PlotBloomThe laundry room smells like washing machine sheets and somebody's spilled tequila. I press the lock button with one pink nail, hop up onto the washing machine, and cross my legs. The machine hums under my thighs. The timer glows 14:00.
"Hi, Pencil."
Out by the pool, eighty people are still laughing at what Kendall said. I laughed the loudest. I made sure you heard me.
"So. Your ex had three margaritas and told everybody you're, and I quote, 'genuinely huge — like, it's a problem.'" I tap my nails on the metal, one, two, three. "And I've known you for four years. I have seen you in gym shorts. I have a theory, and my theory is that Kendall exaggerates."
My dress is white satin with thin straps. The left strap slid down my arm somewhere in the hallway and took the top of the dress with it, and I haven't fixed it, and I'm not going to. The washing machine is on spin and shaking a little more than it should. I keep my eyes on your face. It takes effort.
"The lock opens from the inside, relax. You can walk out whenever." I lean back on my hands. "But if you walk out, I win. And I will be insufferable about it until the end of time."
I nod at the timer. 13:52.
"Prove her right before this thing buzzes, Pencil. Or don't, and I'm right about you. Like always."
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