The following is a sneak peek at the first three chapters of a novel that I’m currently working on. Hope you enjoy.

One

I am not in love with Bailey Martinez. Swing. The very idea of such a thing is preposterous. You can’t be in love with someone who you never fell in love with, Swing, and I can’t recall a single instance in which I realized my heart only beat for him, or something cheesy like that. Love at first sight doesn’t exist, and even if it did, it still couldn’t have been when I first laid eyes on him, because children can’t conceptualize attraction like that. When I saw Bailey Martinez sitting atop a high chair, leaning against the kitchen island as if he’d been in our home countless times before, love was the last thing on my mind. Swing. Because, how could it have been, when I was seven years old?

And it couldn’t have been anytime after that, either, because for as long as I’ve known him, Bailey Martinez has been nothing short of the bane of my existence. Swing. I’ve never understood people whose main sense of humor is getting on people’s nerves. No slip-up going unnoticed, no mishap going unscathed. And if you roll your eyes at something he says, it makes matters even worse, because he’ll keep on repeating it over, and over, and over, just because he knows it gets a reaction out of you. And the most annoying part about it, is that whatever comment he’s made about you is so actually intelligent and witty that you have to hold yourself back from laughing along with him. Which kind of makes it sounds like I’m in love with him, but I’m not. Swing.

If anything, it’s just lust–I don’t find many guys attractive. Being so superficial when it comes to my taste in dudes makes me feel kind of horrible sometimes, but whatever. Fuck the patricarchy: if women are allowed to be criticized by men for everything they do, then I’m, in turn, justified in brutally criticizing them in my head. Too short, or too tall, hot but not cute, cute but not hot, too loud and obnoxious, not intellectually stimulating enough, way too full of himself. But, despite my reluctance to believe so, Bailey’s stupidly perfect. Swing. Even when he was a kid, he never went through that phase where boys lack so much emotional intelligence and social awareness so severely that it prevents them from functioning like normal human beings. He’s always had table manners, always held the door open for strangers, always told the cashier to Have a nice day! And you’d think that it would mean he’s hiding just been hiding his true malice, but that’s truly just how he is. Swing. Anyways. I’m not in love with him.

Which is why I don’t care about the fact that he’s dating Olivia Sommers. Swing. Why should I? Swing. It’s not like I’m in love with him! Swing. It’s not like I’ve spent my entire life thus far fiending for just a sliver of his attention! Swing. It’s not like him dating a girl in the same grade as me proves that he could have formed feelings for me, but just didn’t! SWING. Crash. Boom. Whoops!

The bag I’ve been aggressively punching since I got that, “You’re not gonna believe this.” text from Callie falls to the ground. Yikes. Maybe this place should invest in some better equipment. Or maybe I should invest in a diary.

I hear the door swing open.

“Yeesh,” she calls out, sporting a guilty look on her face, “if I knew I was gonna cause another punching-spree, I wouldn’t have told you about me seeing them.”

“Yeah well,” I say, my chest pounding from both exasperation and adrenaline, “if you didn’t, and I had to figure out on my own, I’d be even more distraught.”

Callie purses her lips, looking as if she was a fraction away from smirking. “So you do care about it, then.”

I feel my face burn up. Shit. “Of course I don’t.”

“Uh huh,” she says, giving a patronizing nod. She raises an arm, pointing behind her towards the big window of the Dojo. “Paige is in the car. And she’s sort of on one right now, so It’s probably best if you hurry this up.”

I stare at her blankly. “Hurry for what?” I asked, confused.

“Uhh, to go shopping, remember? We made these plans, like, this morning.”

“Right…” I say. “I knew that.” No I didn’t.

“No you didn’t. But you from the extremely distant past agreed to them, so you’re obligated to come with us now.”

Fuck me. Am I seriously letting this whole thing get to me that much? I don’t even like this guy, for god’s sake! How has this thing somehow derailed my entire thought process? Whatever. The damage has been done now, as seen with the punching bag still currently lying on the floor. The fact of the matter is: I’m gross, and sweaty, and in desperate need of a shower.

“You’re seriously gonna make me go looking like this?”

Callie shrugs at me. If she was trying to attempt to make it seem like she cared at all, she’s doing a horrible job at it. “It’s not my fault you decided to come here and start attacking that thing like a maniac. Speaking of which–did you somehow knock down the punching bag?”

“That’s neither here nor there.” I contemplate for a moment. “Okay, how about we swing by my house first, and I can take a shower and get ready first?”

