“He’s going to prom with Andie,” she says matter-of-factly.
I cringe. This is not one of those realities that gets easier to swallow the more I hear about it. In fact, it’s the opposite. “He told me. After we practically dry humped on the roof,” I explain, my tone laced with bitterness.
“Dry humped?” She descends into maniacal laughter, slapping the steering wheel, and inadvertently punching the horn. And while none of this is remotely funny, I can’t help but join in, giggling alongside her until we’re both slouched in our seats, clutching our stomachs.
“Please tell me that counts as an ab workout,” I say.
Once we’ve recovered, she looks at me and sits up again, hair a total mess. “Nope. We’re not avoiding. I can’t believe you dry humped J. T.!”
“First, please stop saying dry hump. That’s a disgusting term.”
“You said it first!”
“And you’re one to talk. I can’t believe you never told me he was going to prom with Andie,” I counter.
Her mouth twists with a hint of defensiveness. “But why would I? It’s not like he was on my list of contenders for you. Lest we forget, you demanded to be as far away from him in the limo as possible. And now you’re mad that he’s going with Andie? What’s going on with you?”
That is the question, isn’t it? She’s not wrong. Mad isn’t the right way to describe how I’m feeling. “Because he obviously just kissed me to . . . I don’t know . . . embarrass me? I’m shocked he didn’t brag about it to everyone.” It’s the only plausible explanation I can think of.
She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s true. He didn’t say anything about kissing you.” She smiles at me knowingly, eyes glinting. “You have to admit, J. T.’s a good kisser, though, huh?”
THIRTY-FOUR
One day until prom
It’s perfect weather for Senior Beach Day. It’s hot enough to require multiple dips in the lake to cool off, but not so hot that every step in the sand feels like trudging through Satan’s lair. The sky is pure blue and cloudless, except for a few cotton candy wisps.
I take full credit for this, given I scoured fifty years’ worth of historical weather reports, pinpointing the day during Senior Week with the least history of rain. I’ve also been monitoring the long-range forecast for weeks, fully prepared to shift to our backup day if need be.
Everyone’s here, swimming in the lake or suntanning on beach blankets with music. And there’s no shortage of activities, from beach volleyball to football, spikeball, and Frisbee.
I’m intent on enjoying this day, despite being forced to third-wheel on my own extra-large beach blanket with Kassie and Ollie. And yes, it is as painfully awkward as it sounds, especially when they start making out next to me. Every lip smack and slurp sends a shiver down my spine, and not in a good way. I think Nori’s also offended because she lifts her sunglasses and fires silent laser beams at them.
My attempt to avoid Renner has proven successful for the past two hours, as well as last night when Kassie and I returned to the sleepover. He’s been playing in a spikeball tournament while I creepily watch but pretend to be sleeping （bless sunglasses）。 Unfortunately, the spikeball crew returns right as I’m fixing myself a sandwich from the cooler.
Renner parks himself on the towel a couple feet in front of me and doesn’t even bother to spare me a glance. Though I’m not surprised. What is there to say? Aside from bragging about making me look like a total nimrod? Even he’s not that vicious, at least in front of other people.
“Rough loss, J. T. Sucks to suck,” Ollie calls to him playfully, drawing his gaze in my direction.
Our eyes snag for a second until he’s distracted by Andie. Because of course. She’s frolicking near the water, long dark hair slicked back, beads of moisture shimmering on her perfectly ripped Sports Illustrated bod. There’s no mistaking Renner’s eye, fixed on her as she runs through the sand, like she’s auditioning for a Baywatch reboot.
I grumble under my breath when she flops beside him, ample cleavage spilling over her bikini. I am sincerely jealous of her cleavage and wish I had my own. Now. Not at thirty.
“Hey, you. Can you help? I don’t want tan lines with my prom dress tomorrow.” Andie tosses a bottle of sunscreen into Renner’s lap and points to her back.
My jaw tightens. Renner jumps without hesitation, squirting a pile of lotion into his palm. Andie even asks him to untie her bikini top. I am trapped in a nightmare.