Varsity Friends Quotes

Let me tell you girls a story, short and sweet. In high school, I was a junior varsity cheerleader dating a senior who was up for football scholarships. I'd slept with him several times willingly. One night I wasn't in the mood, but he was. So he held me down and forced me. The few people I told about it - including my best friend - pointed out what would happen to him if I told. They stressed the fact that I hadn't been a virgin, that we were dating, that we'd had sex before. So I kept quiet. I never even told my mother. That boy put bruises on my body. I was crying and begging him to stop and he didn't. That's called rape, ladies.

Lainey is hot in a prom queen kind of way and we used to be friends back in grade school, but that was two lifetimes ago. Now she’s a varsity soccer player and card-carrying popular girl who hangs out with the kind of mean girls and douchebags who get killed first in horror movies.

What would be the natural thing? A man goes to college. He works as he wants to work, he plays as he wants to play, he exercises for the fun of the game, he makes friends where he wants to make them, he is held in by no fear of criticism above, for the class ahead of him has nothing to do with his standing in his own class. Everything he does has the one vital quality: it is spontaneous. That is the flame of youth itself. Now, what really exists?" "...I say our colleges to-day are business colleges—Yale more so, perhaps, because it is more sensitively American. Let's take up any side of our life here. Begin with athletics. What has become of the natural, spontaneous joy of contest? Instead you have one of the most perfectly organized business systems for achieving a required result—success. Football is driving, slavish work; there isn't one man in twenty who gets any real pleasure out of it. Professional baseball is not more rigorously disciplined and driven than our 'amateur' teams. Add the crew and the track. Play, the fun of the thing itself, doesn't exist; and why? Because we have made a business out of it all, and the college is scoured for material, just as drummers are sent out to bring in business. "Take another case. A man has a knack at the banjo or guitar, or has a good voice. What is the spontaneous thing? To meet with other kindred spirits in informal gatherings in one another's rooms or at the fence, according to the whim of the moment. Instead what happens? You have our university musical clubs, thoroughly professional organizations. If you are material, you must get out and begin to work for them—coach with a professional coach, make the Apollo clubs, and, working on, some day in junior year reach the varsity organization and go out on a professional tour. Again an organization conceived on business lines. "The same is true with the competition for our papers: the struggle for existence outside in a business world is not one whit more intense than the struggle to win out in the News or Lit competition. We are like a beef trust, with every by-product organized, down to the last possibility. You come to Yale—what is said to you? 'Be natural, be spontaneous, revel in a certain freedom, enjoy a leisure you'll never get again, browse around, give your imagination a chance, see every one, rub wits with every one, get to know yourself.' "Is that what's said? No. What are you told, instead? 'Here are twenty great machines that need new bolts and wheels. Get out and work. Work harder than the next man, who is going to try to outwork you. And, in order to succeed, work at only one thing. You don't count—everything for the college.' Regan says the colleges don't represent the nation; I say they don't even represent the individual.

requirements. In Russia today, everything happened to maintain the nadzirateli, the overseers, to protect their power, to continue looting the country’s patrimony. Nate wanted to devastate the opposition, to avenge MARBLE, to take away their power. Nate was dark—black hair and straight eyebrows—of medium height, and slim from varsity swimming in college. What colleagues and friends noticed however, were darting brown eyes that read faces, weighed gestures, and narrowed with quick comprehension. On the street, those brown eyes scanned ahead, watched the wings, picked up the peripheral anomalies before there was movement. During surveillance exercises as a CIA

Okay, so what do we got so far? In Boston we got trees, we got water, we got the Red Sox, we got the aquarium, and we got the…We got the…” Megan looked at Darnell Wilcox. He had ticked off his list on his fingers and was now staring down at his pinky as if it were going to give him the answer. In the other hand he clutched the neck of a half-empty bottle of Budweiser--from what Megan could tell, his fifth or sixth. Darnell was a handsome guy who, according to his varsity jacket, was captain of the football team. At the beginning of the night, he had shown himself to be a smart, friendly, funny guy. Now that he was officially drunk, he was still friendly and funny, but the smart thing was out the window.

