Everything in Amelia's life is in order. Or it was, before Thomas Greene quite literally pushed his way into her life. He makes a mess of what was so clean before, and Amelia hates him for it. But maybe it's a mess she needed.
hey!! this one is a doozy, so enjoy, and let me know what you think!
The library was closed on Sunday, so the group decided to meet at the coffee shop. This time Thomas' mom actually gave us pastries from earlier that didn't sell, and we paid for the drinks ourselves. SnowBall was on the following Friday, so we couldn't "study" then, meaning we had to get our weekly dose of academia today.
"What subject are we studying this week?" Rachel asks, lounging on a plush chair, Will cuddled up with her. She was even wearing his sweatshirt. It was disgusting.
"SnowBall." Anna says. "We need to make plans."
"Will, Rachel, Thomas, Zack and I were thinking about getting dinner together if you guys are in?" I offer, leaning further into Zack's torso. The white sweatshirt he's wearing is extra comfy. "But we haven't decided where to go."
"I was thinking about The Lighthouse?" Thomas suggests. "It's not too expensive, but it's good."
"Romantic, Thomas!" I tease, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. "Got someone to impress?" I waggle my eyebrows at him. The Lighthouse was on the water, and had a pretty nice menu. It was a classic Bayview High date spot.
"Depends." He shrugs, sipping his iced latte. Suspicious. "But remind me to give you your outfit for tomorrow."
"Why would I remind you?" I'm dreading that outfit on Monday.
"Wait, what outfit?" Zack pipes up from behind me, chin on my shoulder.
"I bet Thomas he wouldn't make a goal yesterday, so now I have to wear his massive, sweaty jersey tomorrow." I explain. Zack's hand around my waist tightens.
"You didn't think I would have a problem with this? My girlfriend wearing another guy's jersey?" He interrogates, and Will tries to step in before I do.
"It's not a big deal." I mutter. "We're just friends."
"That right, Greene?" Zack scowls, and I try to get up from his lap, but he pulls me back down.
"Yeah." Thomas nods, a crease where his eyebrows are furrowing. "Just friends."
The rest of the group is staring, silence overtaking us and the sound of Michael Buble is all I hear.
Friday came both freakishly fast and painfully slow. Rachel and I were getting ready at the McQueen's house, blasting a playlist I made during psychology. Our dresses hung on Anna's doors, red, champagne, and silver. Rachel almost burned Anna with a curling iron, and I had redone my eyeliner eight times. Things were going great.
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