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Here We Goat Again (Tory)

Nine Years Ago

When I look back at my seventeen-year-old self, there are exactly seven minutes and twenty seconds forever burned into my brain

That’s how long it takes to get out of Granny’s little red Nova I’d driven over to Far a freshly baked peach pie s like heaven

How long I bite my lip on their doorstep, unsure if Quinn would even be home, much less receptive to a decadent dessert at ten o’clock in theendorse it’s the best I’ve ever made from her recipe

How long I exhale in relief as a tall, handsome boy who looks a thousand times better than this pie srin

How long I stand there speechless, staring up at hiet how to form words

Thankfully, Quinn re h we’ve been friends for years, I still get clogged full of butterflies when he shoots me that smile

“Don’t just stand there teasing

“Okay! I just baked it this ,” I mumble, shocked I can speak with ht maybe you’d be in the mood for—”

Record screech

Stop

We’re not quite halfway through my seven h hell

Because a second later, the toe of my shoe catches on Grandpa Faulkner’s unseen pile of boots by the door For another second, there’s just panic, a faint hope Ia total fool of myself

Nope

Not today

The jarring sensation of

I just ruined any hope the hottest boy in town ever had of eating this delicious pie by planting myself in it face-first

At least it isn’t so piping hot it hurts Not physically

Emotionally? I’m dead

I think the only reason I’ ar sticky, plastered in peach filling

“Tory, holy shit Take h et you cleaned up”