To Everyone But Us

1. Risque Things

"Get boyfriends!"

We're at Izzy's, Aurora Springs' ultimate hangout spot. The fifties vibe clings to the place like old perfume, even though the jukebox is mostly for show. No one uses it because someone is always hijacking the speakers with their Bluetooth. Today, it's obnoxious hip-hop, the kind with lyrics that are all bass and braggadocio, like the guy rapping is auditioning for prison time.

Millie looks up from her milkshake, her blue eyes wide, her freckled cheeks flushing to match her headband, the one with little daisies that somehow make her seem even more innocent. "What?"

Kristy just sips her soda, leaning back with a grin that says she's fully enjoying the drama she just created.

"Absolutely not," I say, leaning forward. "Boyfriends are not getting on this list."

Kristy raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because this isn't that kind of list."

"It's not been that kind of list for a while now," she says.

Every year, we make a list of challenges to push ourselves for the school year. What started as a guidance counselor's attempt at promoting "academic excellence" back in freshman year has since spiraled into something way less academic. We've got columns for tasks, names, and a scoreboard. Whoever completes the most challenges by summer gets to make three requests. The second, two, and the last, one.

In last year's challenge, Millie won with ten out of ten crosses. I missed out by one with 'Sneak Out of School Grounds During School Hours' proving to be too difficult a task for me. I already knew in my gut the moment I wrote it that I would never achieve it. Kristy on the other hand, didn't even have to try on that one.

Kristy's brown skin glows under the dim lights, and she taps her boot impatiently on the floor. "We're juniors now-practically seniors. We should be doing more exciting things. You know, risqué things," she whispers like she's Medusa. She flicks her burgundy hair and gives me a sly look. "Rosie, it's time to break out of the grandma phase. No more 'help at the animal shelter' or 'volunteer for the bake sale' stuff."

Millie sputters. "I happen to like volunteering!" She adjusts the neckline of her floral sundress, frowning. "Besides, we've done fine without adding boys into the mix."

"Your idea of fine is different from mine," Kristy says with a smirk.

I roll my eyes. "Totally."

Kristy doesn't miss a beat, snatching the notebook from me and flipping through the pages. "Let's see what we've got so far-ah, here we go. 'Visit a pumpkin patch.' Cute, but nah. 'Go hiking.' Ugh, boring. Oh, here's one: 'Make new friends.' How wholesome." She waves a hand dramatically. "Who wrote this? Your grandma? Gosh! Are we fifty-year-old fresh divorcees rediscovering themselves after a mid-life crisis? Even Tallulah has way more fun than this."

"Yeah, but Tallulah is six. Her idea of crazy is eating candy for breakfast or organizing a fashion show with your mum's stuff," Millie says smoothing down her floral sundress with a soft laugh.

"Exactly! She's living more on the edge than us. That's the kind of energy we need. More exciting...less grandma."

I fiddle with the ends of my shorts, tugging the frayed edges. "So you are saying we swap the animals for boys?"

She slaps my thigh. "I'm saying, this list needs a makeover, and I'm just the girl to do it."

Somewhere behind us, a group of guys playing billiards erupts in laughter as someone sinks a shot with a loud clack. Waitresses in white aprons whisk by, refilling sodas and dropping off burgers like they're competing in a race.