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MY BEST FRIEND, Robin, could be very useless when she wanted to be.
I was furiously packing, unpacking, and packing again for Calabasas as part of Colette Lavigne's elaborate celebration for the release (and early success) of her fourth album, osmosis—stylized in lowercase—and sweet Robin Rousseau, ever the chronic planner and forward thinker, remained seated in the red bean bag chair next to her packed suitcase in one corner of my room, casually scrolling through her phone with her headphones plugged in. Instead of helping me.
Aside from the very offensive-looking nightdress she'd tossed at me when she walked in a few minutes ago in her black leather dress and Louboutins, dragging her bright purple suitcase along with her, she'd offered no assistance.
"You know, sometimes I wonder why I didn't just ignore you in high school," I said, turning my attention back to the pile of clothes on my bed. "I was paying five digits for tuition, meaning I couldn't afford anything else."
"You mean your parents were paying five digits for tuition."
"Oh, shut up."
"I bought you a sexy nightie and you flung it in my face. That killed my morale."
I dropped the black tank top I was holding and spun on my heels. "The hell would you buy me a sexy nightie? My mom would disown you if she knew about all the things you're up to."
"I heard a particular boy's gonna be there, and you know I'm your lifelong wingwoman."
I shook my head at her and returned to my suitcase. "Pre-marital sex is forbidden in this house. You know that." Guilt coated the walls of my throat the moment I said it, and I wondered for half a second why I was lying to her, before deciding to get my mind off it. Today was the worst possible day to think about that. I didn't want to jinx Calabasas.
Behind me, I could feel her blood red lips stretching into a smug smile. "But you can agree with me that there was some chemistry between the both of you."
I snorted despite the pang I felt in my chest. She'd probably pass out or something if I told her that we'd not only had chemistry, but lots of biology, too. "Can you remind me why we're talking about a guy that disappeared from the earth's surface for half a year again?"
She was quiet for a stifling second, and I mindlessly threw some clothes into my open suitcase. I wouldn't be surprised if I got to Coco's house and found out I'd only packed tops, or pants—whichever was worse.
"You're nervous," she eventually said, a quiet assertiveness to her voice, and my actions faltered for a moment.
"I'm not."
"Your movements are jerky, and you're not even folding those clothes. You're a neat freak, C," she said with the finality of someone that knew you like the nose on her face, and against my will, I let out an agitated sigh before pushing my suitcase to the side and falling into my bed.
