“She’s trying to be her own person or something.”

“She’s not being a very good friend,” she says with a slight frown. “But you could be. I’ve been causing trouble for you all year. I shouldn’t have. I am sorry about that.”

“Thank you.”

She grabs her phone, hits a few buttons, and smiles. “You should grab some popcorn. The fun's about to begin.”

“What fun?” I ask as my phone buzzes with a photo text from a blocked number.

I click it to make it bigger.

There’s a screenshot of Chelsea posing topless and corresponding texts of her offering herself to Jake and, thankfully, him turning her down.

My phone keeps buzzing and buzzing.

As do most of the phones in the café.

I scroll through even more screenshots of her offering herself up to different guys.

All of whom happen to be the boyfriends of her fellow cheerleaders.

Audible gasps rise from the cheerleaders’ table.

And then the table erupts in havoc.

Girls start crying. Yelling at Chelsea. Calling her names. Flashing her topless and naked pictures around. Then yelling at their boyfriends. Stomping out. One even grabs her hair and is pulling it, until the lunchroom attendant blows a whistle.

“All of you. All you people at THIS table. To the office, immediately!”

From the other table, Dallas catches my eye and winks at me.

I text him.

Me:  Did you have something to do with this?

Dallas:  Who me?

Me:  Did you?

Dallas:  They say guns don’t kill people, people do. 

Me:  What does that have to do with anything?

Dallas:  I didn’t shoot the gun, Kiki. Just provided the ammo.

Me:  You teamed up with Whitney?

Dallas:  From what I can tell, you just did too. I’m proud of you, by the way. This isn’t how either of us expected it to go down. 

“Whitney, how did you expect this to go down?”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. But if I had planned something with a friend, neither one of us would’ve predicted for you to come sit here with me. You’re a way bigger person than either of us thought. And that’s saying a lot, because Dallas thinks pretty highly of you.”

I look back at Dallas and smile.

“Oh, oh,” Whitney says, glancing toward Chelsea, who has started marching in our direction.

“I know you did this!” she yells, waving her phone at me.

“Chelsea, I didn’t . . .”

Whitney interrupts and says in a lazy tone, “I’m so sorry this happened to you. You should definitely take those photos to the dean. I’m sure if you could prove Keatyn sent them, she’d probably get, like, what? A detention or something.”

“Yeah, right. And I’d get expelled.” Chelsea narrows her gaze at me then runs out of the café.

“I can't believe you did that.”

“Did what?” Whitney replies with a smile.

Our luck.

1pm

After all the drama at lunch, I’m ready to get on the bus for the three-hour ride to upstate New York for the second playoff game. I sit next to Maggie on the bus, listening to her gossip and gush about Logan. When he starts texting her, I put my headphones in and close my eyes.

And, yes, I’m a glutton for punishment. I listen to the 29-song playlist.

If I were my friend, I would tell myself to stop listening to it. That I’m just prolonging my own agony. But, at the same time, I’m kind of proud of myself. I’ve never done the wallowing after a break up thing before. Where you go though all the notes, movie stubs, and photos from your time together. Cry over them. And then burn them.

RiAnne would do that when she had a bad break up and I never understood why.

Now, I do.

It’s part of the grieving process.

It’s therapeutic.

Healing.

I feel Maggie shift in the seat and then a finger pokes me.

I open my eyes to find Peyton sitting next to me, her eyes shimmering with tears.

I pull my earbuds out as she says, “You’re right. I have become the biggest bitch of all. And I don’t want to be a bitch.”

I wrap my arm around her and pull her into a hug. “I know you don’t. It’s not who you are.”

She cries and shakes her head. “It’s not me. I was just . . . I was just trying to get back at her. I wanted to hurt her, but I didn’t. I just made her my enemy.”

“You need to talk to her. Tell her how you felt and why you did it. Do you know why you did it?”

“I was afraid I was going to turn into a bitch. I was going along with her when I should’ve stood up to her.”

“But . . .”

“But I should have realized I was mad at myself for not having the courage to do what was right.”

“You’ve got to learn to love yourself.”

She nods in agreement. “I really wish me and Aiden could . . .”

“Please, don’t say it.”

“He’s really upset, Keatyn.”

“Me too,” I reply, putting my earbuds back in and halting our conversation.

The playoff game is close.

Back and forth scoring.

As the end nears, you know that whoever ends up with the ball last will probably win.

And whoever is our team. Riley, who has started every game since Dawson got banged up, runs time off the clock until there are only a few ticks left.

Aiden goes out to kick the winning field goal.

He lines up, takes two steps over, makes the four-leaf clover symbol with his hands, and kicks the ball.

I pray that it goes through the uprights.

Pray that even though we’re not together fate will still allow our luck to work for him.

But it doesn’t.

The ball hits the upright and bounces out.

Stupid glow.

12:30am

It’s late when we get back from the long bus ride home. I’m packing when Maggie barrels into my room.

“I really need you and Katie’s help,” she says.

“With what?”

“I ordered a bunch of new dresses but I can’t decide which ones I should take. We’re doing dinner at my house and then going to his house the next day. I want to look perfect.”

“Come on,” Katie says, pulling me out of the room. Then she whispers, “Let’s stop and get some cookies. I think this is gonna take a while.”

We stop at the kitchen and then go to Maggie’s room.

I watch as Maggie tries on five different dresses and parades across the room in them.

“What do you think?”

“I like the second one and fifth one. But I didn’t like shoes you had on with the fifth one. It needs tights and boots.”

“Oh, that would be cute,” Katie agrees. “Try it back on.”

She puts it back on, gets two thumbs up, gives each of us a hug, and lets us go back to our room.

As usual, Katie passes out quickly.

I’m jealous of her ability to fall asleep so fast.

I finish my packing, double check that I have my passport, and then lie in my bed.

I close my eyes and try to sleep but I can’t because the 29-song playlist is playing in my head.

Maybe I shouldn’t have listened to it for three hours straight.

I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling, forgetting about the stars.

But then I see a moon glowing directly above my head.

Are you kidding me?

That must be why Maggie had a fake fashion crisis tonight. She wanted me out of my room. She thinks this is like the big gesture.

But, it’s not.

I close my eyes tightly to shut out the sight of the moon, but even with my eyes closed I can feel the moon mocking me.

“I officially hate you!” I say to the moon. “I never should have made a stupid wish on you!”

I stand up on my bed, rip the moon off the ceiling, and then toss it on my bedside table so I won’t have to look at it.

I lie back down.

Toss and turn.

Try to get comfortable.

But I can't.

Because the damn moon is glowing from my table.

I slam my phone down on top of it.

Still glowing.

Fucking moon.

I grab it, shove it into my purse, zip the purse up tightly, and then throw it across the room.