She raises her eyebrows, unimpressed with my offer.

“I put on some deodorant and get ready?”

She smiles, exclaiming, “Deal!” and making a beeline towards the door. Picking up my dent-filled water bottle by its handle, I trail after her, beginning the walk towards Paige Conner’s sore-thumb Beetle. Despite being discontinued, she somehow convinced her dad into getting her one. Her ability to make just about anything represent her uniqueness is seriously commendable. When I swing open the door, and hobble my way into the car, the first words that come out of her mouth are,

“Olivia Lily Sommers will perish.”

I let out a guffaw, baffled by her crashness. “This is what you’re on one about?”

“Yes, Alma! This has seriously put a damper on my entire day!”

“You’re making it sound like you care more about this than she does, Paige.” Callie throws in.

Paige turns to her. “Maybe I do! It’s not like Alma’s allowing herself to even believe she cares, anyways–”

“Because I don’t care!” I interject.

“Sure, Alma.” She says, sarcasm dripping from her tone. She starts up the car, switching gears and beginning to reverse out of the parking spot. “It’s not like I care for the same reason as her, anyways.” She says, once we’ve made it onto the main road.

“Aww, you don’t care about the epic love saga of Balma?”

“First of all, it’s Montinez, and you know that. Second of all, I totally care about Alma’s current mental spiral over her lifelong crush getting with the girl she never thought she’d have to worry about.”

“Thanks so much!” I say, crossing my arms and hoping she sees my eyeroll in the rearview mirror.

“You’re so welcome! Anyways, Alma’s pissed she homewrecked her fantasy-love. I’m more so pissed that she’s a performative misandrist.”

“A what now?” Callie questions.

“Performative misandrist.” she repeats, as if that eases any confusion. “I had to listen to this girl drone on and on about how much she hated guys for the entirety of last year, and how she hated how everyone always mistook her and Bailey for a couple, only for her to turn around and start kissing him in broad daylight!”

“Bailey isn’t really like most guys, though.” I say. Which, I don’t know why, because their twin groans at anything I say related to him are something I’ve grown accustomed to.

Callie puts her palm together and aggressively squeezes her eyes shut. “Dear god, please make it so Liv and Bailey don’t work out, so that Alma can eventually shut the fuck up and stop pining over him–”

“Them breaking up wouldn’t make him fall in love with me!” I say, louder than her. “He just sees me as, like, his weird little sister.”

Callie narrows her eyes. “Well, he’s dating Olivia, and she’s in our grade, so we know that’s not true.”

“It’s not about the age, it’s about the circumstances.” I retaliate. Olivia and Bailey are family friends–their parents have been friends since high school. It’s something straight out of a sitcom: their moms had been best friends, and their husbands are both their high school sweethearts. When Bailey was born, Olivia’s mom had helped out with raising him, and vice versa once Olivia was born. It’s part of the reason why Olivia Lily Sommer’s name is so obnoxious–Bailey’s middle name is Rose, because they both always talked about making their kid’s middle names flowers. In every single way, the universe has made me the other woman.

Anyways, I on the other hand know Bailey because he’s best friends with my older brother. Ergo, I was presented to him as his little sister. An annoying one if that–when we were younger, I would constantly agitate them into letting me join in on their games, only to throw a fit when I would lose, no matter what it was we were playing. They would both play good-cop-bad-cop, with Malcom constantly complaining to my mom about me being a crybaby, and Bailey calming me down by wiping my tears and giving me a popsicle. Which was usually from my own fridge, but was something that I still appreciated nonetheless.

“Yeah, whatever loser,” Paige pipes up, “hurry it up so we can get a move on.”

I know she means it affectionately, so I don’t talk back as I slip out of the car, trekking up the path and walking up the steps.

When I get to my room, I quickly rip off my shirt, wincing at the smell of sweat and heartbreak. Damn you, Callie. Staring longingly at my bathroom door, I opt to lather as much deodorant onto my body as possible. When I finish sliding on the outfit that I had laid out on my bed before–I guess I had remembered I was going somewhere after the Dojo, after all–I spritz myself up with as much perfume as one can before it gets too obvious that they’re attempting to mask some sort of musk.

As quickly as I can, I start applying my makeup. According to my mom, I’m currently in ‘that phase’ where it feels illegal to walk outside the house without it caked onto my face. I don’t agree, but I also feel naked in my bare face, so maybe she has a semblance of a point. Concealer, blush, and mascara is unfortunately all I have time for, as I hear a loud Honk! outside as I’m twisting the mascara cap back on. I grab my purse, making sure I have money and a lip tint before making my way back outside.