WWSoccerGirl: I’m Selena, by the way :) I’m on the varsity soccer team. I’ve played since I could walk. I have three older brothers and an older sister. They all play too. I guess my whole family’s obsessed with futbol. Lol. And I suck at math :) and most school subjects. I’d rather be out on the soccer field! Wow. So Reyna, Harper, and Selena had replied. This was great.

MISTAKES AND CURVEBALLS YOU MUST LET YOUR KID EXPERIENCE19 • Not being invited to a birthday party • Experiencing the death of a pet • Breaking a valuable vase • Working hard on a paper and still getting a poor grade • Having a car break down away from home • Seeing the tree he planted die • Being told that a class or camp is full • Getting detention • Missing a show because she was helping Grandma • Having a fender bender • Being blamed for something he didn’t do • Having an event canceled because someone else misbehaved • Being fired from a job • Not making the varsity team • Coming in last at something • Being hit by another kid • Rejecting something he had been taught • Deeply regretting saying something she can’t take back • Not being invited when friends are going out • Being picked last for neighborhood kickball

Good Lord!" he said, almost aloud, "in one whole year what have I done? I haven't made one single friend, known what one real man was doing or thinking, done anything I wanted to do, talked out what I wanted to talk, read what I wanted to read, or had time to make the friends I wanted to make. I've been nothing but material— varsity material— society material; I've lost all the imagination I had, and know less than when I came; and I'm the popular man—' the big man'— in the class! Great! Is it my fault or the fault of things up here?

always loved school. I played varsity lacrosse and field hockey. I could be friends with the cool kids and the smart kids and the sporty kids and even the stoner kids although I didn’t like to get stoned. I could cross social lines seamlessly and be whoever people needed me to be. I’d like to say it was a gift born of my curiosity about people, but in truth it was more of a response to trauma. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to feel safe. So I needed every single person I met to like me, and if I could make them love and need me, even better.

Some of my teammates and their girlfriends were hoping to take a group photo. Would you mind shooting that?” “Not at all.” I slide my arms through his jacket as Jake steps away to talk to one of the guys. A minute later, several huge football players hoist their girlfriends onto their shoulders. “Aww, this is so cute.” I direct them to move closer, and then I have to step back and squat to get everyone in one shot. After I take a few, Jake tells the guys to hold up and then turns to me. “Can you ask Roxy to take a pic? Basically the same shot you just took, just with one more couple?” I tilt my head, confused, but he’s already called her over. He makes me hand over the camera to Roxy before he drags me over to the group. “Hang tight.” That’s the only warning he gives me before he lifts me onto his shoulder. Like, I’m literally sitting on his left shoulder. “Jake!” I laugh as I wobble, but then he reaches up a hand, and I cling to him for dear life. He yells, “’Kay, Roxy. Go for it.” He looks up at me and grins. “Smile for the camera, cupcake.” She takes several shots. I’m smiling so hard, my cheeks hurt, and I forget to worry about whether or not I’m blinking. When we’re done and he slides me down to the ground, I’m out of breath. I almost feel like Jake is claiming me somehow, but that’s crazy, right? He wanted to be in the photo, and I’m his good friend, so he had me join him. Roxy returns the camera and leans into me to whisper, “What was that about? Are you two doing the deed?” “No. We’re just friends.” God, I feel like a broken record. Her eyebrow lifts. “Because the looks he’s giving you tonight…” Jake’s giving me looks? I turn to find him talking to Cam, but his eyes are glued on me. Every molecule in my body heats. “Holy hot sexual tension, Batman.” Roxy bumps me with her hip. “I want all the deets tomorrow!” “There won’t be any deets.” Will there be deets?

It should be on leading my new team to a victory. Instead, I see my ex, Dakota, bare ass up, face down on our bed as my best friend Troy railed her from behind. While our baby sat in a dirty diaper and cried in the other room. Mentirosos. Liars. Both of them. I’ll admit I wasn’t excited to have a kid. Not at first. But despite my party reputation in high school, I would never let my responsibilities slide. Unlike my father, who eventually left us, I promised myself I’d be there for Dakota. She and I were a hookup after I’d seen my parents get into another screaming match on my mom’s front porch, one that almost made me come to blows with my father. I was pissed off at the world, drank too much, and banged the bombshell blonde at the party who straddled my lap and told me it was my lucky night. There was nothing lucky about that night. I rub the ache in my chest. No, it feels wrong to think that. I got Asher, and he’ll always be the highlight of my life even though his mother has made my life hell. I changed everything for her.

