oversized Fleetwood Mac tee, and flip flops. No bra. No panties. No braid. She drives all the way across town in silence, her fingers white-knuckled on the steering wheel, her face scrunched into an angry scowl.
I want to ask what’s going on, where we’re going, but I don’t.
We take Old Courthouse Highway out of town, heading toward the fairgrounds. There’s no fair right now, and the racetrack only runs on Thursdays and Saturdays. It’s Friday. When Claire pulls up on one of the dirt roads that runs the perimeter of the property and turns off her headlights, my worries are confirmed.
Freaking Macon. I swear, if we get arrested for trespassing, I will murder him.
