Stay Sweet(27)

“And you know, if you think about it, some of the chores we had to do to prep the stand were kind of bogus. Like rake the dirt? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would totally rake dirt, no complaints, if Molly were still alive. But it’s not like Grady will know one way or the other.” Cate braids her hair and smiles slyly. “We should really think about how to use that to our advantage.”

Amelia looks at her chore list and tries to think about what else could or should be changed. She’s sure there’s something, though nothing jumps out at her. She puts down her notebook, clicks off the light, and closes her eyes.

Despite her protests, Cate’s out quickly, and if they didn’t have to be up super early, Amelia might poke her awake and make a joke about it. Amelia wants to fall asleep herself but has the sense she won’t anytime soon. It probably wasn’t smart to think about the stand before bed. It’s got her all anxious.

She picks up her phone. After turning the brightness down on the screen, she does a little digging on Grady Meade herself. Purely from a business standpoint, of course.

She finds an article in the Truman alumni news featuring Grady and his dad. There’s a picture accompanying it, and it’s the complete antithesis of the ones Cate found on the fraternity account. This shot is sober, corporate, constructed. Grady is wearing a white collared shirt and a Truman blue tie knotted tightly around his neck. He’s standing next to his father, who’s behind a huge mahogany desk inside a rich-looking library, wearing the same tie but a different shirt. Neither smiles.

Recalling the awkward exchange between them outside the stand, Amelia suspects this is the reason why Grady’s social media is on lockdown.

The article states that Grady’s father is a big-time businessman and one of Truman’s most famous and successful alumni. His career took off when he was barely twenty and he began constructing his own billboards out of scrap lumber and placing them on his parents’ property. He’d sell advertising to local businesses, use the money to lease more land on neighbors’ property, and sell more ads. When asked whether retirement might be in his future, his answer is “I don’t think that’s going to be possible. Everywhere I look, I see the potential to make money. That’s the lens I’m always wearing.”

In a closing sentence, there is a mention of Quinn Greenfield-Meade. Amelia cuts and pastes the name into a new search. Before she can stop herself, she’s scrolling through Grady’s mom’s photo stream, looking at different birthdays (never a homemade cake, always celebrated at a restaurant) and holidays (St. Patrick’s Day seems big for them, which isn’t surprising) and vacations (several ski trips, one Hawaiian resort, what looks like an Alaskan fishing cruise, the Harry Potter theme park) all going back to when Grady was seven years old.

Quinn’s pictures are mostly of Grady and herself—many shots don’t include his dad, even on Grady’s high school graduation day, which took place around this time last summer. There’s a selfie of Quinn tucked underneath Grady’s arm in his cap and gown. She’s done up beautifully, in a white sheath and matching white cardigan with pearl buttons, her hair perfectly blown out in soft, bouncy curls. Grady looks all Meade DNA. Amelia doesn’t see much of Quinn in him.

She squints and brings the phone screen closer.

Maybe the brows. They both have great brows.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN


IF AMELIA COULD WARN CATE’S future college roommate about anything, it would be that she’s the absolute worst at mornings. Once Amelia’s awake, she’s ready to go at full power. But the earlier Cate is dragged out of bed, the more time she needs to ease into things. Amelia has learned over the years that waking Cate up is a process. You have to give her ample time and space to look at her phone, to slowly join the living. Rushing only makes her crabbier and slower.

Today, that means setting a series of alarms, every ten minutes, beginning at five in the morning.

Eventually, Cate arches her back in a deep stretch. “Grady better be grateful. The only time I wake up this early is for Black Friday sales.”

“I still can’t believe you got your laptop for a hundred bucks.”

“Just call me Door Buster,” Cate says with a yawn.

Amelia sits on the edge of her bed, already dressed, Cate’s Meade Creamery polo and shorts on her lap. She tosses them to Cate as Cate strips out of her jammies.

“Don’t forget your Head Girl pin,” Cate says. “I can’t believe I have to keep reminding you.”

They share the sink, brushing their teeth, washing their faces. Amelia pees upstairs while Cate uses their downstairs bathroom. And then Amelia’s pushing Cate out the front door. Once outside, Cate hides her eyes from the sun and digs in her bag for those gas station sunglasses.

“You’d better not sign up for any classes before noon,” Amelia warns. “You’ll lose your scholarship.”

“Maybe we should register for classes around the same times. Then you can be my wake-up call! I mean, we’re already going to be talking to each other every day.”

It’s honestly not a bad idea, except they won’t be in the same time zone.

Cate pats herself down for the key to her truck. “How about we grab breakfast somewhere? Starbucks drive-thru?”

“Nope,” Amelia says, climbing into Cate’s truck and pulling the door shut.