Under the Lights

Ally just shakes her head as she hauls her bag back up on her shoulder and we start for the doors. “And he didn’t alert the media? I don’t even know who this non-asshole version of Josh Chester is.”

“It’s weird, I know. But we’re kinda friends now.”

“After all the crap you gave me—”

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

“So when do I get to meet the girlfriend? Please tell me she’s in the limo too. I’m dying of curiosity.”

“Not until tomorrow,” I tell her with a smile, “but trust me, she’s antsy to meet you, too.”

“Fine. I suppose I can wait one day,” she grumbles. “If you provide me with details until then. Like…how? When? I know you decided not to do the purity pledge thing, but what happened with Zander? And did you tell your parents? And—”

“One thing at a time, A.” I push open the doors into the balmy LA air. “I broke up with Zander, but I haven’t told him about Bri, nor have I told my parents. I’m hoping to do that as soon as we drop you off. And I’m pretty sure neither one is going to go very well.”

She squeezes my hand. “I’m here if you need me, you know. I’m sorry I haven’t been so present this semester. College and a long-distance relationship are way harder adjustments than I thought they’d be. I’m glad you’ve had Bri to make up for my being a crappy best friend.”

“You could never be a crappy best friend, A. This is the stuff that matters.” I squeeze her hand back. “Plus, you’re around for the most important part — like, a kind-of-crazy thing I’m planning on doing tomorrow.”

“I’m in. Whatever it is.”

“I know you are,” I say, squeezing her hand one last time as Liam jumps out of the limo. It looks like it’s requiring every ounce of restraint he has not to pounce on her, and I laugh and let go of her hand. “She’s all yours, Holloway,” I declare, relieving her of her bag so we can stash it in the trunk. His name isn’t even fully out of my mouth before he practically attacks hers.

I roll my eyes and get back in the limo.

“I take it that went well?” Josh asks as I slip my phone back out of my pocket.

“Not as well as that’s going.” I jerk my thumb toward the window. “But, yes, all good.”

“You ready for the rest of it?”

“Not even a little.” Checking my texts, I see I’d gotten a response from Bri to my last one, followed by, I’m guessing you’re with Ally now — lemme know how it goes. And then, sent fifteen minutes after that, I promise I will always do my best to be worth all this, Park. I hope you know that.

My heart squeezes inside my chest, and I write back, She can’t wait to meet you, as Ally and Liam finally join us inside the limo. And you already are.

* * *

But by the next morning, I’m not so sure anything is worth this. The Duncans were as easy as I knew they would be; the Parks…not so much. I managed one hour of their reaction of alternating silence with suggestions of therapy before begging Ally to pick me up and bring me to Zander’s so I could get this night over with. My conversation with him lasted less than five minutes and ended with him telling me that I really should see someone about being Saved.

Then I spent the entire night tossing and turning, wanting to call Bri to make me feel better and resisting because I didn’t want her to know how badly everything was going.

And now, as I pull on jeans and my favorite comfy Union Jack sweater in preparation of introducing my two favorite people, I really just want to puke.

“You can do this,” I pep-talk myself in the mirror as I slather lotion on my face and concealer under my eyes. It comes out more like a grumble, though, and I’m silent as I draw on eyeliner. I can’t make myself bother with anything else but mascara, and it’s just as well, since the doorbell rings as soon as I toss the tube back on the bathroom counter.

I know it’s Bri at the door, coming to pick me up, and that I should be excited about that, but right now, all I want is to be left alone. I don’t want her to see how lousy I look. And I really don’t want the tiny bit of regret that’s beginning to seep in to show on my face.

But when I open the door, my mind goes completely blank.

“Too much?” she asks.

I shake my head, my throat suddenly feeling dryer than the Valley in August. I have just learned three things about Brianna Harris: 1) she owns leather pants; 2) she possesses no shame in wearing an “I Heart My Girlfriend” T-shirt in public; and 3) she looks otherworldly hot in both.

Worth. Everything.

“Excellent — then let’s go. I have an important good first impression to make.” She tries to tug me out the door, her silver bangles jangling, but I laugh and point out that I’m not wearing shoes yet. Sighing, she follows me inside, closing the door behind us as I hunt down my shoes and a bag.

It takes me a couple of minutes, but I finally reemerge. “Now I’m ready.”