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Authors: Keri Mikulski
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Ky. Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to knock on your window and talk to you?”
“Uh. You do . . .” I think back to the hundreds of taps I’ve had to ignore since we moved in.
“No, I mean, I really need you. You know I can’t cope in that house without someone to talk to about it all. You’re the only one that knows. . . .”
About his dad. That’s what he means. I’m the only one who knows about his dad—who’s a closet alcoholic.
“And there’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up,” Zachary continues.
What? Is his dad going to rehab again? Did he have a bad night? A bad week? A bad month? My stony facade melts. I allow myself to stare deeply into Zachary’s eyes. When it comes to his dad, I can’t keep up the charade of not caring.
That’s all Zachary needs to see. He falls down on one knee and grabs my hand. Then he pops the question every girl at Beachwood wants to hear.
“Kylie, will you go to the prom with me?”
twelve
“Come on. . .” Missy pleads with me the following Saturday night. “We’re going to Pinkberry. . . . You know the brownie bites are amazing.” She pulls up in front of the yogurt shop.
I pick my head up from the cool glass and shrug. Missy’s right—I could use a dose of chocolate right now. Maybe it will pick me up off the floor. Since I lost my starting position, it’s like I’m numb. I can barely bring myself to think about prom. Or about the invite I haven’t answered yet. And let me just say this: it’s hard to avoid someone (aka Zachary) when you literally live right in his backyard.
“Anyway, Jess and Tamika tell me you’ve been sulking the whole time I was out sick. . . .” Missy flips open the visor and checks her raw nose in the reflection, dabbing it with her index finger. “Urgh. My nose will never look the same.”
“I’m not sulking,” I lie.
But the truth is that I totally have been. Bad. The only thing I can bring myself to do is watch last year’s softball games. Over and over again. I’ve been trying to study the film, to attempt to see what changed, to figure out why Coach went with Amber instead of me. But I keep coming back to the same conclusion: whatever happened, it doesn’t matter. I have to earn my spot back.
“Yeah, you’re definitely sulking . . .” Missy adds.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.
“Pouter,” Missy teases.
“Princess,” I joke.The nickname brings a smile to my face for a half a second—it’s from Missy’s Disney period. But then it hits me—princess, prom princess, my mom, Zachary’s invite . . . I let out a sigh.
Missy rubs her glossed lips together. “The only person who still calls me princess is Andrew Mason, and that’s exactly how he should treat me for eternity after his lame attempt at being Beachwood’s biggest bad boy.”
“Not exactly the bad-boy type, huh?”
“Andrew is about as bad boy as Elmo.”
We burst into giggles.
“Now, stop being such a downer. Think of tonight as a Pinkberry pick-me-up.”
I shrug. Without wheels of my own, it’s not like I really have a say anyway. I turn to look at the store entrance and discover that it’s mobbed. “I hate how everyone goes here,” I whine.
“Uh, hello? It’s not like that takes away from the tangy goodness.”
I’m about to make some comment about how all that tanginess is clearly getting to Missy’s head when she pulls into a spot, and I notice the car parked next to us: Tamika’s white jeep. Out come Abby, Zoe, Eva, and Jessica. Then in pulls Violet Montgomery, Hannah’s ultra-popular sister, in her silver Mercedes. Sure enough, Hannah and Taylor pile out. “I thought it was just me and you tonight. . . .”
“Me, you, and the basketball team,” Missy says, in between applications of pink lip gloss. “Because I don’t think I can deal with your oh-my-God, the-world-is-ending attitude for one more second without some additional reinforcements.”
“Hannah too?”
“She’s getting me
“Uh. You do . . .” I think back to the hundreds of taps I’ve had to ignore since we moved in.
“No, I mean, I really need you. You know I can’t cope in that house without someone to talk to about it all. You’re the only one that knows. . . .”
About his dad. That’s what he means. I’m the only one who knows about his dad—who’s a closet alcoholic.
“And there’s something I’ve been meaning to bring up,” Zachary continues.
What? Is his dad going to rehab again? Did he have a bad night? A bad week? A bad month? My stony facade melts. I allow myself to stare deeply into Zachary’s eyes. When it comes to his dad, I can’t keep up the charade of not caring.
That’s all Zachary needs to see. He falls down on one knee and grabs my hand. Then he pops the question every girl at Beachwood wants to hear.
“Kylie, will you go to the prom with me?”
twelve
“Come on. . .” Missy pleads with me the following Saturday night. “We’re going to Pinkberry. . . . You know the brownie bites are amazing.” She pulls up in front of the yogurt shop.
I pick my head up from the cool glass and shrug. Missy’s right—I could use a dose of chocolate right now. Maybe it will pick me up off the floor. Since I lost my starting position, it’s like I’m numb. I can barely bring myself to think about prom. Or about the invite I haven’t answered yet. And let me just say this: it’s hard to avoid someone (aka Zachary) when you literally live right in his backyard.
“Anyway, Jess and Tamika tell me you’ve been sulking the whole time I was out sick. . . .” Missy flips open the visor and checks her raw nose in the reflection, dabbing it with her index finger. “Urgh. My nose will never look the same.”
“I’m not sulking,” I lie.
But the truth is that I totally have been. Bad. The only thing I can bring myself to do is watch last year’s softball games. Over and over again. I’ve been trying to study the film, to attempt to see what changed, to figure out why Coach went with Amber instead of me. But I keep coming back to the same conclusion: whatever happened, it doesn’t matter. I have to earn my spot back.
“Yeah, you’re definitely sulking . . .” Missy adds.
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes.
“Pouter,” Missy teases.
“Princess,” I joke.The nickname brings a smile to my face for a half a second—it’s from Missy’s Disney period. But then it hits me—princess, prom princess, my mom, Zachary’s invite . . . I let out a sigh.
Missy rubs her glossed lips together. “The only person who still calls me princess is Andrew Mason, and that’s exactly how he should treat me for eternity after his lame attempt at being Beachwood’s biggest bad boy.”
“Not exactly the bad-boy type, huh?”
“Andrew is about as bad boy as Elmo.”
We burst into giggles.
“Now, stop being such a downer. Think of tonight as a Pinkberry pick-me-up.”
I shrug. Without wheels of my own, it’s not like I really have a say anyway. I turn to look at the store entrance and discover that it’s mobbed. “I hate how everyone goes here,” I whine.
“Uh, hello? It’s not like that takes away from the tangy goodness.”
I’m about to make some comment about how all that tanginess is clearly getting to Missy’s head when she pulls into a spot, and I notice the car parked next to us: Tamika’s white jeep. Out come Abby, Zoe, Eva, and Jessica. Then in pulls Violet Montgomery, Hannah’s ultra-popular sister, in her silver Mercedes. Sure enough, Hannah and Taylor pile out. “I thought it was just me and you tonight. . . .”
“Me, you, and the basketball team,” Missy says, in between applications of pink lip gloss. “Because I don’t think I can deal with your oh-my-God, the-world-is-ending attitude for one more second without some additional reinforcements.”
“Hannah too?”
“She’s getting me
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