Read Online The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things by Ann Aguirre - Free Book Online
Authors: Ann Aguirre
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anyway. So…”
“Hence, the fraps.” Although I’m not drinking one, she is.
“Exactly.”
I’m no longer worried about the potential pitfalls, but I mentally go back over something she said. “Same situation? You mean Ryan’s talking shit about me?”
If he is, I don’t even. Everything freezes inside me. How can he? I’m not the one who lied on so many levels. I was just there.
“Not that I’ve heard. I just meant … you can’t hang with your usual crowd anymore. I know how awkward that can be. And I really am in the market for a new best friend. My current crew keeps me from being forever alone, but they’re not…” She taps her temple and grimaces, conveying that they suffer from stoner brain.
I can’t believe she’s just telling me this. It seems so unlike Lila, but then I realize I really don’t know her. For the first two years, I saw the side she showed while running with the beautiful people, and then the new version she created to fit in with the goth crew. Maybe neither Lila was exactly the person she wants to be; that thought is kind of revelational. It’s probably true of me, as well.
“I’m definitely willing to hang. I might be quitting a number of my clubs.” That thought pains me, as I joined them for my college application, but I just can’t see working with Ryan at this juncture.
“What’s your cell number?”
I give her the number without my usual spiel it’s for emergencies only. When I check the time, I see I need to get moving. “Work beckons. Want to set something up for this weekend?”
“Do you ever go to the Barn?”
That sounds like it would be a club, but it’s actually a barn. Oh, the joys of rural living. There’s a kid who graduated last year, still famous for hosting parties. Which strikes me as a little sad. Why does he want to be the Man to a bunch of minors? I mean, maybe that’s all he has.
“I didn’t last year.” But maybe it’s time to change it up.
“There’s a bash on Saturday. You want to check it out?”
“Sure.” Then I realize that transportation will prove a problem. “Can you text me the address? I’ll meet you there.”
Parties are always hosted at night, so I’ll need to ride out to the farm, which could take a while. It also means I’ll be gross and sweaty when I arrive. I’ll also be covered in reflectors. I close my eyes and sigh. Maybe this isn’t the best idea.
“I can give you a ride,” she says.
I shake my head. “It’s not that. I have a thing about cars.”
“Are you scared of them?” She sounds worried, like if this is true, I’m 100 percent weirder than she banked on, and I’ve already lost her.
Fortunately, I have a valid reason to cover the deeper motivation behind my dogged avoidance. “No, I just don’t ride in them. They’re killing the world.”
“Oh, it’s like a protest?”
“Pretty much. I know it’s not getting media coverage or anything, but I care. I’d know if I broke down just because it’s easier.”
“That’s cool,” she says, visibly relieved. Then I see an idea register. “My dad restores golf carts as a hobby. Don’t ask. If I picked you up in one of those, would you go?”
“Totally.” I can’t believe she’d do that for me. It’s so dorky and she hardly knows me. “But is that even legal?”
“They’re allowed on back roads, as long as I yield to faster moving traffic. It’ll be faster than a tractor at least.”
I laugh, but she has a point. Country roads are often clogged by farm machinery this time of year. So I offer a quick nod. “Then I’m in. I really appreciate it.”
“Where do you live?”
I scribble my address on a Coffee Shop napkin, then groan at the time. “Now I really have to jet. Mildred will eat my face if I’m late.”
That’s the owner of the Curly Q. She’s a hundred years old with thinning, dyed-orange hair. From the look of her, you’d be scared to let any of her employees work on you, but the stylists are
“Hence, the fraps.” Although I’m not drinking one, she is.
“Exactly.”
I’m no longer worried about the potential pitfalls, but I mentally go back over something she said. “Same situation? You mean Ryan’s talking shit about me?”
If he is, I don’t even. Everything freezes inside me. How can he? I’m not the one who lied on so many levels. I was just there.
“Not that I’ve heard. I just meant … you can’t hang with your usual crowd anymore. I know how awkward that can be. And I really am in the market for a new best friend. My current crew keeps me from being forever alone, but they’re not…” She taps her temple and grimaces, conveying that they suffer from stoner brain.
I can’t believe she’s just telling me this. It seems so unlike Lila, but then I realize I really don’t know her. For the first two years, I saw the side she showed while running with the beautiful people, and then the new version she created to fit in with the goth crew. Maybe neither Lila was exactly the person she wants to be; that thought is kind of revelational. It’s probably true of me, as well.
“I’m definitely willing to hang. I might be quitting a number of my clubs.” That thought pains me, as I joined them for my college application, but I just can’t see working with Ryan at this juncture.
“What’s your cell number?”
I give her the number without my usual spiel it’s for emergencies only. When I check the time, I see I need to get moving. “Work beckons. Want to set something up for this weekend?”
“Do you ever go to the Barn?”
That sounds like it would be a club, but it’s actually a barn. Oh, the joys of rural living. There’s a kid who graduated last year, still famous for hosting parties. Which strikes me as a little sad. Why does he want to be the Man to a bunch of minors? I mean, maybe that’s all he has.
“I didn’t last year.” But maybe it’s time to change it up.
“There’s a bash on Saturday. You want to check it out?”
“Sure.” Then I realize that transportation will prove a problem. “Can you text me the address? I’ll meet you there.”
Parties are always hosted at night, so I’ll need to ride out to the farm, which could take a while. It also means I’ll be gross and sweaty when I arrive. I’ll also be covered in reflectors. I close my eyes and sigh. Maybe this isn’t the best idea.
“I can give you a ride,” she says.
I shake my head. “It’s not that. I have a thing about cars.”
“Are you scared of them?” She sounds worried, like if this is true, I’m 100 percent weirder than she banked on, and I’ve already lost her.
Fortunately, I have a valid reason to cover the deeper motivation behind my dogged avoidance. “No, I just don’t ride in them. They’re killing the world.”
“Oh, it’s like a protest?”
“Pretty much. I know it’s not getting media coverage or anything, but I care. I’d know if I broke down just because it’s easier.”
“That’s cool,” she says, visibly relieved. Then I see an idea register. “My dad restores golf carts as a hobby. Don’t ask. If I picked you up in one of those, would you go?”
“Totally.” I can’t believe she’d do that for me. It’s so dorky and she hardly knows me. “But is that even legal?”
“They’re allowed on back roads, as long as I yield to faster moving traffic. It’ll be faster than a tractor at least.”
I laugh, but she has a point. Country roads are often clogged by farm machinery this time of year. So I offer a quick nod. “Then I’m in. I really appreciate it.”
“Where do you live?”
I scribble my address on a Coffee Shop napkin, then groan at the time. “Now I really have to jet. Mildred will eat my face if I’m late.”
That’s the owner of the Curly Q. She’s a hundred years old with thinning, dyed-orange hair. From the look of her, you’d be scared to let any of her employees work on you, but the stylists are
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