Free Smart Girl by Rachel Hollis

the very least I can try to get him somewhere where he can throw up into a toilet like a human being. I roll down my window as fast as the vintage crank will allow to get air into the car, which now smells like the worst parts of—no! I will not think about what it smells like in here!
    I look over at him in concern. Sadly his hair, which I love so much, keeps sliding forward into the bag along with his head. Two seconds later we’re at a stop sign, and I pull the hair tie off my wrist and gather his now sweaty locks into an awkward bun at the back of his head. For a year, all I’ve wanted to do was touch his hair. I never thought the first time would be to hold it back so he could projectile vomit into my favorite bag.
    I rub his back in small circles like my mom used to do for me when I was sick. “I’m so sorry.”
    “I’m so sorry,” he moans back to me.
    “We’re almost to your parents’ house, OK?”
    I’m not sure where he lives, and Charlie and Viv are closest. At the very least the housekeeper will be there to open the door for us.
    He nods slowly, still clutching the sides of the purse around his face like a protective shield. When I think about the fact that his head is trapped in the same synthetic leather as his puke, I gag again, only this time it’s not just a gag. This time I throw up along with him.
    By the time we make it to Charlie and Vivian’s house, I’ve ruined my favorite white jeans and he’s ruined my purse. I’m not even sure I can ever air my car out long enough to get rid of the smell. When Maria opens the front door, she’s so flustered by the sight of us that she starts speaking rapidly in Spanish. Liam stumbles to the closest bathroom, and the sound of him in there almost sets me off again. Honestly, I can’t even believe he has anything left to throw up. I sneak up to Max’s old bedroom and commandeer a T-shirt and some old sweatpants that fit me once I roll them at the waist a hundred times. The dirty clothes go into a trash bag Maria so helpfully provided. My purse goes into the garbage. Rest in peace, old friend.
    When I walk into the hallway, I can hear the sound of the shower next to the boys’ old bedrooms. Liam must have found his way up here.
    I sneak over and knock on the door.
    “Liam? Can I get you anything?”
    “Miko,” he groans over the sound of the shower. “If you have an ounce of pity in your soul, you will leave here right now. I promise I will call you tomorrow, I’ll have your car detailed—I’ll give you a hundred million dollars. Just please, for the love of God , don’t make me embarrass myself any more in front of you today.”
    I wince and move away from the door when I hear him dry heave.
    Like I said, I am going to burn for this one for sure.

    When I tell Landon about everything that happened on the phone that night, she is laughing so hard that she almost hyperventilates. When she calms down enough to ask if Liam is OK, and I assure her that I received a text from him verifying that my rotten Sprite hadn’t killed him no matter how hard it tried, she starts laughing again.
    “You’re really not helping me here.” My exasperation must be evident, because she finally stops laughing.
    “I know, girl. I’m sorry.” She chokes again, takes a deep cleansing breath, and starts throwing out words rapid-fire. “Hairless cats, mom jeans, growing out bangs, paying back my student loans, forgetting to shave one armpit—”
    And people act like I’m the weirdo in this friendship.
    “What are you doing?” My demand makes her pause.
    “I’m thinking of things that make me sad,” she tells me seriously. “You told me to stop laughing, and it’s the only thing that works.”
    “Oh—well, you’re right. Hairless cats are really upsetting.”
    “So are hairless dogs,” she adds. “Like when they shave off all of a dog’s fur just because it’s summer. It seems so rude. How do they know he wouldn’t prefer to have hair even if it