Twenty-Four
“And that’s it?” Jed asks. He’s stopped skating and is facing me, a grimace twisting his face. “Seriously, I get ten minutes of ‘I was wearing this’ and ‘my hair was like this’ and ‘Ooh, I wore mascara’ and then, boom, Viggo looks at you. And that’s the end of the memory? Or, like, five memories, or however many pointless mini-memories you bundled into one?”
“It was a meaningful look,” I call over my shoulder as I skate past him. “Our first meaningful look.”
“And there was I standing there and not even noticing.” Jed catches up to me. “I was too busy gawping at your boring hair and hideous dress.”
“And forcing Viggo to listen to Opeth.”
Jed grins wickedly. “I’d forgotten about that. He lost a bet.”
“Viggo lost a bet?” Now my eyes are boggling. I can’t imagine Viggo MacDuf
