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tuesday, september 28 — nessa astor
chilton preperatory academy
"what's the final count again?" ivy asked, leaning over my shoulder.
"87," i answered. "so we'll need about a hundred chairs and ten big tables, just in case people decide to pay at the door. and like 5 standing tables too,"
"gotcha," ivy said, scribbling down the information on a notepad.
"how's the planning going, ladies?" mr. bowen, our music teacher, asked, stopping by the table we were sitting at in the music room.
"good! just going over final numbers and such," i replied.
"nessa, how's your speech going?"
"it's good! i'm almost done with it," i lied.
"very good! i'll check in with you two later," he praised, walking back over to his desk.
"how's your speech really going?" ivy prodded.
"okay, fine. i have the beginning and the end done," i admitted. "i just need to come up with the stuff in the middle,"
"knew it. the conference's in three days, counting today—"
"i know,"
"—you're student president of the music program, you have to give a really good speech so they'll want to give us more money."
"ivy, trust me. i know," i sighed. "it'll be good, i promise. they'll be throwing hundreds at me before i'm even done,"
"is tristan still coming?"
"oh god, don't remind me. i don't understand why he would want to come to the music conference, it's literally on a friday night."
"to see you,"
"he could literally be doing anything else with his time, but—"
"exactly," ivy cut me off. "he could be doing anything else, but he's coming to a two-hour long, boring event about music, on a friday night, for you,"
"he's only going 'cause bryce is going, and bryce is only going 'cause his mom is on the board and is dragging him,"
"nessa."
"ivy."
"why don't you want to believe that—"
"have you checked in with the caterers?" i asked, changing the subject.
"he obviously likes you—"
"alright, then why is he always flirting with rory, and anna, and—"
"he may be flirting with them, but whose bed has he been sleeping in for the past week?"