Charlotte tugs on my jersey. “Do you mind if I take some pics tonight?” she yells over the stereo system, which is blasting our classic rock warmup playlist. “’Course not. Do your thing.” She gives me one of those lingering smiles that makes me wonder if my mom is right. If Charlotte has had feelings for me since high school. I watch her walk away. She’s wearing some cutoffs that make her ass look amazing and her slender legs long. “Just friends, huh?” Billy elbows me hard. “Best rethink that.” “Why are you always pestering me?” He holds a hand over his heart. “You wound me, bro. I’m trying to be a good person. Which means I’m not making a move on your girl like I want to.” I don’t even bother arguing that she’s not my girl. Because Charlotte feels like she’s mine. Fuck it. I’m done debating this. I’m going after what I really want.

As I walk Sienna to her car, she squeals. “Holy crap, is that Rider Kingston?” Without my permission, my gaze slides across the street to the oversized man-child, who has the gall to be moving furniture shirtless while flexing his stupid abs. Judging by the other sweaty minions pouring out of the two-story, Rider’s getting new roommates too. My eye twitches again, and my focus snaps back to Sienna. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan of football.” “Oh, I’m not. I can’t sit through an entire game. But I am a fan of football players.” Her gaze turns ravenous as she scans my neighbor’s front lawn. Or, likely, the glistening eight-pack Rider’s put on display. “All that testosterone. Those bulging muscles. That deep, masculine grunting. Oh, yeah. Get me one of those!” She cackles, and Rider hears it. Of course he does. Shockingly, he deigns to speak to me. “Hey, Gabby,” he shouts. “How was your summer?” I’m not sure when he decided to stop ignoring me, but that’s better than pretending we’re friends, which we’ll never be. I close my eyes because I don’t need any reminders of his masculine beauty. And I definitely don’t need to see that sexy smirk, the one more powerful than his cannon that took the team to the playoffs last year. No, I’m not interested in the star quarterback. Not anymore.

Her eyes meet mine. “What exactly do you want, Rider?” My throat feels tight. I take a breath. For some crazy reason, I feel like I’m trying to throw for a touchdown. “Just… I need us to be friends again. I miss you, Gabby, and I regret how I treated you. And with everything with Poppy, I’m being reminded of how amazing you are.” I shrug. “I miss our friendship. Don’t you?” My heart feels like it’s gonna beat out of my chest with that confession. “And that’s all you want?” she asks warily. “Friendship?” Yes. No. Fuck, I don’t know. “That’s all I have time for right now.” Do I miss our friendship? Absolutely. Do I want to fuck her until I can’t walk anymore? Definitely. Can I handle anything beyond sex right now while I juggle all the other shit in my life? Probably not. So yeah, I guess I’d better keep my damn hands to myself. “And you’re not going to ghost me again?” she asks. The vulnerability in her voice kills me, and I reach for her hand again. “Because it sucked to open up to you about being in foster care only for you to disappear on me.” I close my eyes. Christ. No wonder she thinks I’m a douchebag. “I promise I won’t disappear again. You’re officially stuck with me now.

From the passenger seat of Michael’s car, I eye the pharmacy like it’s a viper waiting to strike. “Look, I know you’re a ‘rip the Band-Aid off’ kind of person, so let’s go in there and get a pregnancy test,” Michael says. “At least we’ll know what we’re dealing with.” I turn to him, surprised. “How do you know this about me and Band-Aids?” “Because once, a long time ago, you and I used to be friends. You always told your mom you wanted the bad news first.” “And you remember this?” His eyes travel over my face, and I hate that it’s probably red and swollen from puking, but he gives me a tender smile. “I remember a lot of things about you.

