"How in the world would she know you like Bryson?" Becca asks, glancing across the caf at Summer's table as we sit back down with our salads.
I begin thinking back over all of last week, trying to pinpoint any moment she could have been eavesdropping on one of our conversations. "I'm not sure?she must have overheard us talking at some point, I guess."
"Oh, well, I'm sure the problem is solved now anyway," Becca says, ringing out a packet of ranch dressing over her salad.
"Yeah, probably so. And thanks, by the way."
"No problem, girlie."
As we sit there in silence for the next ten minutes or so, scarfing down our salads--because we rarely talk while we eat--I'm still reeling over everything that just happened. I even almost feel bad for Summer, as crazy as that may sound. But she did deserve every bit of it, and maybe now she'll realize she's not invincible like she may have thought. As a result, she might even start treating people a little better. That would be ideal, especially if I'm going to join the cheerleading squad, in which case I'll be in her presence quite often, without Becca.
4
Power Struggle
Later that evening as I'm making the short walk back to my house from Becca's, after a solid three hours of heavy snacking--ignoring Mrs. Anna's strong suggestion that we would ruin our appetites for dinner?yeah right--discussing "The Plan" at great length, and squeezing in half an episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians to relax ourselves, I get increasingly nervous the closer I get to my front door.
Not only am I about to have to face my mom and discuss this whole mess with her--which makes me want to keep walking, knock on a random door, and offer my services of cooking, cleaning, and walking their dog in exchange for letting me live there--but I'm also close to making the final, heart-wrenching decision to become a cheerleader.
Luckily, I was able to get Becca on board with the idea, and it didn't take much. She quickly realized it might be the best way to keep my mom from practically forcing me to reveal my genius, which we both feel certain will separate us to some degree or possibly even come between us.