Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 152064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
The table goes silent for a beat at Mac’s admission. I guess I’m not the last virgin standing after all. Mac flirts with the world, but none of us has ever seen him kiss anyone, let alone take someone home, or up to his room when he throws a party.
“I love that,” Cammie says. “I’m really glad Chase was my first.”
“And your last.” He kisses her temple.
“Sometimes I wish my first time had been different,” Enid muses.
“Me too,” Brody blurts. His ears turn red, and he looks absolutely gutted.
I don’t know the whole story, but there was a high school party involving Brody and one of Enid’s friends, and he’s forever regretted it.
The server returns with more plates of food, clearing away some of the empties, and the conversation shifts to holiday plans. It’s like my parents can sense me talking about them, and my phone buzzes with a call from my dad, but I let it go to voicemail. Toronto has a home game tonight. Part of me wanted to attend, but then I’d have to deal with my dad and see Flip. I’m taking my cues from Flip, and he’s messaged a few times about book-related stuff this week—he’s reading one of my recommendations. Things feel closer to normal, but I’m not quite ready to see him in three dimensions yet.
After dinner, we walk over to the hockey party. It’s the same old, same old, people getting drunk and stupid. My Terror guys-and-Babes chat is blowing up with messages now that the game is over. I wait in line for the bathroom as I scroll.
Essie
I have a spreadsheet for New Year’s!
Nate
I helped her with it.
Flip
I seriously doubt that.
Hemi
I love your spreadsheets.
Dallas
I love you, honey.
Hammer
You’re sitting right beside her as you type that, Dallas.
Tally, you’re still in, right?
Tally
I am still in.
Dallas
How did you know?
Dred
Because Hammer’s sitting across from you.
Tally! What are you up to? We’re at Just Desserts if you want to join us.
A picture of my Babes and the Terror boys appears in the chat. Flip is missing, though.
Tally
I’m with my Tilton crew. Eat all the good things in my honor!
Essie
If you’re with my sister, hug her for me!
Tristan
If you’re with my brother, tell him I’ll be at his game this weekend.
Tally
I can do both of those things. Or you can just tell Cammie yourself because she’s also in this chat, but probably too busy sucking face with Chase to answer.
Cammie
We’re playing cards in the kitchen. Feel free to join us.
Flip
I hope you’re staying away from the shots
Tally
Never again. *dies GIF* *shots GIF*
I pocket my phone as the bathroom door opens and a girl wearing a Tilton Hockey hoodie steps out. I trade places with her and lock the door, letting the embarrassment over Flip’s message wash through me. At least he’s joking around with me again. I wish I could forget everything that happened after I sat in his lap, but my memory of the night is unfortunately clear.
He did use a winky emoji, so maybe he’s over the black eye I gave him and the terrible night’s sleep on a yoga mat. Analyzing his message will only make me sweaty, so I compartmentalize it until I can ruminate in the privacy of my bedroom.
I avoid making eye contact with random drunk guys as I make my way to the kitchen. I find my friends gathered around the table, playing cards, as is typical.
“I’m heading out. I need to study.”
“Do you want me to come back with you?” Fee asks.
Mac is seated to her right, his eyes on his cards.
“Nah. Stay and have fun.” I kiss her, Cammie, and Enid on the cheek. “I’ll message when I’m home.”
“Be safe,” they reply in unison.
I duck out the side door to avoid the crowded living room and run into a couple getting it on against the fence. They don’t notice me, though, too absorbed in each other.
When I get back to my building, instead of taking the elevator to my apartment, I poke my head in the yoga studio. It’s open to students until eleven-thirty, and luckily, it’s empty. I text the girls that I’m home, then shed a few layers until I’m in my cropped tee and yoga pants. I do not dress up for hockey parties.
I connect to the sound system, cue up some music, and start with light stretching. I love dancing with Charles and Arya, but the freedom of solo numbers invigorates me. Once I’m warmed up, I give myself over to the heavy bass, trading modern ballet style for contemporary.
There’s nothing soft about this music. It’s all aggression and emotion. The sadness, fear, disappointment, and embarrassment I’ve been holding on to fade away as I become a conduit for the sound. A vessel for rhythm. I put the song on repeat and pay special attention to my release technique, because it’s the element that needs the most attention for my upcoming performance.