Chapter 12
TWELVE
BIANCA
“Don’t be nervous,” Waylon says as I climb into his SUV. I hold the bottom of my denim mini-skirt, but Waylon’s eyes still skim up my legs. The skirt is quickly becoming a staple, and it’s only partially because of how he looks at me when I wear it.
“Who said I was nervous?” I ask, an eyebrow lifting.
I am actually nervous. He and his friends dominate trivia every week. Y’know who isn’t good at trivia? Me. Unless it happens to be about dumb pop culture stuff or certain kinds of music.
“Your face.” He smiles at me, and I get that stupid rush of warmth through my whole body that I got on our hike.
I bite my lip to hold back a smile. “Yeah, I’m nervous. We’ve already met but that was at a big event. Now I can’t hide.”
“They’re pretty much like they were at the party.” He half-smiles. “Seriously, you don’t need to worry.”
I shift in my seat. I’ve never gotten along with so many people in such a short amount of time before. And I really care about Waylon’s friends liking me for some reason. Even more so than usual. But them liking me doesn’t even matter in the long run. So why do I feel like throwing up a little?
“And I’m nervous I’m going to mess up this whole trivia dominance thing you have going on,” I add.
“It’ll be fine. If anything, we might miss out on a few points.” He backs out of my driveway. “Jada and Jeremiah are cool so they won’t be super upset if we lose. If we lose, then…”
He can’t hide the dread in his eyes at the thought of losing.
“You’ll only be devastated for a week?” I laugh. “Until you win again?”
“Okay, yeah, kind of,” he says with a grin. “But I want you to come and have fun. Think of it as a bucket list thing.”
He’s right. And honestly, what would I have done if I were home alone? Watch TV and snuggle with Sadie? I would have done the exact same thing back in LA, minus the dog. I really do need to start working on my other bucket lists. I should use this time in Jepsen to do something new.
We arrive at the Copper Moon and park in the back. Waylon threads his fingers through mine as we enter the bar, which is busy, but not overly packed. He weaves us through the crowd like he already knows where we’ll be sitting, and I spot Jeremiah. He’s hard to miss — he’s Waylon’s height, and his locs are in a bun on top of his head.
“What’s up?” Jeremiah says, giving Waylon a bro hug. “Good to see you again, Bianca.”
“Likewise.” I’m not sure what to do with my hands, but thankfully Waylon squeezes mine again, more out of reassurance than anything.
“Where’s Jada?” Waylon asks, sitting down. I slide into the seat next to his.
“Getting a pitcher.” Jeremiah leans around, looking toward the bar. “Hopefully not dropping shit everywhere.”
“ Excuse you,” Jada says as she approaches with a pitcher. She’s in a violently pink romper, her locs up in two buns. “I’m graceful as fuck.”
“Says the person who tripped and threw a mozzarella stick so far across her kitchen that one ended up under the living room couch for weeks.” Jeremiah shakes his head.
“Eat shit and die, please and thank you!” Jada puts down the pitcher and glasses, a little bit of drink splashing over the edge. She and Jeremiah exchange a look, her eyes narrowing behind her glasses as if to say don’t say a fucking word. “Anyway! Bianca! I’m so happy you could come.”
I nearly blurt really? Not in a sarcastic way, but in genuine surprise. I’ve never been a person who people are excited to see, and now I have no idea what to say. Maybe she’s just being polite. I just smile, the back of my neck heating up.
Thankfully someone comes by with a big bag of food and puts it in the middle of the table, along with a few plates, so I don’t have to say anything.
“Thank god, I’m so hungry,” Jada says, reaching over the drinks to pull the food out. “And cute nails, by the way.”
“Oh, thank you.” I look down at my nails. When I was modeling, I wasn’t allowed to do anything to my nails in case they had to do them for a shoot. Now that I have the freedom to, I just painted them pink and added a little gem to each one. It’s far from professional, but I’m glad I could do it.
Jeremiah pours us each a drink while Jada sets up the food — two types of wings, mozzarella sticks, and fries. My stomach growls.
“Are you excited to beat everyone tonight, Bianca?” Jeremiah asks, putting a wing on his plate. “Waylon said you know a lot about music that’s come out in the past thirty years, unlike Jada.”
“I know modern stuff!” Jada says, adjusting her vintage-style cat eye glasses. “Just like…the sound of it.”
“Which doesn’t help us whatsoever when we need the titles.” Waylon takes a wing and bites into it. “You singing the song with gibberish lyrics, wildly off key, doesn’t get us any points. Bianca will probably know the titles.”
