Chapter One
Skylar
#Goals
“Our senior year is going to be epic.” My best friend, Gia Moretti, was pumped and determined to shed her band geek, tuba-playing image.
Of the two of us, I was the rebel, with black clothes and leather, but underneath, I was a regular person who knew myself. Rebelling wasn’t all Gia thought it was. We were polar opposites, but she was my ride-or-die bestie, and I would do anything for her.
I always thought her insecurity was just in her head. With her loving family and a homey and typical house, she had everything I wished for. And the v-card obsession? It wasn’t that big a deal. But to Gia, it was huge. She had a list, which she would tell me in great detail, whether I agreed to hear it or not.
“Listen up, my friend,” Gia gushed, “my four-point plan is fabulous and on a strict timeline. I will achieve these goals every quarter of my senior year.”
“What’s the plan?” I flopped onto my stomach on her lilac bedspread to see the poster she had taped inside the closet door she’d just opened. I would regret asking, but it was important to her.
“I can tell you’re not taking this seriously.” Gia’s hands found her generous hips.
I grinned and shifted to sit cross-legged on her bed. “I am.”
“As I’ve said before, I don’t want to spend my senior year as a band geek. I’ve done that for three years, and I’ve never been on a date or had a real kiss, and I’m still a virgin.”
“I’m a virgin too. It’s not that big a deal.”
Gia narrowed her dark eyes at me, and I laughed.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Go on.”
“Here’s my four-point plan. Number one”—she tapped her poster at the appropriate purple-Sharpie-written spot—“get invited to the Ring.”
The Ring was the underground fight club where all the “cool kids,” as Gia put it, hung out.
I’d been there before, and I hadn’t been impressed. “What’s the next one?”
“Number two, get a popular boyfriend.”
Overrated. “Why does he have to be popular? Marty Winston has been in love with you since fifth grade.”
“Please. He’s four foot two.”
“So what?” I’d never understood her obsession with height regardless of temperament. Marty was sweet, a characteristic at the top of my list of must-haves for a guy.
Gia glared, her disapproving mouth set in a straight line. “Because I’m five-six and fat. I want someone who makes me feel small and delicate.”
“Stop saying you’re fat. That’s not true.” I hated when she put herself down. “You’re curvy in all the right places. And anyone who says otherwise is an asshole. Listen to me, not jerk-offs.”
She ignored me. “Number three, lose my v-card.”
“Oh my God, Gia. It’s not like it’s a disease.”
“And finally, become prom queen.” She grinned, her excitement almost contagious.
“Why?” I was truly horrified by that last one.
I never could understand her fixation on being popular. My mom had been, and it had gotten her literally nothing. She was a single parent who struggled to make ends meet. I had to breathe through my frustration because the truth was that Gia had been my friend since third grade, when my dad punched me in the face. Gia had found me hiding in her backyard, bruised and crying. Because of that, I would support her, starting with the pre-first-day-of-school barbecue at Phoenix and Shane Bennett’s house. It was after the football team’s afternoon practice, and Gia really wanted to go.
“How did you get invited to the barbecue?” Those guys didn’t hang out with band kids.
Gia laughed and flicked her long, curly hair over her shoulder. “We’re crashing it.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “The secret to a party like that is to act like we belong. And this is their end-of-summer party. So many people will be there that no one will even notice us.”
Fuck my life. The things I will do for her… “Fine.” I scooted off her bed and stood. “But I have to cover the football practice for the school blog.” I hated it.
Every school had one, even Hidden Valley Academy. And thanks to my creative writing teacher, who thought I should be a journalist, I’d been assigned. I hated sports with the passion of a thousand burning suns. But it wasn’t like I had a choice. Besides, writing was how I had hacked my way onto the student list at the academy.
“We can meet after and get ready to go then.”
I left Gia, who had turned to go through her closet to start the crazy process where she discarded clothes she deemed not good enough in heaps on her bed. If I could get through the next few hours, I could zone out in front of my TV and forget about all the drama. That day had just been a lot. I said bye to Gia’s mom and headed out, resigned to what I needed to do. I would support Gia and be there for her because that was what best friends did. But I have a really bad feeling about this.
