"She cheated on me. He cheated on you. What do you say? Want to settle the score?"
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Kate Wilson, a hot-headed Dragon striker, and Rosie Connelly, an uncredited behind the scenes Sea Lion captain; witness Kate's...
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One of the best feelings in the world was taking off my (wrong-sized) bra after a stupid wire had dug into my skin all day long. Yet that blissful relief wouldn't come close to taking off the soggy lake-water infested bra that made my boobs feel like ten pounds of fish. Or so I assumed. The annoyed voice shouted baseless accusations at me right as I was in the middle of undoing the clasp.
I scooted around inside the truck's bed to face Rosie, who approached the vehicle in her unicorn underwear. The only difference to her outfit between now and in the lake earlier was the super posh brown shoes treading through the grass too. They were clunky and way too big for her. Did they have straps?
"Can I please have my clothes back?" she asked, stomping her ridiculously large shoes against the ground.
"Are those clogs?" I asked.
She raised her foot over the long grass so we could look at the wooden things together. I broke out into a laugh. They were gigantic. She had clown feet.
"They're not mine," she denied, hiding the shoes back in the grass. "They belong to Marvin. He has Plantar Fasciitis. Or he says he does. They help with pain relief, apparently. Why are we talking about that? It's been a long night. I'm cold. I'm tired. Your captain—"
"Former captain," I corrected.
"—is holding my ride hostage somewhere in the woods. I need my clothes to go looking for her. I want to go home."
"It's your birthday party. You can't just leave," I pointed out, settling onto the floor of the back of the truck. My injured leg stretched across the floor while I hugged my other leg's knee close to my chest.
She rested her palms on the edge of the truck bed. "Why not? No one's here for me."
"There's a lot of people here."
"Do you see anyone waiting for me to blow out candles?" she asked. Not exactly. People danced around the bonfire, dared each other to jump out of trees, and stuffed their faces with cake. So much for Dorothy's protection detail. All of the cake, save for a few crumbs and a half-eaten slice, was gone. "There's always some sort of excuse to hang out here on Fridays. Like the football team winning a game or losing and everyone failing the same test, which happens a lot more than you'd think. They would've come here tonight, anyway. No one's going to miss me."
That was kind of sad. "So, you've got no friends at your fancy school?"
"That's not what I was saying at all? I have friends," she defended, searching the area. "See the guy with the afro by the bonfire? That's Marvin."
"The drunk guy that's twisting that other dude's nipples?"
". . . Yeah."
"Are you proudly claiming those dudes as your friends?"