“All dolled up to find your new man, Alms?” Paige teases.

“I’d hardly consider this as dolled up, Conner.” I reply, swinging open the passenger side door and looking at Callie expectantly. Making a tsk sound, she clammers out, a silent agreement passing between us as I slide into her place.

“Maybe for normal people, but not for you, pretty lady.” I smile at her sheepishly.

“Don’t get her ego too high, now,” Callie calls out from behind us, “she’d get too powerful.”

I flip her off without looking. While it’s a bit overwhelming, the constant assertion of my beauty from them makes it more understandable why they’re so quick to d0g on me for my ‘obsession’ with Bailey. In the most humble way possible, I know that I’m not horrific looking. I’m not as stunning as they try to make me out to be, but it’s not like I’m completely shunned by society, either. Girls have called me pretty, guys have tried to hit on me, my aunt Brooke swears that I could become a model if I play my cards right. I get insecure, of course, especially on a day like this, but I’m still logical at the end of the day.

“Maybe I will find my new boyfriend here.” I wonder out loud. Paige smirks at me.

“Yes! That’s the kind of energy that you need to be bringing into sophomore year. No more of this pitiful shit.”

“Hooray to Alma defeating her internalized misogyny!”

“Can’t defeat something that doesn’t exist, Callie!”

•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•

“I’m serious, Alms, just keep walking.”

“Why are you acting as if you’ve hid a bomb in one of those bags?”

Paige turns around to look me in the eye, urgency written all over her face. I begin to walk along with her, albeit reluctantly. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s people being vague when they want you to do something.

“Guys, wait up!” Callie calls out behind us, loud enough for anyone at the outdoor mall to hear. She sprints over, placing both hands on our shoulders. “Let a girl know before you start trailing off, yeah?”

“Not our fault you were taking the longest piss of your life,” Paige tells her, “keep walking, please.”

“…Why?” Callie questions, feet planted to the ground, and holding us back with her grip.

“My question exactly!” I agree. Paige, ever annoying as she is, looks at her with that same urgent-look rather than just giving us a clear answer. Curiously, Callie starts looking around the place, before her face breaks out into a smirk. “Oh my god Alma, look over there.”

“Don’t, Alms!” Paige exclaims, grabbing my face in an attempt to keep it from turning. Unfortunately, she can’t physically grab my eyeballs, and I glance to the side anyways. Immediately, my eyes land on what they’re both referring to–Bailey, in the flesh, gallivanting around with a group of guys who I don’t care to learn the names of. I give Paige a look.

“You think I’m so distraught that I wouldn’t be able to even look at him?”

She scoffs, releasing her hold on me. “Well, you did hit a punching bag so hard that it fell over–”

I whip my head towards Callie. “You told her about that?” She looks away like dogs do when they’re guilty about something.

“Whatever. I wanna go to Pacsun.” I point in the store’s general direction, as if we haven’t been here a dozen times before. Much to Paige’s demise, apparently, going to said store requires us to pass right by the gangle of dudes. Fortunately for me, I’m not lying when I say that I don’t care. It’s not like him dating Olivia changes anything between us–I’ve been telling myself that nothing was gonna ever happen between us since forever, anyways. This is just business per usual.

For some reason, both Paige and Callie have opted to walk three paces behind me, making it look as if we’re in an old-school teen flick, and I’m their group leader. Not too old school, though, because most films that fit into that genre weren’t progressive enough to let a black girl, mixed or not, even be in the same clique as two white girls. Go us three, for being so progressive!

As we saunter past the daunting group that is a bunch of teenage boys, I’m not expecting Bailey to notice me, let alone say a word to me. And, I’m correct–as we pass by, I can’t help myself from sneaking a glance at him, but he’s completely in his zone, gesturing wildly while talking with his giggling friends. I’m about to open my mouth to say, “I told ya!” but instead stop in my tracks when I hear,

“Hey, Pinkie Pie!” Immediately, my heart drops, my cheeks aflame in embarrassment. When I was eight years old, me and my friend group, which was five other girls at the time, decided that we were going to start playing My Little Pony during recess. Like, you know. How people play house and stuff. Anyways, I had the curliest hair, and everyone thought I was funny, so I was assigned Pinkie Pie. Later that day, when I was sitting at the dinner table, I announced to everyone that I was now only going to respond to the name of my new pony identity. And because Bailey was there, because of course he was there, he went, “Okay, Pinkie Pie!” Which you would think would just be something he would forget about the next day, but he didn’t. And he won’t let up, because even though I appreciated the effort then, I clearly don’t anymore. Like I said, bane of my existence.

