Roman Holiday

Sunday

Chapter Thirty-One

Mom should be thankful, at least, because she's not the talk of the town anymore. I've already been uninvited to three end-of-summer parties I didn't even know I was invited to in the first place and a birthday party by some girl I barely knew in high school. I think we had algebra together, but Maggie swears we had P.E. with her freshman year.

Maggie swears this'll all blow over.

"You won't be a pariah forever," she says after a cheerleader we went to high school with shoots me a particularly nasty look at the 7-11.

"Yeah, but forever's a long time to wait," I reply, and sucked down half of Maggie's slurpy in hopes to kill myself via brain-freeze. We flunk down by the curb, and I open up a bag of onion rings.

“I’ll be here for you,” she replies, stealing one from the bag.

“Thanks.”

Because I'm pretty sure my Facebook friends list has decreased to a solid three—my parents and Maggie.