Best Friends With The Badboy #wattys2018

17

For the first time in a long while, my parents and I decide to go to church. It reminds me of when I was younger—every Sunday, Mom made it her mission to cook a full-course meal: breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She'd bake a cake early in the morning, then we'd all head to church. After the afternoon service, which ended at four, we'd come home, eat, and watch TV together.

Today feels like one of those days.

I'm in the kitchen making the salad, Dad thinks it's a great idea to squeeze fresh orange juice, and Mom's busy working on the cake batter. I smile, thinking maybe—just maybe—my family is finally finding its way back to being whole again.

But the smile fades as a memory creeps in: the first time I invited Mason to church. We were both nine. He kept trying to sneak spoonful of cake batter and couldn't sit still during the service. A complete distraction.

I shake my head. I've decided—I'm done with Mason. I need to move on with my life.

***

In the middle of the church service, my phone rings—and of course, it plays a song that's completely inappropriate for the setting. Heads turn. Almost everyone is staring at me.

I keep my expression passive as I fumble through my bag, trying to silence it. It rings again. Just before the screen goes black, I catch Savannah's name. But what really grabs my attention isn't the phone—it's Charlotte.

She's walking up to the altar.

Wearing a tight, short dress—sluttier than ever. Even from the back row, I can see her so-called baby bump is fake. The dress clings too tightly to whatever she's stuffed under there, and the shape is off. It's like she didn't even try to make it believable.

I find myself wondering—what's her plan after the supposed nine months? Where's she going to get a baby? I'm honestly shocked she's kept up the act this long. Has no one asked for an ultrasound?

"Ugh," I mutter under my breath.

A woman beside me gives me a sharp look, and I just offer her a tight, polite smile—because what I really want to say is you can't be buying this crap too.

I can't wait for church to be over so I can get home, eat, and sneak out to this party with Savannah.

Which is exactly what I do—even though I have school in the morning. Savannah's message leaves no room for debate. It simply reads:

'Brian is having a party and you're coming.'

I'm not exactly in the mood for partying, especially with everything going on with Mason. He used to always drag me to parties, either to make up after a fight or because he'd stolen something from me—like my peace—and then guilt me into reclaiming it at some rave or house bash.

And now here I am, standing awkwardly in Brian's house next to Savannah—someone who, not too long ago, made my life hell. The music's loud, people are laughing and dancing, but I still feel out of place.

"This is boring," Savannah declares, looking around with clear disappointment.

I turn to give her a look. "I was thinking the same thing. Can we just go?" I sip from some rum-infused punch. It tastes like regret and cough syrup—absolutely disgusting.

"I just wanna go to bed," I whine, already imagining my pillow.

That's when Charlotte walks in.

She's holding a Budweiser and takes a long, dramatic swig like she's starring in her own reality show. My eyes drop to her baby bump, if you can even call it that. It's leaning to one side and shaped more like a wrinkled triangle than anything remotely human.