Weights clank in a backdrop beat to the rock music on the stereo. I should be thinking about this weekend’s game, but my thoughts keep straying to my outing last Sunday afternoon with Charlie. To the way her eyes danced when she got determined to skate. To the adorable way she clung to me when she needed help. To her cute little ass in those cutoffs. I close my eyes, hating how conflicted I feel. No one ever believes me when I say that Charlotte and I have always been just friends. Only that somehow feels wrong now. I’m not sure what’s changed on my end. Maybe it’s because we’re living together and I see her every day? Maybe it’s because dragging her out of that fire scared the fuck out of me? Or maybe it’s because she feels like my best friend again, and lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like if we were… more? And when I thought she was going to wipe out? My heart was in my throat as I sprinted to catch her. When I remember how she looked at me in the park, my whole body heats. Fuck. I shouldn’t be thinking about Charlie like this. Because going there with her right now seems like a really bad idea. I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with anyone this year. There’s too much on the line.

Grab a big-ass piece of paper. I have ideas.” Then he turns to our friends and families, holds up my hand, and yells, “I’m king of the world! Roxy Santos said she’ll marry me!” They cheer and clap and hoot. Laughing, I shake my head. “What about your Hail Mary today and your game-winning throw? Might that have contributed to your king of the world status?” Leaning down, he whispers, “That’s just icing on the cake, biscuit. You’re the real prize, and everyone here knows it.

So do beautiful women dating pieces of shit like Cal Winston. I pinch the bridge of my nose, irritated I have to play another year of football with that asshole. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not mad at Sienna. How could I ever be mad at her? She’s like a damn sunflower, all cheery and gorgeous and perfect. I vaguely remember her from freshman year, but until she moved in with my sister, we never ran in the same circle of friends. In retrospect, I’m a dumbass for not making a point to get to know her because she’s fucking spectacular. She has thick, dark hair and light brown eyes. An off-the-charts smile. A tight little body. A great personality. Literally the stuff of my fantasies. It took everything in me not to tell her Winston was likely planning to fuck a horde of women the second she steps on an airplane tonight.

Louisa grabs her purse. “He ate chicken nuggets and some applesauce. Did you already eat dinner, or do you want me to make you a sandwich before I leave?” For a second, I hear another voice asking me if I want a sandwich. It makes something in me ache. I don’t know why I’m not over Charlie ghosting me. It’s fucked up, but I miss her more than Dakota. Once I realized what my ex had been doing behind my back, she was dead to me. Charlotte, though… It’s weird as hell not having her in my life anymore. And as much as I thanked her for taking care of Asher, I’m seeing now that I didn’t appreciate how she took care of me too. Always feeding me. Always helping me if I needed a study buddy. Always knowing how to cheer me up after Dakota reamed me out for something stupid. Just being an amazing friend. Did I run Charlie off? Did I do something to hurt her? Was Dakota lying about why her sister left? When I’m not pissed about her leaving, I’m still tormented. It keeps me

That’s when the blonde stands up and whips around, her ponytail flying. Stunned blue eyes meet mine. Eyes that look exactly like my son’s. And my ex’s. What the fuck? I open my mouth. Close it. It probably takes me a full minute before I can say anything. “Charlotte?” I’m so shocked, I almost drop Asher. “What the hell are you doing here?” She flinches like I’ve slapped her, and I’m suddenly so fucking mad at her for how she disappeared, I can barely breathe. How does your best friend of five years up and leave without a word? Why couldn’t she tell me what was going on? Leave me a message. Something. Anything. Even if it was to tell me to fuck off. When she doesn’t say anything, I turn to leave. I can’t do this.

Gabs, can we talk a second?” He clears his throat. Nothing good ever follows that statement. I brace myself for what’s sure to be an awkward conversation. “I just want to apologize for our… misunderstanding freshman year.” I’m silent for a moment, but the rush of anger that spikes my pulse has me responding before I think better of it. “You’d call it a misunderstanding, huh?” I roll my eyes. “Funny, I didn’t think I misunderstood anything, but if you want to mansplain it to me now, go for it.” Why make this easy for him? It’s always been difficult for me to make friends, but for some reason, Rider slipped through my defenses. I was assigned to tutor him in English. I remember meeting him in the library, and the shy smile he gave me. He was embarrassed to need help. It was the most endearing thing I’d ever seen, and I swear when he leveled me with those big gray eyes, the ground fell out beneath me. I’m a practical girl, but foster care made me cynical, and ending up with my aunt did nothing to help my outlook on life. But Rider was funny and sweet, not to mention ridiculously good-looking, and I went over faster than a felled log in a forest. This was before he was the golden boy of the football team. When he was just this guy Rider from some speck-of-dust small Texas town like me. Even though he rode the bench, I went to all of his games, and we’d grab pizza afterward and talk until late in the night. Although he didn’t outright say it, I knew he had a rough home life. He mentioned that his father was an ass. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and make it better. And I thought I meant something to him. That what we had was special. Until he became the starting quarterback.