I slowly turn around, holding myself back from balling my fists together. “Fuck off.” I say, grabbing my minions by the arm and beginning to walk towards the pacsun even quicker.

“Hey, wait up, dude!” he calls out from behind us! Paige and Callie, who are now proving themselves to be the worst minions of all time, come to a halt in sync, allowing Bailey to catch up with us.

“What is it?” I ask, not meeting him in the eye as we start walking again.

“Uh. How are you doing?” He asks, sounding a bit dazed.

“I’m fine, why?” Yikes, I sound a bit aggressive. Maybe I’m on edge from all the heat I’ve been receiving today. Or maybe it’s my brain being more mad about him kissing another girl than it should be.

“Sheesh, I was just wondering. Am I not allowed to make conversation, or something?”

For some reason, I can’t find the words to respond to him, my mouth instead hanging open like a dead fish. Callie probably notices this, which is what prompts her to pipe up and ask,

“Does your girlfriend know that you’re wondering how other girls are feeling?”

Callie is one of my best friends in the world. She’s the first one to make me feel welcome when I first started doing MMA five years ago, helping me learn the ropes and introducing me to Paige when her broken arm had healed. I love her so, so much, but god, I want to fucking strangle her right now. Bailey’s clearly taken aback by what she said, too, his eyebrows furrowing and balance falling off a bit.

“Excuse me?” He asks, fully stopping in his tracks.

“She saw you and Olivia Sommers kissing by her house this morning.” I say, saving Callie for potentially digging an even deeper hole for herself. “She’s just assuming that’s what it meant.”

He begins to nod, thankfully un-tensing his body and beginning to slowly walk again, body still angled towards me. “Makes sense.” Good. I think that the conversation’s over with before his hand comes up to rest on my arm, and he’s asking:

“Why’d she tell you about that?”

Well. Okay then. It’s a normal question, sure, and he could totally mean it in a, “Why are you talking behind my back, old chum?” kind of way, but the way he says it feels knowing. Like he knows that the reason why she told me was because she knows I would care about who he kisses and doesn’t kiss. No. That’s impossible. Despite me gushing over him in private, I’ve never done anything around him that would even allude to me being into him, so why would he mean it like that?

“She thought that maybe I would know if you two were dating, as I know you.”

“Right.” He says, nodding slowly.

“But apparently I don’t know you that well. So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

Is he being dense on purpose? “Are you two dating?”

He shrugs, as if he’s playing around with the idea in his head. “Sort of, I guess.”

“Pssh. How are you sort of dating someone?” Paige jumps in. He turns to look at her, like he does when he’s talking to anyone. Too much of an attentive listener. Too perfect.

“We’re like, ramping up to dating, you could say. But I haven’t officially asked to be her boyfriend yet.”

Callie subtly nudges me on the shoulder. She’s, of course, referring to the wording of his statement. “Be her boyfriend.” Generally holds the same meaning of, “Be my girlfriend,” but makes the guy in question sound more like a gentleman. Like I said before–so perfect that it almost feels performative.

“Welp,” I say, thankfully seeing the store in sight. “I wish you good luck on your journey, loverboy.” I hold up my hand in a fake-salute.

He matches my pose, putting on a faux-serious face. “Thank you, Commander Pinkie. I shall see you soon.” And he saunters off, probably to engage in whatever dumb conversation he was having beforehand.

“The thing that pisses me off the most about him dating Liv,” Paige tells me, “is that he’s clearly into you.”

“Shut up.” I tell her, playfully swatting her in the arm. A little part of me hopes that she’s right.

Two

I have had the misfortune of brushing strawberry blonde hair off my desk for three months now. I guess it’s not Olivia’s fault she was seated right in front of me, and not her fault that she has beautiful, flowy, unnecessarily-long hair. Maybe that’s why Bailey likes her so much. Or maybe I need to stop thinking that it’s anything; sometimes he’s just not into you. Which I’m totally cool with! It’s not like Bailey’s the only guy on Earth! I’m sure that–

“Love that top, Alms!”

