Practice Girl by Estelle Laure

Author:Estelle Laure [Laure, Estelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2022-05-17T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It’s Sunday night and Sam and I are watching Transformers for the fortieth time. He came over unannounced like he used to, and while that normally wouldn’t make me feel anything at all, after yesterday’s admission to myself I’m totally nervous and probably acting erratically. I’ve spent the last twenty hours or so mulling over whether or not I actually have feelings for Sam or if I’m just possessive of him and our friendship in a way that isn’t altogether cool, considering Jen. Either way I’m an asshole and I probably need more processing time before we’re spooning on my damn bed (why do we spoon so much?) so I’m crouched away from him like a shadow creature, staring at him nervously, and instead of watching the movie at all I’m trying to look and act normal when I have no idea what that even means anymore.

We’re in my room with the door closed and copious amounts of popcorn since we don’t want to be in the living room watching Peppa Pig with my family, but it’s like I don’t know where to physically put myself. Sam seems to have no such problems and has plopped himself right into the center of the mattress, hands behind his head, waiting for me to lie down next to him and rest in the crook of his arm like I usually would. After what happened the other night and then the whole afternoon with Dax yesterday I’m the tensest person ever. I want to ask Sam why he isn’t with Jen tonight even though I suspect it’s because Jen takes like three hours to plan her outfits for the week. I would also like to ask him exactly what the fuck is going on between us, and why when Dax asked me out yesterday I felt like if I said yes I’d be cheating on someone.

On screen, robots have landed.

Sam looks at me for my reaction like, Isn’t this the coolest thing you’ve ever seen? Isn’t Michael Bay a genius? And I’m sitting there munching on a kernel of popcorn like a neurotic mouse.

“Okay, what the hell is this?” He bursts out laughing. “What are you even doing?”

I realize I haven’t exhaled in a minute.

“We’re supposed to be chilling before another week of getting smacked around and being stressed out,” he says. “Whatever this is that you’re doing needs to stop.” He takes the remote from where it’s buried in my covers and hits pause. “Tell me what’s going on, Beck, because you’re killing my vibes.”

“Okay,” I say, but unlike yesterday in the car with Dax when things felt clear, now I’m tongue-tied, words chaotic and unwieldy. “Ugh. Why can’t people just talk to each other?”

“There’s something you don’t think you can talk to me about?” he scoffs. “Come on. That’s not how we roll. You can tell me anything.” He raises his hand and makes flames. “Fire-promise.”

I try to gather myself, channel the me from yesterday. “Okay, fine. What’d you do

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