“I do mind, actually,” she says. “But if you want more of my help, you should bring me a bagel and coffee in exchange for my advice. You should also know that I will always despise you to your core, and this is a one-time thing.”
“Trust me, I already know that.” I scoff. “This is the last time I’ll ever spend this much of my free time talking to you.”
“Is that a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’ to the bagel?”
“It’s an ‘I’ll think about it.’” I end the call, hesitating a while before sending her a text.
Me: You want cinnamon, garlic, or cream cheese?
Travis’s Little Annoying Sis: Cream cheese and cinnamon.
Travis’s Little Annoying Sis: Also, ummm … Since this is the last time we’ll be nice to each other * thinking emoji* When I’m done helping you, can I get your advice about some other breakup stuff?
* * *
I don’t answer that.
The last thing I need in my life after tonight is more Penelope. The second she gives me her opinion on the app, I’m insisting that we return to our stalemate.
And then I’m calling Travis to end this arrangement.
I look up the closest bagel shop, and she sends me another text message.
* * *
Travis’s Little Annoying Sis: The guy I was with tonight just texted me and said that he’s sorry and that he wants to come over and make things up with me. Of course, it’s a no on that, but can I still be his friend? Like, maybe just to have him around at my competitions?
* * *
I pull onto the road and call her.
“Yeah?” she answers.
“Hell no to dealing with him ever again,” I say. “Read me exactly what he sent you, though.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
I don’t know it then, and I never would’ve believed it, but that moment marks the first of me giving her breakup advice in real-time, the first night of our friendship. As much as I wanted to resist it, my friendship with Penelope eventually becomes the best friendship I’ll ever have in my life …
Ha.
Please.
I give her the advice, take her notes on the app when I arrive at her house, and then I return to our previous routine with ease.
Our rides remain silent on the way to her practices. She leaves my text messages “read,” yet unanswered.
In the rare case that I do say something, it’s nothing more than “Congratulations on winning again,” as she continues to skate her way to the top of every judge’s scorecard.
The only difference is that there’s no hateful tension between us anymore. Well, that, and my name is now “Just Hayden” in her phone.
Breakup #3
the one that wanted a threesome
(break up #2 was ‘the one that wanted me to call him daddy’ but i need to pretend like that one never happened…)
Penelope
Back Then
One of the hardest problems that comes with not having any female friends is having to rely on Instagram and YouTube influencers for random life and dating advice.
My mom showed me the ins and outs of makeup—courtesy of her lauded career on the ice, and she taught me plenty about persistence and being the best, but when it came to guys?
The only advice she was able to share was, “Just don’t date anyone like your brother … Or that Hayden Hunter boy.”
That’s it.
That’s why I’m somewhat grateful that Kayla Lilith—the third-ranked skater in the country and my fellow “practice-mate” has started to hang out with me.
After ballet intensives, between the stretch sessions, and during the off-moments of our morning runs, she’s slowly pulled me into her life.
She’s also the reason why I’m currently putting my number one ranking at risk—again, and standing outside my boyfriend Brody’s apartment on a Saturday night.
I’ve told her that I’m not really one for parties—not even his, but she’s insisted that I show up and confront him about his “lack of communication.” And then she suggests that we finally have sex.
“You said you two were arguing a lot more lately, right? Go to his party and tell him what’ll make you happy … I’ll be there for support if you need me.”
I smooth my hands over my dress before opening the door.
His townhouse is filled to capacity with red cup holding college students, and the scent of alcohol, sweat, and marijuana is in the air.
I spot him standing on the balcony talking to his other friends, but there is a swarm of girls blocking my way.
They’re all fawning over some guy in a black leather jacket. Some guy who has a perfectly chiseled side profile, pearly white smile, and—Hayden?
Shit.
His blue eyes suddenly meet mine and he tilts his head to the side.
He dropped me off at the rink hours ago, and I’m sure he’s expecting to pick me up at midnight.
I turn my head and make a beeline for the punch table.