Dolly Schwartz kinda reminds me of a gazelle—all legs, soft delicate features, and an overall, overwhelming presence. Callie hates her, on account that she’s a walking, talking dumb-blonde-bimbo prototype. Which, to be honest, is mostly just a byproduct of her name. You don’t get to choose the name your parents give you, and in Dolly’s case, her mom is overly-obsessed with Dolly Parton. And yeah, the girl’s a bit of an airhead, but I don’t believe that someone’s intelligence has anything to do with how good of a person they are. Dolly’s nice to me, and so I’m nice to her:

“Thanks, girl! I love that hairstyle on you.” Which is true–a lot of girls out there look horrific with their hair slicked back (including myself), but Dolly’s got the perfect head shape for it. Not only that, but the hairstyle itself seems like a lot of work went into it–an iron-curled half up half down with what looks like an entire pack of bobby pins poking around everywhere.

“Aww, thank you! You probably can’t tell, but it took forever to do.” Actually, I can!

She slips into the seat next to mine, despite usually sitting in the row ahead of me. It’s not like I particularly care or anything, but I can’t help but ask–

“Where’s Liv?”

She looks to the side, presumably checking to see who’s within earshot. Bringing a hand up to the side of her mouth, she whispers,

“Mono.” All conspiring-like. Right. I should have figured–Malcolm’s currently confined to his room, and when I asked my mom why, she said it was because Bailey got him sick. So, naturally, Olivia must be sick, too. Because you can get mono from anything–sharing drinks, spraying and not saying, or, you know. The main thing that it’s known for. But the thought of that makes me want to run back to that punching bag and knock it around some more, so I focus on keeping the nothingburger conversation moving.

“Aw man, that sucks.” Not really!

“Yeah, I know right?” She fishes into her bag, pulling out her laptop and pencil pouch. “Cause now I’m, like, worried. We share lip gloss all the time.”

“I mean, at least if you did get sick, you’d get to skip this class.”

“Ugh, ditto that. I swear, being here makes my day ten times shittier.”

The conversation reaches a stalemate, which is fine. A bit relieving, if anything, because I honestly hate small talk.

“Plus, if I get mono from her, It’s kind of like I got it from macking Bailey Martinez, which would be, like, WORLD STOP! Like, that would literally change my life.”

…

“The fuck?” Callie’s microphone peaks from the sheer volume or her words.

“Right? I was like…” I start looking around, vigorously scratching my head in a hyperbolized version of what I really did in the moment.

“You want to…kiss your best friends’ boyfriend?” She brings her hand up in a STOP! motion, shutting her eyes and saying,

“Okay, look.” Callie loses her shit when I tell her that part, mimicking the pose and repeating, “Okay, look!” in an exaggeratingly high-pitched voice.

“Yeah, Bailey’s her boyfriend. But he’s not like…her man, you know what I mean?”

…

“I’m sorry, but I’m not following.”

“Like, okay. We both agree that Bailey’s hot, right?”

Hot is kind of an understatement. Trying my hardest to make it sound like I don’t think about him 80% of the time, I say, “Sure, whatever.” Nicely done, Monroe.

“She, like, doesn’t.”

I stare at her blankly. “She’s not attracted to her own boyfriend?”

She puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing a bit. “Like, honestly Alma? I don’t think so.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, before they were together, she would always complain about people thinking they were a thing.”

“Performative misandrist!” Callie echoes Paige’s words from summer.

“And even now that they’re dating,” Dolly continues, “she never wants to talk about him. Which is really weird, because like, girl. You’re dating Bailey Martinez, I want to hear the nitty gritty, but she never wants to tell me anything!”

“Maybe she just…doesn’t want to annoy you with it, or something?” I try and play devil’s advocate.

“Oh, no, it’s not that. I’m practically grilling her for information. It’s like I’m a detective, interrogating her about a murder I suspect she’s committed, and I know that she’s done it, but can’t get her to admit to it.”

“Intense analogy.” I comment.

“That’s how it feels!” She shrugs. “How was your date? ‘good.’ What did you guys do? ‘stuff.’ Is he a good boyfriend? ‘I guess? And it’s like, Liv: Do you even like this guy? Because you’re making it sound like you hate his guts.”

“I guess I see what you mean.”

She opens her mouth to reply, but right when she does, the teacher swings open the door. She shuts her mouth, opting to move her pointer up to her lips instead. Shhhh. I nod my head back to her.

“But, whoops! I’m telling you!” I say to Callie.

She waves me off. “It’s honestly weird that she’s even telling you all of this anyways.”

“No I’m telling you, Dolly and I have this weird, crazy energy.”

