Page 56 of Ten Rules for Faking It
Everyone raised their glasses or bottles, and Everly drank deeply, cooling the fire in her throat.Survived. Done.
She should have known better. Her dad set the beer down while everyone was still toasting, then bent to pick something up. When he lifted a bat in the air, Everly’s airway closed. Her mom clapped her hands together.
“What’s a birthday without piñata smashing?”
Everyone laughed and cheered, and Everly’s gaze locked on Stacey’s. Her friend shrugged, her look emanating empathy even from a distance.
“Get up here, Evie. You get first swing.”
She shook her head, dug in her heels when her mom started nudging her forward. She was seven all over again. Humiliated and being forced to stand center stage with everyone watching, waiting.
“I couldn’t believe when I cleaned out your closet and found this old thing,” her mom said under her breath.
Wait. What?
She dug in her heels, looked at her mom.
“All those years, I wondered what had happened to it. Of course, we won’t be able to eat the candy out of it. Come on, sweetie, get up there.”
Nooooo. No. No. No.
Her throat was closing.Breathe. Your throat isn’t closing. You’re panicking. Hell yes, I’m panicking. If that’s the piñata from my closet, it’s not full of candy!Her nails dug into her palms, stinging, but she only pressed them harder.
“Aw. My girl is still shy. That’s okay. Who wants to swing?” her dad said, looking around, holding the bat out.
She loosened the pressure on her palm, torn between rushing forward and running away. She had to stop this. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she move? Speak? Shout?
“I’ll take a swing,” Chris said, walking over to her dad.
Everly’s gaze flew to him, and her heart stopped trying to kick its way out of her chest. She pressed her hand there, certain it had just given up and stopped.
“Me, too,” Stacey said, followed by Tara saying the same and a chorus of others.
Her mother laughed. “You’re missing out on the fun. I want a turn,” she called, heading to the crowd.
Everly stood frozen, stuck in the moment like she wasn’t actually there. Chris lined up the bat and took a swing. The thwack of contact echoed and made people cheer. Aunt Jules slipped her hand into Everly’s, squeezed it.
“They mean well,” she said quietly.
Maybe she was wrong.Oh, please, be wrong.Everly squeezed her hand back, words impossible.
Being twenty years old, it happened quickly.
The worn, gray, bedraggled pieces of paper fluttered to the ground as the donkey burst with a loud pop. Cardboard, paper, confetti, a couple of candies, and years’ worth of condoms she’d slipped away erupted into the air.
“No,” Everly whispered.
Laughter erupted, and Everly felt like she might dissolve into the grass. Or burst into flames.
People scrambled to pick up the “prizes,” scooping it up from the ground. Hoots of laughter pierced Everly’s ears.
“They’re flavored!” someone yelled.
“Mine is ribbed,” someone else called.
“What the heck?” Her mother’s voice could be heard through the din.
“Jessie! Did you put these in here?” her father yelled through laughter.
