The Beginner's Guide to Henry and Gabriella

| 14 | if Gabriella is Pepper Pots, then Henry is Tony Stark

Gabriella's POV

Lyla's deck resembles an art show. Instead of pretentious, abstract drawings pinned on walls though, campaign posters― all with my name preceded by TikTok references― are scattered all over the floor, making it almost impossible for Adelina and I to tiptoe around without leaving footprints. With Lyla's gymnastics agility, she was like a cat jumping from poster to poster.

Before starting, we reached the consensus that we didn't want to destroy her parent's million-dollar furniture. So we lugged everything worth more than our lives to one corner, away from any harm open-canned paints, paint trays, and wet brushes, or us, can accidentally damage.

Lyla was like our private megaphone, reminding us to be careful, not with furniture, but with her beloved poster creations. She'd have a heart attack if she saw a dot of paint where it shouldn't be. If it were up to Sergeant Moore, she'd do everything, but her cheerleading schedule prevents her from doing so.

I apply one last stroke of dark purple on the last letter of my name. The color glistened under the sun, making it look satin.

I eye my average paint job, proudly smiling as I bob to the upbeat music playing through surround-sound speakers, "Picasso ain't got nothing on me, baby."

"Except talent," Adelina shouts, over-powering the music.

"It's the lack of hobbies for me," I bite my lip, stifling my laugh. I stand upright from my crouched position, trying to rid of the prickly sensation starting to course up my legs.

Adelina sticks out her tongue childishly.

"Babe, just come inside," Lyla says into her phone, sandwiched between her shoulder and ear.

Adelina and I give each other knowing glances. I wrap my hands around myself, making obnoxious kissing noises. She repeatedly thrusts her pelvic in air, slamming her hands down on either side. If a plane flew over us at a close distance, they'd think we'd belong in a psych ward.

Lyla glances up from her poster, unable to contain her smitten grin, "The code is 327980."

My mouth drops like a skeleton who's jaw clatters to the floor, "She gave him the code. She gave him the holy grail code."

"That's like," Adelina thinks, "losing her virginity. I-"

Lyla hangs up the phone quickly at the mention of the v-word, glaring at the starstruck blonde-haired girl, "If he heard that, I'm going to strangle you in your sleep and make it look like a suicide."

Adelina scoffs, bringing her palm to her neck as if Lyla had done it before. Her reaction wreaks an innocent smile to the rich girl.

"Next on Cheerleaders Who Kill," I narrate.

Lyla rolls her eyes, "He picked up your pins by the way. They arrived yesterday, but practice ran late, and the pick-up store closed before I got there."

"We like Rocco-"

"Speak for yourself. I still remember when he cut my hair in kindergarten," Adelina frowns.

"You put a frog in his backpack when we went on a field trip to the Lake," Lyla points out.

"Yeah, because he shared his double-colored crayons with Magdalena," she says as if that reason was justified. "Huh, even then, I knew I was attracted to vaginas."

"Have you guys spoken with Mags, by the way?" I bring up.

Magdalena fulfilled the fourth seat in our quadruple squad until she moved away to Colorado during the summer, leaving us to fight over who rides together and who rides alone on rollercoasters. We weren't that close, but I cared for her, although our contact has been meager.