I change the channel before I hurl. After a few minutes, I settle back and watch Friends while I wait for Billy. But by the time he knocks on the door, I’m a hot mess. When I answer the door, his eyebrows furrow as he looks me over. Before I can say anything, he opens his arms and I rush into them. “What happened, my little biscuit?” he asks as he squeezes me in a tight hug. Tears burn my eyes, and I push my face into his chest. “I don’t know. One minute I was fine, and the next, this commercial came on about baby food. And the baby was hungry and started to cry, and…” “And that made you cry.” I nod against him as more tears flow down my face. “I know that sounds crazy, but now everything makes me cry. I want my hard shell back.

Cam motions to me. “You have murder in your eyes, bro.” “Pretty much what I was fantasizing about just now, but I’m trying to avoid jail time before the draft.” Laughing, he nods. “Solid decision.” He lowers his voice. “How did Roxy’s appointment go?” Cam is the only one of our friends besides Charlotte and Jake who knows Rox is pregnant. A smile erupts on my face. “It was crazy. She had the nurse call me into her exam room at the end to see the ultrasound. I got to hear the heartbeat. It was just whirring away.” I hold my hand over my chest because that moment will go down as one of the coolest in my life. “She’s due in August.” “Girl or boy?” “Too early to tell. It looks like a bean, though.” I hold my fingers apart by a centimeter. “Like this big.” “Y’all gonna make it official or keep pretending you’re just friends?” “We’re definitely not ‘just friends,’ and I think she’s starting to figure it out.” He smacks me on the back. “Happy for you.” His eyes travel across the room to Ezra, but his voice lowers to a whisper. “You’re obviously a better candidate than that jackass.

An hour later, I’m on my way home when I can’t fucking stand it any longer. I haven’t a clue what I’ll say to Magnolia if she picks up, but I want to try one last time. I pull over to the side of the road and, with my heart in my throat, dial her name. Four rings later, someone picks up. “Maggie, don’t hang up. Please hear me out.” A deep, masculine voice clears his throat. “Is this Michael?” “Who the fuck is this?” He snickers. “Just a friend. Listen, Imma do you a solid. This is not Maggie’s number.” I freeze and try to process his words. I double-check who I dialed, and sure enough, it’s Maggie’s contact info on the screen of my phone. “What do you mean? I’ve left her a million messages. Were they all going to you?” “Yup. And I gotta say, your night sounded hot as hell.” He lets out a whistle. “But I think your girl Maggie got her one-and-done and ghosted ya.” I’m going to be sick. “She didn’t give me her number.” “See? Case in point.” “No, that’s not what I mean. Her brother gave me her number. And I guess… I guess I punched it in wrong. Or I misheard. I don’t fucking know except it’s been weeks now. Jesus, if she wasn’t pissed at me before, she is now.

When Ezra turns and leaves, Billy immediately wraps me and Marley in a hug. “You okay?” I sniffle. “No, but I will be.” He kisses my forehead, and I melt into him. “Why was that so hard?” “Because Marley is the center of our universe, and he’s a threat to that.” She is the center of our universe. “Thank you.” I look up at him and kiss his chin, since that’s what I can reach. “Thank you for loving her like she’s yours.” He gives me a crooked smile. “In my heart, she belongs to me.” I grasp his face with my palm. “I love you so much. And someday when you put a ring on my finger, you can make Marley officially yours. I mean, if you want to.” I’m not surprised Ezra won’t be around, since he hasn’t bothered to try to see her before now. And I’m good with that. My daughter already has a stand-up man in her life. She doesn’t need someone who’s not committed to her the way she deserves. “I definitely want to.” Laughing, he lifts me and Marley in a hug and spins us around. “I’m gonna hold you to that.” “Don’t squish her.” “I’m not. I’m holding you by your ass.” He sets me down, kisses me, and pats my butt. “How about we go get some matching t-shirts so we can make our friends gag?” “Let’s do it.” I don’t know how Billy does that, how he gets me in a good mood after that interaction with Ezra, but he does.

