The Brittanys by Brittany Ackerman

Author:Brittany Ackerman [Ackerman, Brittany]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2021-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

• TWELVE •

Rosenberg and Tomassi come over the next night for my birthday sleepover, and I confide in them the tale of Stephen Fraber. They curse his name, as do I, and we chant that he has “no balls.” The night is uneventful; we do not talk about Jensen. We do one another’s makeup, which mostly consists of Rosenberg applying way too dark a shade of eye shadow for both Tomassi and me but us playing along with it. With my teal-shaded eyes, I insist that there was something between me and Stephen. Tomassi says it’s a shame, because he’ll be driving in two months, just in time for spring break. Rosenberg says he’s a “douche,” because he had so many chances and messed all of them up. “I was right there,” I tell the girls. They nod in acknowledgment.

Rosenberg has brought her laptop and tells us she’s been using her webcam a lot. I’m not even sure what that is, but she shows us that you can video-chat with whoever you want as long as they have a camera, too. She sets up the device and says we should chat with Milo and Mitchell Vance. I think Milo is really hot. I’ve been watching him at school. We’re in the same lunch period, and since the girls have all split up, I’ve had more time to check him out. He always wears the collar popped on his polo and his khaki pants cuffed at his ankles. His hair is long to his shoulders and is the color of chestnuts. He makes me think of Christmas. He hangs out with the popular guys and girls in his grade, like Chris Saul and Amber Goodman, all the beautiful ones. I agree to do the webcam stuff if it’s understood that Milo belongs to me.

Tomassi is too shy to partake but says she’ll watch from the sidelines. Once it’s set up, Rosenberg calls Milo and Mitchell at home and tells them to go online. We’re all wearing shorts and tank tops with spaghetti straps. Rosenberg and I both have our hair straight, and Tomassi has hers in pigtail braids. Tomassi always looks gorgeous, but in a more natural way. Rosenberg and I need to look “hot.” When the Vance brothers come online, they’re both wearing white T-shirts and cargo shorts.

“If we put on music, will you dance?” Mitchell asks. I can’t believe how forward he is, but I guess it’s good, since we’ve spent the last few minutes giggling at nothing and embarrassing ourselves.

“Sure,” Rosenberg says.

They put on a rap song that I’ve only heard on the radio a few times, “P.I.M.P.” by 50 Cent, and Rosenberg turns around and starts shaking her butt.

“Oh my God,” Tomassi says, and covers her eyes. She sits on my bed in the middle of the room. I move to join her.

“Get over here, ya little shit!” Rosenberg yells at me while she continues to dance.

“No way,” I reply.

“One moment, please, technical difficulties,” Rosenberg says to the boys on the screen, and walks over to me.

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