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Lottie sat on the bottom bleacher, one knee drawn to her chest, the other leg swinging slowly, her socked foot making soft squeaks against the polished floor. She sipped a lukewarm Coke, half-watching her teammates yell over who got to control the boom box next, half-ignoring the sour-sweet stink of Capri Sun, hairspray, and someone’s microwaved nachos.
But really, she was waiting.
She told herself she wasn’t. That it didn’t matter if Natalie showed up. But her eyes flicked to the door every five minutes, like they were following their own orbit.
Of course, Nat was late.
Of course, she showed up like a storm.
When the gym doors finally creaked open, Lottie’s heart jumped before she could stop it.
Nat stood silhouetted in the fluorescent hallway light, all tousled blonde hair, black flannel, eyeliner smudged to hell and back, and defiance, like she was just trying to fight God in a Waffle House parking lot.Lottie kind of wanted to ask how that fight went.
Series
- Part 1 of take your shot (lottienat weekend)
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