Relax, Maggie. I’m not gonna bite you.” It’s a strange experience to finally hold her. I might’ve been Bash’s friend first and initially viewed Maggie as a little sister, but I remember the day that changed. From the moment she strolled up on my lawn on a blisteringly hot summer day with a scraped knee when she was thirteen and I was fourteen, I’ve wondered what it would be like to make this girl mine. To hold her when she cried. To be the reason she smiled. To have the words to make her laugh. I ruthlessly locked away those urges. Sebastian was my best friend. In our small town world, you don’t mess with your buddy’s little sister. At the time, I didn’t know exactly what that meant. I just liked the way Maggie always smiled when I caught her looking. Like a toy secreted away in my pocket, I wanted that. Except I learned to look away when she turned my way. Pretended I didn’t light up inside when she was around. Dated other girls when I wondered what it would be like to ask out Bash’s beautiful sister. It’s something I try not to think about—what might have been. When Maggie doesn’t respond, I lean close to whisper in her ear. “Vanessa wasn’t enjoying herself, and she obviously didn’t click with my family. We both agreed it was best to go our separate ways. So she left last night.

Tough cojones, brother. Listen, by any chance are you Michael Oliver, the running back on the team? You go by the nickname Olly?” I close my eyes and tilt my head back. Great. Just what I need now. For my dirty laundry to be aired out across town. “Who wants to know?” “Just a fan. I’m Samuel, by the way. I think we had bio together freshman year.” “Hey, man. How’s it going?” It takes every ounce of energy in my body to be friendly. “By the sound of it, better than you. Hey, we’re having a little shindig over here tonight. Wanna come over and toss back some beer?” Fuck it. “Yeah. Sure. Think you might want to help me figure out how to win back a girl who probably hates my guts by now?” A deep chuckle rumbles out of the phone. “I’m a plotting master. Get your ass over here, and we’ll figure it out.” 18 MAGGIE

At least Asher is mine—the DNA test confirmed it. Sometimes I’m tempted to pick up the phone and call Charlotte to vent before I remember she doesn’t give a shit. That’s a whole different level of betrayal. I don’t even know where the fuck she went. Dakota and her mother Waverly won’t tell me anything, and Charlotte changed her number, so it’s not like I can ask her. And even though she took pics for her sister’s social media, Charlie never posted any of her own online. After being on that reality show as a kid, she hated being in the spotlight. Charlotte was my best friend from high school, the girl who never asked for tickets to games or wanted my help getting into hot parties or grilled me about my college prospects. I had a little thing for her when we first met. With her light blonde hair, big blue eyes, petite frame, and quiet ways, she drew out all of my protective instincts. She was in my English class freshman year, and one day our teacher randomly picked her to be Juliet. Charlie had to lie there while I, Romeo, reacted to her death. Even though we’d never spoken at that point, I could tell she was terrified. I hooked her pinky finger with mine to help steady her, and from that point on, we became the best of friends. So when guys were dicks to her, I made it clear they’d have to go through me if they ever thought to mess with her. When I saw her sitting alone in the cafeteria, I pulled up the seat next to her. When she seemed sad, I invited her to hang out. But she never looked at me all googly-eyed like the other girls. She never flirted or found reasons to touch me. She actually made me do my homework when we studied together. I figured she wasn’t into me like that and moved on. But she was still my best friend. Even when things got awkward between us after I started dating Dakota.

Really don’t want Ramirez to beat the shit out of me, so I get it. That’s fine. But I’m starving, and I figure you are too. Cam and I want to take you and Rox out.” He holds out his hands. “Just as friends. I swear.” “Trust me, Jake won’t care.” It’s like we were never friends. My eyes sting, but I can’t be upset with him. I did this to myself. I was too chicken to tell him how I felt in high school, and I only compounded everything when I left NTU without talking to him first. “I don’t know about that.” Billy’s voice lowers. “Aww, hell, Chuck. Don’t cry.” I sniffle and blink several times. “I’m not crying. It’s allergies.” Jake stops playing with Asher to glance over at us, and my heart sinks at the cold expression on his face. There are icebergs in the Arctic warmer than the look he gives me. Billy makes that humming noise again before he slips his beefy arm over my shoulders. “Doesn’t care, huh? I might regret this later, but how ’bout we give him something to care about?” “What?” That’s when the doofus pulls me into his chest and kisses me out of the blue. There’s no tongue, thank God. Just the hard press of his bristly mouth against mine. It’s fine, I guess. When he pulls away, he smacks his lips. “You taste minty.” I sigh, and it’s not because he swept me off my feet. “That was my first kiss.” I don’t mention I was saving it for someone special. His eyes widen. “Like, ever?” “Yes, and now I need to go home and write about it in my diary,” I say sarcastically before I turn to pack my gear, a little upset my first kiss wasn’t more magical.

