She’s been dreaming of moving to Valley and attending the university there since we were in middle school.īringing the car to a halt at the four-way stop just outside of our neighborhood, she turns the radio down.
I’ve always liked the community and friendliness of living in our hometown. I want all those things, truly, but it’s Gabby who is counting down the days until we can leave our small town of Succulent Hill, which Gabs lovingly renamed Suck Hill. You and I are meant for more than Suck Hill.” We’re going to Valley U, we’re going to study hard, party our asses off, and then, when we graduate, we’re going to start some fabulous female only business and end up on the cover of Forbes or Vanity Fair. She shoots me a look that questions my sanity. “You don’t think you’ll miss it? Even a little bit?” One more freaking year, and we’re out of this place,” she says when Beyoncé stops singing.
Top down on her cherry-red convertible, music blaring, hair blowing across our faces, we pull out of the high school parking lot with the first day of classes behind us. “Who run the world?” Gabby and I scream the lyrics at the top of our lungs.
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