“Uhh, hate to break it to you Alms, but I’m pretty sure she’d start telling a traffic cone her life story if it was in front of her.”

“Well, whatever. I just think it’s funny how she’s got the hots for her best friend’s dude.”

“That was your main takeaway from all this?” Callie looks at me as if I’m crazy.

“I mean…yeah? What else is there to say?”

“Dude. You’re totally back in the game.”

“What game?”

“Scoring Bailey Martinez!”

I roll my eyes so hard it stings. “Callie, oh my god, how many times do I have to tell you that–”

Callie’s suddenly only taking up half the screen, and within seconds, Paige’s face appears under hers.

“This better be important.” She both looks and sounds as if she’s just woken up from a nap.

“Operation Bailey’s back on!” Callie exclaims in glee. She begins to retell a condensed version of what I had just told her, which I don’t bother interrupting. Both because I know she’ll talk over me, and because even though I hate to admit it, I’m sort of enjoying this.

“Holy shit,” Paige says when Callie’s wrapped up, “this is amazing.”

“I know, right?” Callie agrees.

“I hate to burst your guys’ bubble, but this means nothing.”

“Sure it doesn’t!” Paige refutes, sounding very much awake now. “If they’ve only been dating for like, two months and they’re already having issues, you’ll be able to slide in there no problem!”

“You’re condoning me homewrecking?”

“The home is practically made of straw.” Callie tosses in.

“Big Bad Wolf, Alms!” Paige drills on, snapping her fingers. “Huff, puff, and blow that bitch down!”

“This conversation’s over now!” I say, hanging up without giving them a proper goodbye. I throw my phone into my lap, staring at the wall in front of me. It buzzes in my lap, but I ignore it. Hanging on my corkboard is a string of photos that I took with Malcom and Bailey at the fair last spring. In one of the photos, I’m barely in frame, the box being taken up by Malcolm with his arms around Bailey, squeezing him so hard it looks as though his eyes are about to bulge out of his head. In Paige and Callie’s minds, Bailey’s the guy that I’ve been harboring feelings for my entire life. In the least weird way possible, he’s mine. But in my mind, he’s Malcolm’s. His best friend. If Bailey stopped being friends with Malcolm, he’d likely never speak to me again. And, alternatively, if I ever began to date Bailey, I’d be stepping over Malcolm’s toes. After all, your girlfriend should be a higher priority to you than your friends, right?

I may be overthinking it, but it wouldn’t be fair. If me and Bailey were together, and things got screwed up, then I’d be screwing things up between them as well. I shouldn’t overcomplicate things. Malcolm is Bailey’s best friend. Liv is his girlfriend. I’m the weird girl who’s in love with him. For his sake, for Malcolm’s sake, and even for Olivia’s, I should let go of this fantasy of mine. Have some self respect, Alma. He’ll never see you that way.

I grab my phone from out of my lap, seeing a stream of, “Come back Alma”s coming from our group chat. I ignore them in favor of typing a message of my own:

no more bailey-talk.

im over it.

seriously.

As I tap the power button, one more message pops up:

yeah right.

Before the screen goes black.

Three

“This is the one, I swear,” Bailey claims, holding up the ring as if it’s made of gold.

“Does claiming that every ring is gonna be ‘the one’ somehow increase your chances?”

“Yup!” He affirms, motioning for me to move out of the way, as if me standing so close is what fucked him up the other two times. He’s ridiculous. There’s also nowhere else I’d rather be.

He brings the ring up to his lips, blowing on it twice before aiming for the stack of bottles. You’d think that he’d be good at this game by now, seeing as he plays it every year, but nope. The most he’s ever won is a keychain–a fuzzy, ugly little monster that’s covered in pink fur. I loathe the thing, but it’s also clung to what I like to call my, ‘fair bag.’ Even though I think the keychain in question is quite possibly the most hideous thing I own, it’s the only thing he’s won for me. And so, I can’t get rid of it–no matter how horrible it looks on my person.

Let it be known that it isn’t the only thing he’s attempted to win for me–in fact, that’s why we find ourselves here every year in the first place. Since I was eleven years old, I’ve been in love with the big, fluffy bunny rabbit hanging on the tippity top of the stand. Every year, it’s always the biggest prize, and every year, Bailey claims he’s going to get it for me. I’m sure that the person running this game wouldn’t care if Bailey were to just pay for it out of pocket, but that would go against the principle of the thing. Plus, I think it’d harm his ego more than constantly losing already is.