What if we run into them?” I ask. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror and she gives me a small shrug. “You know seeing you has to hurt them too.” She sets the iron down and runs her fingers through my hair. “Elle must be torn up about what she did.” I open my mouth to argue, but Rosie shakes her head. “She’s not a monster. She might be a terrible friend, but we both know somewhere in there she has a heart.” With Rosie and me being so near in age, she was almost as close to Elle as I was. Elle had even encouraged Rosie to try out for the junior varsity cheer squad, and would help her with the routines—something that the previous varsity cheer captain wouldn’t have dreamed of doing.

I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Ben.” She sniffles, her soft voice instantly pulling me back from that edge. “I just... I guess I needed to get back at him, you know? Show him he doesn’t matter. I feel so stupid for trusting him.” “I get it,” I whisper. “Use me all you want. Winston and I have never been friends and never will be.” I feel like a dick for not giving her a heads-up about him sooner. But that’s not the kind of thing you just drop on someone, and we’ve never been close like this before. Yes, we conspired to help my sister get back with her boyfriend last winter, and we’ve chatted a few times, but her being with Winston meant me giving her a wide berth. He only asked me to give her a ride because she and I are neighbors. And I have the distinct feeling he wanted to flaunt that she belonged to him. The only kink to staying away from her is the promise I made to my sister to keep an eye on Sienna, which is why I didn’t balk at Winston’s request to drive her to the airport. “I don’t want to cause problems for you on the team.” I shrug and ignore the very real possibility that Winston won’t let this go. “He deserves worse. I’m happy to help however I can.” “You know what would really get under his skin?” Olly, who’s been quiet all this time, takes a swig of soda. “You need a new roommate, right?” he asks Sienna. When she nods, he points at me. “Ben should move in with you. It’ll drive Winston crazy.” I make a face. “Trying to get rid of me?” “Didn’t you just tell me you now have a toddler? Where we gonna put her? In the closet? Next to the Jacuzzi? It was bad enough having a baby around last year, but toddlers are even tougher.” Hell, he’s right.

From then on the disorder became her secret friend. She became not only an anorexic-bulimic, but the absolute best anorexic-bulimic she could be. She was strategic, clean, informed. She knew, for example, that the worst kind of vomit is the kind that isn’t properly chewed up. Lobes of steak that rise up your throat like Lincoln Logs. Ice cream is also a problem. It’s too soft and comes back up like liquid; it doesn’t feel like expelling anything at all and you can’t be sure it didn’t stick to the walls of your stomach. Then of course there is the question of timing. Everything in life is timing and with vomiting it’s no different. Too soon after you eat, and nothing comes up. You wreck your throat trying to regurgitate. Too late, and only the tail end of the meal comes; your finger is slicked in fawn fluid for nothing. You do it too soon or too early and you make too much noise because your body isn’t prepared. With vomiting, you have to work with your body. There is no working against it. You have to respect the process. The hope each morning was that she would barely eat—a pan-cooked chicken breast, an orange, lemon water. But if she failed—peanut M&M’s, a bite of someone’s birthday cake—then she would accept the failure at the same time that she would not accept the failure. She would go to the bathroom. Flush twice. Clean up. And reenter the conversation. It worked, for the most part. Field hockey suffered. In the ninth grade she had been a pretty serious athlete, but by the spring of tenth grade she was so skinny she could barely make varsity. School, in general, suffered. She stopped doing homework and stopped paying attention in class. Her family didn’t question her new body or her new habit. The closest her mother came to Why are you trying to kill yourself? was Why do you flush the toilet so many times?