“Yeah, you’ve drastically oversold my music knowledge,” I say to Waylon, putting my cleaned chicken bone into the second basket. I’ve had more wings here than I have in my entire life and I’m not mad about it.
“The three of us have next to none, so you’re ahead of us,” Waylon says. “I bet you’ll know the answers.”
“Still — way overselling it,” I say.
“We’ll survive. If we lose,” Jada says. “Which we won’t, because we’re champions at heart.”
“BFN Squad, what’s up?” A woman in a plaid shirt tied up at the waist and tiny shorts says. “Got a new member of the team?”
“Yep. My girlfriend, Bianca,” Waylon says, putting his hand on my knee. It’s a little rough and very warm on my bare skin.
“Welcome.” The woman hands us a few slips of paper and a pen. “And good luck. These three are really good.”
The woman moves on to the next table. Jada slides the slips of paper over to herself and clicks the pen a few times before writing BFN Squad at the top of each slip.
“What does BFN stand for?” I ask.
“Big Fuckin’ Nerds.” Jeremiah laughs.
“Alright, alright, alright,” the woman who gave us the paper slips says into a mic. “If you’re here for trivia, get ready. Tonight’s a fun one. My name’s Greta — holler if you need me, and no, I’m not giving you any answers. For you newbies, here’s how it works. We have four rounds, each with a different theme. I’ll collect each slip after each round and announce the scores. The first round tonight is animals and warfare .”
“What?” I look at the three of them. “What does that mean?”
“The categories are kind of broad. You’ll see,” Jada says, doodling a star on one slip.
“Question one,” Greta says. “What animals have been known to wage war? There are a few answers I’ll accept for this one.”
“Chimps,” Waylon says.
“Dolphins, too,” Jeremiah adds.
“I’m going with chimps because of that show I saw about the woman with that weird relationship with her chimp,” Jada says. “And dolphins are cute, so I refuse to believe they wage war.”
“Dolphins are assholes,” Jeremiah says.
“Whatever, I reject that reality.” She sniffs and writes chimps with flair.
Greta repeats the question a few times before moving onto the next ones — they’re all questions I don’t have a single answer for. They all know exactly what’s going on, and if they don’t know for sure, they have a ton of possible answers. I’m only able to help on one or two questions because of some random TikToks that ended up on my FYP.
“We’re going to take a little break for y’all to get refills or food or whatever. Be back in a bit!” Greta said.
“I’m going to run to the bathroom,” Waylon says. “Be right back.”
I hold back the urge to cling to him so I don’t have to be awkwardly alone. But he slips away, leaving me with his two best friends.
I swallow, swirling ice around in my drink. I can feel their gazes on me.
“So…” Jada leans forward, a little smile on her face. “Now that we have you alone…”
“Pump the brakes, Jay.” Jeremiah raises an eyebrow. “We don’t need to grill her.”
“Nah but we’re nosy as hell. Or at least I am.” She rests her elbows on the table, then folds her hands so her chin can rest on them. “Can you blame me though? A girl who seems pretty cool actually getting through to Waylon? It’s a miracle.”
“I’m not cool,” I say with a nervous laugh. I’m usually pegged as ‘slightly standoffish’ or ‘cold’.
“Mm, you are. To me, at least. Your whole vibe.” Jada waves her hand around. Ironically, I think her whole vibe is cool too — loud and fun in ways I’d never be bold enough to be. Kaitlyn is similar, always going with the attention-grabbing outfits that I love but never choose.
“You’re definitely cooler than his ex.” Jeremiah’s deep brown eyes harden.
“The girl with the brown hair and an attitude?” I ask. Seems like a low bar to be cooler than someone like her, but I don’t want to call him out on that.
“Yeah, her. She doesn’t even get a name around here anymore.” Jada finishes the rest of her drink and tops it off. “Honestly, they shouldn’t even be mentioned in the same sentence.”
I give Jada a silent thank you .
“True.” Jeremiah levels me with a serious look. “But we’re just getting to know each other.”
I shift in my seat. I can sense the intimidating, protective edge in Jeremiah’s tone from a mile away and I don’t want to bring it out further.
“Relax,” Jada says, lightly smacking her brother with the back of her hand. “We got bad vibes from the ex all the time.