I could also just ask someone else to win it for me, or even try winning it myself (my aim can’t be that horrible), but it would probably feel more rewarding if he were the one to win it for me. A token of him and I’s relationship that isn’t the most hideous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Bailey flicks his wrist in the air a few times, keeping the ring in his grip as a way to figure out the best angle. A fruitless effort, it seems, because–

Clang.

The ring bounces right off the rim of the bottle. Sorry, Martinez. Tonight’s not your night. Better luck next year!

He lets his head fall, exaggeratingly groaning at the floor.

“It’s alright,” I tell him, reaching forward giving him a sympathetic rub on the back. I look past him, towards the mini-carousel, and notice that Paige and Callie are standing in front of it, bodies facing towards me. Paige raises both hands to her mouth, aggressively breathing out of her mouth. Huff. Puff.

I rip my hand off his back like it burns. That seems to be Bailey’s cue to end the bit, raising his head back up to reveal the grin plastered onto his face.

“Next year,” he insists, pointing at me, “I’m gonna win that thing.”

“I believe in you, champ.” I say, a bit belittling. He laughs, his head daring around to survey the place.

“Any idea where your brother is?” I shrug.

“Well, let’s go look for him. I’m starving, and I bought him food last week, so he owes me.” Mentally, I pull a face. He and Malcolm’s relationship is…endearing, I guess. The fact that they’ve been able to hold up a friendship since elementary school is impressive, but when they’re together, they both still act as if they’re the same age they were when they met. Stupid jokes, unnecessary bickering over things that don’t matter. Plus, I feel like I’m third wheeling whenever I’m around them, both focusing on each other so much that they forget I’m even there.

And so, I point behind his shoulder. “Actually, I think I’m gonna go talk with Paige, if that’s alright.”

He whips his head around, and they both wave at him. He turns to look back at me, giving me a nod. For a brief moment, what looks like disappointment flickers across his face. Before I can fully process that, though, he’s tapping me on the shoulder and scurrying off.

I saunter over towards Paige, smiling when she automatically holds out the bucket of popcorn in her hands.

“Putting the moves on him, I see?” she asks, nudging me. I look at her displeased.

“There’s a fine line between being friendly and flirting, Paige.”

“Alma,” she replies, “when you’re into a guy, everything you do can be read as flirting.”

“I can’t wait for the day where you have a purely platonic relationship with a guy, and realize how badly you and Callie have tormented me all these years.”

“By purely platonic, do you mean a guy who I have zero feelings for, or a guy who I’m head over heels for, but don’t want to pursue because he’s dating a girl who doesn’t even like him?”

…

“You’re insufferable.” I declare. “Where’s Cals?”

“Oh,” she rolls her eyes, “me and her were here together, but then she left to go talk to Malcolm.”

“You’re kidding me.” She shrugs.

“Nope! She’s totally into him, too. When he initially came over, he was making this dumb joke that I can’t even remember, and she was belly laughing.”

“God, that’s disgusting.” When I first became friends with Callie, she and Malcolm never really interacted with one another past a, “You again!” or, “Where do you keep the forks?” Last year, however, they were in the same math class. And since the class was mostly overrun with upperclassmen, and Callie sort of felt like a fish out of water, she went to go sit by Malcolm. And I don’t know what went down in that class, but it must have been life-changing, because now they’re thick as thieves. Like, to the point where when we hang out at mine, and they cross paths, she genuinely strikes up a conversation with him. Sometimes it feels like I’m third wheeling in my own house.

“You should see the look on your face right now.” Paige laughs.

“Yeah, well. I just find the whole thing really weird, you know?”

She nods. “I understand. I mean, you’ve seen him at his worst. She’s really only seen the highlight reel.”

“Well. yeah. That, and the fact that it just makes things super awkward. Seeing him rush to put on nice clothes when I tell him that she’s coming over is…” I make a face. She hums in affirmation.

“Wanna go look for them? Or is that gonna gross you out too bad?”

I think for a moment. I am pretty hungry, and if Bailey’s alone with Malcolm and Callie, there’s a good chance that Callie’s gonna try and subliminally coax Bailey into getting with me, which is something that I’d like to avoid.

“It’s not like we have anything better to do.” I say. “Where were they headed?”

•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈•

It appears that my logic on deciding whether or not we were going to go find them was a bit flawed, as I didn’t take into account one very real possibility: Bailey being alone with Malcom, Callie, and his girlfriend. If I had known that this would be the case before we came here, I would have immediately told Paige we should just go fill up on cotton candy. But, I didn’t and now I’m stuck at this stuffy picnic bench with the best squad ever! Kill me now.

