More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(13)

“Not really. All three of you have this messed up friendship. You do realize that, right? Sneaking around behind each other’s backs, messing around with each other. You were never honest with Dustin or Em and they weren’t honest with you either.” I hesitate, then decide to go for it. “From the way I see it, you’re all equally guilty.”

Now Livvy won’t even look at me. “Shouldn’t we get to school before the first bell rings?”

Sighing loudly, I put the Toyota in drive and pull back onto the road. We remain silent the rest of the car ride and when we arrive at school a few minutes later, Livvy climbs out of my car without a backward glance, slamming the door so hard the entire car rattles.

Great. Now I’ve pissed off the only friend I have left. But I had to say it. Had to point out that what she’d done with Dustin was just as bad as what Em did with Dustin. They’re all guilty, especially Dustin, yet the girls are so mad at each other. Why didn’t they see the part he played in this?

Contemplating the entire situation was better than focusing on my own problems, so I wallowed in the Livvy/Dustin/Em/Ryan love triangle/square as I walked through the parking lot, weaving through the cars, ignoring everyone I passed by. Not that they paid me any attention. Though I swear I hear a low whistle and when I glance over my shoulder, I see Tuttle following a considerable distance behind me.

Ugh. I glare at him, wishing I had laser eyes—a wish my younger brother Trent makes on an almost daily basis—before I turn and practically run into the senior building.

I dash into the first girls’ bathroom I see to hide from Tuttle and compose myself. Of course, there’s Brianne Brown and Em staring at their reflections in the hazy mirror, both of them glossing up their lips so thick I wrinkle my nose, imagining how sticky that must feel.

“Oh look, here’s Little Miss Perfect,” Em says, turning to face me wearing a smirk. “Where’s your best buddy?”

“You mean your best buddy?” I say pointedly.

Brianne sends me a withering look in the mirror’s reflection. “Give it a rest, flute player.” Her face brightens. “Hey, does that give you an advantage with blowjobs, sucking on a flute all those years?”

Both girls laugh and I go to the empty sink next to them to wash my now shaky hands. Man, I hate drama. I’m the least confrontational person on the planet, yet I keep running finding myself mired in it. “For your information, I didn’t play a flute, I played the clarinet.”

They’re still giggling and rolling their eyes. “There’s a difference?” Em asks innocently.

I should be the bigger person and do what I’ve wanted since our run in. “Hey Em, I wanted to apologize for what I said to you yesterday.”

Em’s mouth pops open into this almost comical O shape. I turn off the faucet and dry my hands, waiting for her to say something, but she remains quiet for so long, Brianne nudges her in the side with her elbow.

“What the hell are you talking about anyway?” Brianne asks me.

“That’s between Em and I,” I say solemnly.

Brianne rolls her eyes, but Em watches me carefully, like she’s waiting for me to give her the punch line.

“You actually mean it, don’t you,” Em finally says.

I nod and stand a little straighter. “I’m owning my shit. And that was a shitty thing I said to you yesterday.”

“It was.”

“And I totally made it up.”

“I figured.”

Now I’m quiet, waiting for her to apologize for that stupid picture she posted, but instead she hooks her arm through Brianne’s and leads her out of the bathroom without saying a word. I deflate the second the door swings shut, bracing my hands on the edge of the sink and staring at my reflection.

That was…hard. I don’t like confrontation. But I apologized and I didn’t melt while doing it either. I’m going to be okay.

Maybe, eventually, we’ll all be okay.





I’m hiding out in the back of the library during lunch, munching on baby carrots dipped in ranch while reading my American Government and Institutions notes in prep for the quiz later this afternoon when I suddenly feel someone standing beside my table, looking right at me.

Glancing up, I fully expect to find Livvy there, contrite and full of apologies, but it’s not Livvy.

It’s Em.

“Hey,” she says, her voice soft. She tucks a chin-length strand of highlighted golden blonde hair behind her ear and looks around before her gaze meets mine once more. “Um, can I sit down?”

I shrug and she pulls the empty chair next to mine out, plopping her skinny butt on it. I continue eating my carrots, pointing at the open snack bag as an invitation and she takes one, dips it into the tiny plastic cup full of ranch dressing and pops it into her mouth, chewing loudly.

Something you can’t avoid when you eat baby carrots. They have major crunch.

“Ms. Donahue is going to be pissed if she catches you eating in her library,” Em says once she swallows.

Ms. Donahue has run the school library probably longer than all of us have been alive. She’s terrifying. “I’m not scared.”

“Rebel,” she says, nudging my shoulder with hers.

Blowing out a loud breath, I turn to look at her. “What’s up?” There’s no reason for her to sit by me in the library. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Emily Griffith in the school library even once.