“Sorry,” Jeremiah murmurs, picking up the pitcher and glancing at me, as if to ask if I’d like more. I nod and push my glass toward him. “Can you blame me for being skeptical? I just don’t want Waylon to go through what he went through last time. But I hope you don’t think I’m assuming the worst of you.”
My heart softens, especially since I can tell how sincere he is about all of it — being protective of Waylon and not wanting to make me feel bad.
“I don’t think that. And thanks.” I take my topped off drink. “I like that he has friends who truly have his back.”
“We always do,” Jada says. “And we’ll tell him if he’s being dumb as hell too. But that’s support in its own way.”
“Yeah. I know you guys are pretty casual right now, but we’re glad to see him dating again,” Jeremiah says.
“Especially someone who doesn’t make me want to yank my locs out at the root,” Jada says, lifting her glass.
My face is burning and thankfully my skin tone is deep enough to hide it. Now I feel like complete shit for basically lying to them. For giving them some shred of hope and excitement for someone who’s clearly important to them. What’ll happen after Waylon and I “break up”?
Still, I lift my glass and tap it against theirs, the pit in my stomach growing.
“They didn’t grill you, did they?” Waylon asks as he slides back into his seat.
“We lightly sautéed her,” Jada says.
“It was fine,” I add.
“Good.” He rests his arm across the back of my seat, lightly touching me.
Greta taps on the mic again to announce the next round and people start heading back to their seats.
“Last round, guys! The next category is called old and new . These answers will be a good mix of things from the past and present,” Greta says into the mic.
“Isn’t that just…everything?” I ask.
“Knowing Greta, maybe.” Waylon rests a hand on my knee, almost unconsciously. I love the feel of it and keep my leg in place, even if Jada and Jeremiah know we’re just bullshitting.
“Right now, Team Lizard is in the top spot,” Greta says. “Followed by Harold’s Heroes, and the BFN Squad in second and third.”
“We’re losing,” I say, swallowing.
“Bianca, it’s fine, really. And it’s not like you’ve given us any wrong answers. We can pull through at the end,” Waylon says.
Fine, he has a point. But I haven’t helped either.
“Okay, question one — name at least three artists who have had Billboard Top 100 charting hits across four decades,” Greta says.
“Oh! I know this!” I say. I lean in to tell Jada what to write down.
“See, we wouldn’t have gotten that at all without you,” Waylon says.
“It’s just one question.” I sip my drink.
“One question can be the difference between winning and losing,” Jada says.
I glance around to see how people are taking the question. A lot of people seem confused.
Jada knows the next two questions, and Waylon knows the third. Finally, we’re on the last question.
“Last question of the night! What band is responsible for the longest charting album of all time?” Greta asks.
“Wouldn’t it be like, the Beatles or something?” Jada asks, looking at me. “They’ve probably charted for years.”
“No, I think it’s a band that isn’t super obvious. Not like the Beatles,” I say. I drum my nails on the table. “I think it’s Pink Floyd. Dark Side of the Moon.”
“You sure?” Jeremiah asks.
“Yes,” I say. Or at least I’m most of the way sure. I don’t listen to a lot of them, but I’ve absorbed enough about them from my dad to feel somewhat sure about my answer.
Jada writes it down and hands the slip off to Greta when she comes around. She takes a while to score the cards and grabs the mic again, clearing her throat into it to get everyone’s attention.
“I’ve tabulated the scores. It’s a super close one, but BFN Squad wins by two points. Yet again,” Greta says, pointing at us. “Y’all’s tab is covered for the night. Congrats.”
“Free drinks again!” Jada raises her hand and gives terribly-aimed high-fives to everyone.
We linger for a little longer at the table until Jeremiah says he has to get home and go to bed.
“Are we on for next week?” Jeremiah asks, looking at us both.
“Yeah, if you are,” Waylon says to me.
In any other circumstance, I’d feel a bit hesitant making more plans with new people, but for once, I don’t. As long as I can shove down my guilt about the fake relationship, I know I’ll have a good time.
“Yeah, I’m in,” I say.
“We’ll be at the family reunion the week after that, though,” Waylon says.
“Oof, good luck.” Jada slings her enormous purse over her shoulder. “Before I forget, I was going to get my nails done later this week. Want to come, Bianca? The spot in town is tiny but they do a good job.”
“Sure, yeah,” I say, my chest warming in a way that it hasn’t in a while. “I’d like that.”
We exchange numbers and finally part ways. When Waylon and I get into his car, I feel light and genuinely happy until that pit of guilt comes back with a vengeance.