Not only do I feel out of place right now, but I’m actually out of place. Malcolm, Callie and Paige are having a side conversation about some show I haven’t watched, and Bailey’s being all lovey-dovey with Liv. Or, at least he’s trying to. She looks…sort of uncomfortable. When Bailey puts a hand on her shoulder, she flinches. He offered her his jacket, and she aggressively shook her head. He tried to eat some fries off of her plate, and she swatted his hand away.

“Hey Alms, can I have some fries?”

My stomach is literally still rumbling. “Sure.”

This whole Public Display of Disdain is making me think back to what Dolly told me in class that one time, about how she thinks Liv isn’t actually into him. Obviously, I thought that it was pretty much horseshit back then, but now I’m sort of understanding where she was coming from. Because from the looks of it, they don’t even seem like they’re actually dating. Still not having anything to add to the side conversation going on next to me, I dive back into my burger. After a few bites, I feel a pressure on my chest.

“I’m thirsty.” I think aloud, meaning for it to serve as an indicator that I’m about to go buy a Coke, or something. Bailey, however, sees this as a sign that he should unscrew his halfway-done water bottle and hold it out for me.

Indirect kiss, my hopelessly pathetic brain supplies. I glance at Olivia, and low and behold: she doesn’t seem to care at all. Sharing a drink also isn’t foreign to me and Bailey either, so I take a long swig and hand it back to him, mumbling a thank you.

“How have your classes been going?” He says. I only realize he’s referring to me when I look back up and meet his eyes. Why are you still talking to me?

“Uhh, they’ve been fine, I guess.”

“You have Mrs. Carter this year, right?”

I nod. Mrs. Carter is an older woman, with silver hair and glasses on a chain. She is, in the nicest way possible, a total bitch.

“Yeah, me and Liv are in the same class.” For the first time this night, Olivia begins to blush. Did I say something?

“Right! Yeah, I like her.” She says, taking a sip of her drink.

“You what?” Bailey questions, laughing.

“I…like her?” She repeats, sounding a bit annoyed.

“You like Mrs. Carter? Babe, she’s literally one of the rudest teachers I’ve ever had.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re an idiot who never does your work.” She retorts. “I’d hate being your teacher, too.”

Okay, so what the fuck. Her outburst is so out of left field, the other side of the table has halted their discussion to turn and look at her.

“Okay, sorry, didn’t realize you rode for her that hard.” Bailey says, trying to end the conversation.

“It’s not about me riding for her, it’s about me–”

“Hey, Alma!” Bailey cuts her off. “Let’s go get some ice cream, yeah?”

Now everyone at the table is looking at me. Not wanting to be a part of their lover’s quarrel, but also not wanting to sit here and listen to her argue with him for the next ten minutes, I stand.

“Does anyone else want anything?” I ask the crowd. Everyone shakes their head, apart from Malcom, who calls out, “Mint Chip!” Both me and Bailey crinkle our noses.

“Yeah, we’re not getting that shit for you, bud.” he tells him, motioning his head in the direction of the ice cream truck. After I’m sure we’re out of earshot, I say,

“Yeesh. Is that…normal?” He lets out a sigh.

“Basically. Don’t get me wrong, though! We do have a good relationship, she just…”

“Gets annoyed at you, a lot?” I try to finish his sentence.

“Something like that.” He agrees. “It’s fine, though. I still really like her.” He may as well have ripped out my heart and aggressively stomped on it. That’s what I get for trying to talk about their relationship, I guess. I make a mental note for myself never to comment on anything regarding him and Liv again for the sake of my mental.

“But…it is kinda crazy though, right?”

…I’ll stop commenting on their relationship after this conversation.

“I think that everyone sitting at the table other than her thought that it was kinda crazy.”

“I just don’t like how she was so comfortable with calling me an idiot around other people. At the very least it’d be nice if she would play nice in front of our peers, y’know?”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot.” I say, for some reason.

He smiles, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Thanks, Pinkie Pie. Weirdly, that makes me feel better.”

“She was…also probably joking?” I try to mend further, even though I honestly doubt it.

“I honestly doubt it.” He says. Welp. “But it’s…whatever. What flavor do you want?”

“Strawberry.” We both say at the same time. I’ve been getting the same flavor of ice cream since I was five. As he orders for the both of us, I try my hardest not to let this newfound information get to my head.