Page 94 of Like a Power Play
Then one day, I went to make a smoothie. I grabbed my labeled container of yogurt out of the fridge. Plain vanilla, dairy-free, locally made. The only problem? I was supposed to be out of yogurt. So I asked Cleo about it, and she casually mentioned that she’d gone grocery shopping and noticed the empty container in the trash. So, she just grabbed me a new one.
I was surprised, but it was sweet. So I thanked her, then asked for her Venmo to pay her back.
“Nope,” she said, waving me off. “I don’t take money from friends.”
That’s when I looked at her and asked, “Are we friends?”
She shrugged. “Yes, I decided so yesterday.”
And that, as it turned out, was the only decision I’ve ever seen her actually stick with.
ME
Well, I’m sure you’ll be great at it. You kááánow, I’m pretty sure acupuncture is sometimes used to treat RA.
ROOMIE
ME
Oh absolutely not.
If you come near me with a needle I am moving out.
ROOMIE
such a buzzkill
A burst of roaring cheers cuts through the air, and my eyes snap up, locking onto Peyton. She strolls up the steps of the bus, still in that baggy tee, but now boasting a pair of black sweats and worn slippers. She tosses her hair over her shoulder in mock flattery.
“Great timing, Clarke,” my mom says flatly, glancing at her watch. “Only one minute till takeoff.”
A sheepish smile breaks across Peyton’s face, and she runs a hand through her unkempt hair. “Sorry Coach,” she says, then her eyes flick to mine. “I had a long night. Didn’t sleep much.”
I don’t glance away. Instead, I adjust my bag on the seat next to me in hopes she’ll understand the hint. She understands it, alright. But she sure as hell doesn’t take it. Looking me square in the eye, she strolls past the rows, skipping Harlowe, and Indie, bypassing all the open seats, and walks right up to me.
“Is this seat taken?” she asks with a smirk.
I stare at her in disbelief, looking at the bag beside me, then back to her.
“What does it look like?”
Her hand reaches for the handle of my backpack, and that damn smirk deepens. “Like it’s about to be.”
Immediately, I reach out to grab it. But Peyton’s hold is firm, and she tugs it from my grasp. “What are you doing?” I snap, keeping my tone hushed. Peyton sets my bag down on the seat across the aisle, then starts plopping down beside me. I shove my body over to block her, but she pushes back.
“Sitting by you,” she says, using her hip to nudge me out of the way.
I push back. “Absolutely the fuck not.”
She pushes again. “Yes, I am.”
“No, you aren’t.”
We’re in a back-and-forth now, Peyton half-collapsing on my shoulder, and me trying to scoot her out of the way. I lower my voice. “If you sit here, it’s gonna look—”
“Nobody’s even paying attention,” she cuts in, using her weight to shove me over. I try to fight back, but my muscles are slowly giving in. I glance up.
Every eye on the bus is locked on us.
