TweetyGram

7 - #50ShadesOfPink

There was a reason why I distanced myself from my old friends. It wasn't their fault; they didn't do anything wrong. It was more of a me thing.

Cliché, but it was the truth.

A sense of déjà vu hit me as I pulled into a parking space in front of Nat's West Hollywood home.

Before the May accident, my family and I had lived in a place like this. Chic patio, manicured landscaped garden, sparkling pool. It wasn't half as huge as Justice Beaver's 25-million-dollar mansion, but it certainly was cozy.

I used to think that by the time I turned twenty-one, I'd be able to afford a house like this on my own. But now I couldn't even buy a car that didn't break down every few weeks, let alone a house as luxurious as Nat's.

I'm such a loser.

Medusa Lindsey's serpents began slithering underneath my skin, leaving a trail of venom in their wake. But I mustered every ounce of energy I had and fought them.

I blew out a deep breath and glanced at my watch. 7.50 a.m. It was still ten minutes before our scheduled meeting. Nevertheless, I hopped out of my car and headed toward the wooden gate. I was about to press the doorbell beside the gate when someone called my name from behind.

A skinny teenage girl in a mismatched mustard-yellow T-shirt and lilac shorts approached me from across the street with a shoe-wearing white Bichon Frisé and a chocolate Pomeranian on leashes. The girl had shed some pounds and grown a couple of inches taller than the last time I'd seen her, and her pale, once-smooth complexion was now marred by acne scars. But the unique combination of her doll-like eyes, cute button nose, and dimple on her chin instantly reminded me of the little girl who had used to live in Nat's house: Alison Monday.

Before I could greet Almond back, Snowbear scurried toward me and yapped, his tail wagging in excitement.

I bent down to pet him and ruffled his fur, which was still as downy as I'd remembered it. "Hiya, Snowbear. Nice to see you still remember me." I looked up at the petite girl and greeted, "Hey, Almond. Long time no see."

"Oh, thank God." Almond's cherubic face broke into a relieved smile. "I was afraid I said hi to the wrong person again."

"Hmm?"

"I met Paris at a new thrift shop downtown yesterday—well, I met someone I thought was Paris. It was so embarrassing." She tucked her mousy hair behind her ear and shifted her weight. "I should've known Paris didn't work at a thrift shop in LA. She's in Paris, for goodness' sake."

I let out a chuckle. "Don't worry. It happens to the best of us."

"Yeah, I guess so." She gave me an awkward smile before shuffling toward the gate. She tapped the code into the security panel mounted on the wall next to the gate, and the gate slid open automatically. "Come on in."

I followed Almond up the paver walkway. As we climbed the small steps onto the front porch, Nat bustled out of the house.

"Lindsey! You're here!" She enveloped me in a bear hug, the breezy smell of her sea salt hair spray mixed with the crisp scent of her citrus perfume assaulting my nostrils.

"Perfume, Nat. Perfume." I held my breath to keep from sneezing.

"Oops. Sorry." She stepped back, grinning. "Come in, come in."

There had been many reasons why Paris and I had given Nat the nickname Strawberry Smoothie. One of them was her personality; cheerful and sweet to others yet overly self-critical. Another reason was her unhealthy obsession with the color pink—something she clearly still had.