Chapter 52 Hot Girlfriends

Chapter 52 Hot Girlfriends
(Trish's POV)

RING! RING!

The bell shrieked. It was the sound of reality crashing down on the seniors of Mthland High.

The "holiday" of camp was officially dead. As I walked through the main hall, the atmosphere was suffocating. The "youngins" the freshmen and sophomores were already huddled against the lockers, eyes glazed over as they flipped through stacks of flashcards. But for us? For the seniors? It was a massacre.

Finals were no longer a distant threat; they were a looming shadow, and the teachers were handing out study guides thick enough to be used as doorstops. It was back to the grind.

By lunch, my brain felt like overcooked oatmeal. I was staring blankly at a bowl of soup when a pair of manicured hands slammed down on the table, nearly sending my spoon flying.

"You. Stadium. After school. Be there," Anaya commanded, her eyes wide with a frantic, competitive light.

"I’m busy," I muttered, not even looking up. "I have sixty pages of prep to get through."

"Trish, this isn't just a game!" Anaya grabbed my arm, her grip tightening. "This is THE game. Mthland High vs. Central Tech. If we win this, we are officially the one and only representative for Mthland City in the ALL-STATE HIGHSCHOOL FOOTBALL COMPETITION. We’d be going up against the biggest schools in America. The scouts are going to be crawling all over the bleachers."

I sighed, pulling my arm back. "I’d prefer to study, Anaya. I’m not exactly in a 'Go Team' mood."

"Your boyfriend is the star quarterback!" Anaya hissed, leaning in. "You’re going to stay in a library while Joseph is out there trying to make history for our proud Mthland City?"

"I don't care," I said, my voice flatter than a pancake. "Joseph is Joseph. I’m me. My grades don't depend on how far he can throw a piece of pigskin."

Anaya’s face twisted in frustration. "Ugh, why are you being so difficult?"

I put my spoon down, the saltiness in my chest rising to match the soup. "Why don’t you just treat me like you did before, Anaya? Like someone with no dignity? Why start caring about my attendance now?"

The table went silent. Anaya flinched as if I’d slapped her. The truth was, despite all the bonding at camp and the secrets we’d shared, she had never truly, wholeheartedly apologized for the way she treated me when I first arrived. Between the "Gender War" and the treehouse madness, we’d just moved on. But the sting was still there.

Anaya’s shoulders dropped, her bravado crumbling. "Is that why you’re mad? Is that why you won’t go with me? Even after everything? Even after we’re... I thought we were best friends now, Trish." Her voice wavered. "I told you things I’ve never told anyone. Do you still hate me?"

I looked at her and the anger drained away, replaced by a weary sort of affection. "No, Anaya. I don't hate you."

Anaya sniffled, her eyes darting around to make sure no one saw her cracking. "Then come to the game. Please. I don't want to watch history happen alone."

I groaned, closing my eyes for a second before nodding. "Okay. Fine. Let’s go see how our man is going to play in a match that decides if we represent Mthland in the All-State Champs."

"You mean the All-State Football Competition?" Anaya corrected, her sass returning instantly as we cleared our trays and headed toward the Mthland High stadium.

"Whatever, I don't care," I grumbled as we stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, the roar of the arriving crowd already audible in the distance. "I never liked football anyway. It’s just people running into each other for no reason."

"But Joseph plays!" Anaya laughed, nudging me.

"I don't care. I’m not him. His hobbies aren't my personality."

"So what do you like, then? If the glory of the gridiron doesn't move you?"

"Books," I said firmly. "Quiet rooms. Logic."

Anaya groaned, throwing her head back. "Boring! Absolutely boring!"

Anaya didn’t stop there. As we navigated the crowded asphalt pathway toward the looming concrete walls of the stadium, she bumped her shoulder against mine, a wicked, prying glint returning to her eyes.

The emotional vulnerability from minutes ago was gone, replaced by the relentless gossip-monger I had grown to tolerate, and maybe even like.

"So, come on, Trish. Level with me," Anaya started, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that definitely wasn't quiet enough to be private.

"How do you actually survive living under the same roof as the hottest guy in the entire city? I mean, I’ve seen Joseph in a jersey, but seeing him in the morning? Bedhead? Sweatpants? How are you not just a puddle of melted butter on the kitchen floor every single day?"

I rolled my eyes, clutching my heavy backpack tighter against my spine. "It is not like that, Anaya. Most of the time he just smells like laundry detergent and protein shakes. It is very unglamorous, I promise you."

"Liar!" Anaya squealed, skipping a step to stay in front of me so she could scan my face for any sign of a blush.

"You’re holding out on me. Do you guys, you know, have late-night deep dives? Does he walk around shirtless? Does he do that brooding athlete thing where he stares out the window while it’s raining? Give me something, Trish! I’m living vicariously through your domestic bliss here."

"He spends a lot of time complaining about his hamstrings and eating cold pasta out of the fridge," I replied, trying to maintain my composure as a group of sophomores giggled while passing us. "It is hardly a romance novel. Now, can we please talk about literally anything else? My dignity is already at an all-time low for agreeing to sit on metal bleachers for three hours."

"You are so boring!" Anaya laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "You have the golden ticket to the Mthland dream and you’re treating it like a chore. You really are a different breed, Trish. Most girls would have fainted by now."

"Well, consider me the anomaly," I said, nudging her away as she tried to poke my cheek. "And for the record, if you ask me one more question about what he wears to bed, I am turning around and going straight to the reference section of the library. I mean it."

Anaya held up her hands in a mock gesture of surrender, but then her face softened. The playful teasing evaporated, and she stepped closer, stopping us both just outside the stadium gates where the sound of the marching band was beginning to swell.

She looked at me with a sincerity that caught me completely off guard, a look that didn't have a hint of the "Queen Bee" persona she usually projected.

"You know," she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the distant thumping of the drums. "I’m actually just really glad I’ve got a new friend who is so hot. Seriously, Trish. You’re brilliant, you’re gorgeous, and you’re tough. I feel like a kid with a new toy that I actually want to keep."

The words hit me with the force of a physical blow. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever told me, more than the grand gestures from Joseph or the praise from teachers.

It was raw and strangely honest. For someone like Anaya, who viewed the world as a game to be won, calling me a "toy she wanted to keep" was her version of a blood oath. It was her admitting that I wasn't just a project or a sidekick; I was someone she truly valued.

I felt a lump form in my throat, my scholarly logic failing me for once. I didn't have a sarcastic comeback. I didn't have a witty observation. I just had the realization that in this chaotic, crumbling city, I had somehow found a sister in the most unlikely person imaginable.

"Thanks, Anaya," I whispered, finally offering her a real, unshielded smile. "I guess having a 'hot' best friend isn't so bad for me either."

Anaya beamed, her eyes shining with pride. "Exactly! Now, let’s get in there and scream until our lungs give out. We have a representative title to win!"