Be the Girl(21)

Heather’s eyes leave the street long enough to offer her daughter a soft smile. “You want to get all dressed up?”

“Yeah.” Cassie nods. “Except I’m not wearing high heels because I’ll fall.”

“You don’t have to wear high heels,” Heather assures her.

“Yeah … and I’ll have to find a date,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Or not. You can go alone.”

There’s a long pause. “I don’t want to go alone.”

“Well, then, maybe you can go with Dillon.”

I recognize that name. Cassie has talked about him on our walks home. He’s a boy with autism in her class.

Cassie shrugs. “Dillon doesn’t like music. I don’t think he’s going.”

“Okay, well, maybe Emmett could take you.”

Would Emmett do that? Come home from wherever he is in five years to take his little sister to a high school prom? Knowing him, probably.

“Yeah.” I watch Cassie think about that for a moment. “Or Zach could take me.”

That’s a stretch. I know he’s Emmett’s friend, but is he that good of a friend? Would the tall, blond popular guy come back in five years to walk arm-in-arm with his friend’s autistic sister? And what would she wear? I can’t picture her in a short hem or a plunging neckline. Sure, she’s developing like a woman but the more I get to know her—how innocent she still is—I can’t see her in anything but a puffy pink Cinderella dress.

“Maybe.” It could be this angle, but the smile on Heather’s mouth wavers.





The first thing I notice when we pull into the Hartford driveway is that the Santa Fe is still gone.

“When is Emmett coming home?” Cassie practically plucks that question from my mind.

“He said five, I think. Cassie, can you take that bag by your feet into your father right away so he can finish dinner?” Heather points to a reusable grocery bag. “I’ll be there in a second.”

I sense that she wants to speak to me, so I linger outside the car, watching Cassie trudge away.

Heather offers me a warm smile. “Thank you for taking Cassie to the movies today.”

I shrug. “It’s no big deal. Really.”

“No, it is a big deal.” She sighs. “Cassie doesn’t have a lot of friends. She knows a lot of people. Between neighbors and families we’ve gotten to know over the years through Emmett’s hockey, she’s surrounded by a lot of people who care and are great with her. But none of them are her friends. People who make time for her. Holly did for a while, but …” Heather frowns. “It means a lot to Cassie to be able to go to a movie with you. We’re grateful to you for suggesting that last night.” Her voice has taken on a slightly husky tone.

I nod, unsure of how to respond. “I had fun.” And I did, I realize, even with Cassie’s prattling and the sense that I had to watch over her like a babysitter watches over her charge.

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, she idolizes you. She came home the other day and demanded that we repaint her bedroom to match yours.”

“Really?” I laugh.

“Yes. Your mom gave me the color chip from your room. Mark is very excited about painting.” Her laugh carries a derisive note. With that, she collects the rest of the groceries from the trunk.

I watch her disappear behind the front door, feeling a sudden lightness in my chest that hasn’t been there in so long.





Emmett is waiting for me at the end of his driveway, stretching his hamstrings, when I emerge on Monday morning at 7:00 a.m. His brown eyes roll over my black running shorts and my bare legs—that I thankfully remembered to shave last night, because the air is crisper than I expected and I have gooseflesh—before landing on my old high school shirt. His face splits into a wide grin. “Llamas?”

“Hey, I didn’t pick my high school mascot.” I grab an ankle and begin my warm-up stretches, stealing a covert glance at his form—long legs coated with dark hair and rippling with muscle; broad shoulders that lead into a shapely back. He’s wearing a burgundy-and-gold Eastmonte Eagles T-shirt that’s threadbare and clingy around his sinewy arms and powerful-looking chest.

His body is not that of a seventeen-year-old boy—at least not one I’ve ever met.

“At least llamas are more creative than eagles.”

“Fair point.” He grins, connecting his hands behind his back to stretch his chest, a move that shifts his collar, revealing a purplish-red bruise on his collarbone.

“What happened to your neck?” I blurt out without thinking.

“Nothing,” he says, tugging at his T-shirt collar to cover it, his cheeks flushing.

“Oh.” It finally dawns on me—Emmett has a hickey? “Really?”

He groans. “Don’t you start, too. I’ve already gotten enough chirping from my team yesterday.”

“Sorry, I just haven’t seen one in a while.”

“Since you were twelve, right?” He grimaces. “Holly knew what she was doing, too. She thought it’d be funny.”

“It kind of is.” I press my lips together to keep from laughing.

“Yeah, to everyone else.” He’s annoyed but at least he’s smiling now. He tucks his earbuds into his ears. Now I wish I’d brought mine. “Come on, Jones. Let’s see what you’ve got.”