The Chapel Wars
move anywhere else … ever. You can’t take the chapel with you. You’re stuck in Vegas for life.”
    “Mike, shut up.” I could feel anger and tears boiling up, and I pushed them down with all the emotional strength I had. “I’m doing this because I have to.
I have to
. So, seriously, write another sign in your girly cursive or get out.”
    The boys gave a collective “Ooooh.

I swear Mike even smirked, happy he’d provoked me. He had no idea what it was like to be me. He came from a rich suburban family. He worked at that Mexican place because he liked the chips and salsa.None of these guys had ever
wanted
. If there was a school trip, they went. If they wanted to buy new shoes, they bought them. They thought keeping this chapel was a
choice
for me.
    It was conversations like this that made me wonder why I hung out with these guys. They acted like it was such a privilege that I was the solitary girl in their group, that I was above the other girls who temporarily came into our fold, the girls who laughed too hard and flipped their hair too much, until eventually the guy she was dating got tired of her and sent her on her way. Or I was below other girls because I wasn’t incredibly hot. They could actually speak to me, while the other girls they only spoke of with chauvinistic reverence. They had a group text chain with a photo of some redhead in a cut-off NFL jersey with subject lines like “Tappable?” Sometimes I was in those chains, sometimes I wasn’t. Sometimes I actually wanted to be included, sometimes I didn’t.
    Because, the thing is, they were funny. And charming. And oddly caring. I mean, even as Mike went off about how I should live my life, he still sat here making signs for me. They never noticed what I wore or dissected our conversations. If I brought them to The Space, they didn’t passive-aggressively comment on the square footage: they just opened the fridge. When we got in a fight, it was over within minutes, squashed. Last year, when James got a black eye, they drove over to the junior high just to sit out in the parking lot and intimidate James’s assailant. That’s love, right? Some twisted form of friendship?
    I wondered what it would be like to sit around with a groupof girls right now, girls who watched reality TV dating shows and crammed cookies into their mouths between mumbled “I shouldn’t be eating this.” Would I like that any better?
    “Look, let’s just … finish. Give me twenty minutes and then you can all go plan your non-Vegas futures together. Mike, I hope you move to Connecticut.”
    “Don’t be that way,” Porter said. “Mike is sorry, right, Mike?”
    Mike gave a noncommittal shrug. “I mean, sort of. I’m just looking out for you.”
    “Yeah. Thanks,” I said.
    Grant leafed through a stack of brochures. “Mike’s on the rag, ignore him. Your wedding chapel is fine.”
    “You guys don’t know what you’re missing.” Sam and Camille untangled themselves from the couch and joined us at the table. “Dude, I would work at the chapel forever too.”
    “Thanks, Sam.” At least I had Sam. I would always have Sam.
    “Especially now that Holly is hanging on the guy at the chapel across the street. Proximity.”
    I considered poking out his eyes with sprinkles.
    “Now this makes sense!” Grant slapped his leg. “Let’s stuff us some envelopes then. Save her business so she can get up in this guy’s biz-nass!”
    “Who is this guy?” Mike said defensively. “Were you ever going to tell us about him?”
    Camille clapped her hands together. “This is so great! Is he adorbs? We can go on a double date.”
    I’d rather go on a double date with my parents.
    Sam was getting a pay cut for this. The last thing I needed when things were just barely starting with Dax was having my friends made aware. What if they told my family? What was there even to tell so far? We’d kissed twice. We’d exchanged a few texts. I thought about him constantly. I’d

Similar Books

Beautiful Monster

Kate McCaffrey

The People that Time Forgot

Edgar Rice Burroughs

The Texan's Bride

Linda Warren

Here to Stay

Debra Webb