The Ex Games(18)
Author: Jennifer Echols

“Oh,” Liz cried sympathetically, “you don’t have to do—”

“You will not lose this bet!” Chloe insisted. “We are showing up those boys, and you are going off that jump. I’ll board with you tomorrow and coach you.”

Now there was some motivation to get over this problem quickly. Chloe was a notorious betty. On the rare occasion when she graced the slopes with her presence, boys zoomed toward her because she was so cute in her pink snowsuit, then zoomed away again as she lost control and threatened to crash into them. She’d made the local snowboarding news a few years ago when she lost control at the bottom of the main run, boarded right through the open door of the ski lodge, skidded to a stop at the entrance to the café, and asked for a table for one.

“I’m working at the city library tomorrow,” Liz said, “but I’ll ski with you and coach you on Thursday.”

“Have you actually tried to go off the jump and failed,” Chloe asked me, “or do you not even try?”

“I don’t even try.” I didn’t like to look at the thing. I averted my eyes when Josh and his friends jumped off.

“So, now you’ll try,” she decreed. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I opened my mouth to describe the worst that could happen. I could freeze up ten yards from the precipice, and all four spots where my leg had been broken would throb deep inside, even though I’d been healed for years. I would relive my accident. A series of sickening jerks as every belt and harness designed to keep me safe while rappelling had failed, one by one, and let me fall.

“Hayden, what’s the matter?” Liz called. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

I looked at her and then at Chloe, biting my lip to keep from crying. I didn’t want to let them down, but this was a lot of pressure for what was supposed to be a carefree winter break.

Chloe clapped her hands, snapping me out of it. “I almost forgot what I found to show you! It’s so good, it’ll make this whole night worthwhile.”

The three of us settled on her bed and ate CONGRATULATIONS HAYDEN! cake straight out of the box with our forks while she passed around this secret treasure that was better than boys (as if). She’d been cleaning out her closet—some people did clean out their closets, I supposed—when she’d come across a teen fashion mag–style quiz with twenty questions that she’d written and all three of us had answered back in seventh grade. Our handwriting was young and loopy. We’d dotted the I’s with stars and flowers and hearts.

1. If you accidentally got locked

inside the school for an entire

weekend with a blizzard coming,

and the only way you could

survive was to share body heat

with the boy trapped inside with

you, who would you want it to be?

Hayden: Barry Yates

Chloe: Ollie Cattrall

“Ollie Cattrall,” Chloe mused. “Right after we wrote this, he moved to Massachusetts. I should look him up on Facebook.”

“Chloe!” Liz exclaimed, horrified.

“And then he would post a comment on my page,” Chloe explained, “and Gavin would see it. This would show Gavin he’s not the only man interested in me, and he might treat me a little nicer.”

“Or,” I pointed out, “this would show him that Ollie Cattrall, who lives two thousand miles away, either is being polite to you or is hitting on you because he cannot get a date at his own school. Which makes one wonder if he had to take his Facebook picture carefully in very low lighting.”

She glared at me. “Moving on.”

Liz: Davis Goggins

“Awww,” Chloe and I both said. I reached out to pinch Liz’s cheek. She and Davis hadn’t been dating long, but it was so sweet she’d thought about him that way back in seventh grade. Almost as if they were destined to be together.

“I’m not sure anymore,” Liz grumbled. “Ask me again after he pays for my Poseur ticket.”

2. If you were suddenly transported

to the 1800s and you had to marry

a boy in our class to be saved from

an arranged marriage with an evil

viscount,

(Chloe read a lot of historical romances.)

who would you want to marry?

Hayden: Mark Jones

Chloe: Scotty Yarbrough

Liz: Everett Walsh

“Everett Walsh!” Chloe exclaimed. I fell off the bed laughing.

Liz folded her arms and tried to scowl at us, but I could tell she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “What’s wrong with Everett Walsh?” she sputtered. “I didn’t know when we wrote this in seventh grade that Hayden would hook up with him later. I saw him first.”

“He’s so straitlaced,” Chloe said. “Not exactly the ideal hero of a romance.”

“Watch out for his mama,” I advised Liz.

“I was answering the question you asked,” Liz told Chloe self-righteously. “If your family threatened you with an arranged marriage in the 1800s, you’d want someone on your side who was very mature and organized, who could approach the situation logically and help you out of it. In the 1800s, Everett Walsh would have been a barrister. He’d be perfect for the job.”

“I’d rather have the evil viscount,” I said.

We stayed late at Chloe’s, giggling over the other eighteen questions. The night was so fun, and I loved reliving these memories with Liz and Chloe. I hoped we stayed friends forever and would someday look back fondly on this night, just as we were looking back on that night four years ago. And I hoped we wouldn’t remember this as the night we foolishly cut those cute boys loose.

Because although the night was fun, this quiz definitely was not better than boys. I didn’t admit it to Liz and Chloe, but I remembered exactly what I’d been thinking when I took this quiz in seventh grade. I’d been hoping I wouldn’t go to hell for the little white lies I was telling. I would have been mortified to say so, but when I’d picked Barry Yates or Mark Jones or any boy for the rest of the quiz, I’d always meant Nick.

“Hayden Christine O’Malley!”

I started awake. White morning sunlight reflected off the snow outside and bounced through my bedroom window. My body still felt sore and my mind was wiped out from the contest and the argument with Nick yesterday. For my dad to be hollering at me like that, I must have been so tired when I came in last night that I left dishes on the kitchen counter instead of putting them in the dishwasher, or—worse—I forgot to let Doofus out. That really would be a mess to clean up.