“Did he dump you for her?” Mac seemed too shocked.
“Liv dumped him,” Simone said quickly. “Because he called her mom a bitch.”
“Simone!” I shook my head at her. “He did not.”
“So, you’re mad,” Mac said, seeming not to hear me. His eyes lit up.
“I’m not mad,” I said.
“She’s furious,” Simone said.
“She is?” Mac bounced with excitement. “You know what that means. Mad people get to throw stuff.”
He grabbed my hand and started to run, dragging me toward the booth with the glass bottles set up in pyramids. Before I could object, Simone had come up behind us and slapped down a hundred-dollar bill.
“Keep ’em coming,” she ordered the man behind the counter, gesturing toward the basket of baseballs.
“You can’t spend that much on a stupid game,” I said, horrified by the wastefulness of it. “It’s absurd.”
“Please.” Simone rolled her eyes. “My parents spent more than that on a bottle of wine at dinner last night. And they didn’t even drink half of it.”
“My game isn’t stupid,” the man behind the counter informed me gruffly.
I opened my mouth to apologize, but Phoebe stuffed a wad of bright blue cotton candy in it.
“Throw this,” Simone said, folding a ball into my fingers.
I looked for help in Deiss, but he simply lifted his eyebrows.
“I can stand behind you if you want,” he said with a smirk. “Show you how it’s done.”
His flirtation was shocking enough to knock a laugh out of me. To hide my blush, I turned toward the wall at the back of the booth and hurled the ball. To my surprise, it crashed into one of the pyramids, shattering glass and sending it flying. I shrieked with delight, my friends’ cheers filling my ears.
“Again,” Deiss said, plucking the ball Mac was about to throw from his hand and putting it into mine.
I threw with more confidence this time, laughing when it hit the wall, leaving the bottles intact. Beside me, Mac finally got a ball of his own into the air, and the sound of shattering glass made us scream again. For over an hour, we hurled baseballs, shrieking and laughing until the sun drifted down and our voices grew hoarse.
I didn’t think of Chad for hours. And once I did, it was only long enough to admit that he’d been right. I didn’t have time for him. Not when there was so much more fun to be had with my friends.
CHAPTER 17
You look great,” Phoebe says, despite the fact that I’ve shown admirable restraint in not tugging at the leather bustier she’s insisted on lending me for tonight’s show. I haven’t complained about the gray jeans that cling like a second skin, either. There’s been no mention from me of the strategic holes in the legs or even the black booties they’re tucked into or the eclectic jewelry she’s paired with the outfit. In fairness, though, I do like the booties and the jewelry. I wouldn’t have picked them for myself, but I definitely would’ve admired them on Phoebe.
The only giveaway to my trepidation about Phoebe’s rock and roll makeover effort is the way my steps have slowed outside Sounds. The storefront windows glow against the darkened night, revealing the crowd within. It’s only 9:30. There’s still another half hour before the Saturday night concert begins, so I wasn’t expecting to see so many people inside. Deiss has always described these shows as gatherings of true music lovers. This, however, looks like a real scene.
“I look like you,” I say, giving in and tugging my top up.
The effort proves useless, as the bustier is more like a layer of tar that’s been applied to my body than anything that could be categorized as clothing. I don’t know what I was thinking when I complained to Phoebe about having to recycle yet another outfit from my suitcase. I knew I couldn’t afford to go shopping, just like I knew Phoebe wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to play dress-up, especially when it gave her an excuse to get out of helping the guys set up for tonight. Still, a few weeks ago I would’ve held my ground against the bustier. But if I can quit my job and live out of a bag, I can certainly handle being styled by one of the most fashionable people I’ve ever met.
“And I always look fantastic,” Phoebe says, echoing my thoughts and pulling me toward the door. Her Afro is full and glittering tonight, and she’s wearing a jumpsuit that shows off toned arms and plunges in the back. She does, in fact, look fantastic. Unable to argue, I allow myself to be dragged inside.