Be the Girl(24)

“Cassie learned what a hickey was today.”

Mom begins choking.

“Sorry.” I wait patiently, picking at Iris’s cookies, as Mom coughs up the tea she accidentally inhaled.

She clears her throat. “And how exactly did she learn that?”

I explain the morning car ride, giggling at the memory of watching Emmett fuss with his collar for most of first period.

The kitchen chair creaks as Mom leans back in it. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he’d be … you know …” She waves a casual hand.

“Having sex?” I say boldly. Maybe if I make this uncomfortable for her, she’ll stop pushing for these daily chats.

She presses her lips together but then nods. “He’s a good-looking kid and seventeen years old. Almost eighteen, I think Heather said the other day.” She hesitates. “So, have you met any boys that you like yet?”

Yes, the one from next door with the hickey. The one with the girlfriend. The one I have to stop thinking about.

I pick at the last of the cookie crumbs and shake my head. “I’m going to start my homework now.”





8





Ten students linger by the front doors of school when Emmett and I pull into the parking lot at seven the next morning. My stomach flutters with nerves at the thought of walking up to a group of people who all know each other. Though, having Emmett by my side helps.

“Who is that?” I nod toward the stocky guy off to the side. A thick yellow headband—the kind a tennis player would wear—stretches over his curly brown hair and his socks are pulled up to just below his knees.

Emmett grins. “That is Richard. He’s in my calculus class. Super smart.”

“Is he for real?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I think he’s channeling Jack Black, circa … I don’t even know, but he’s intense.”

“Uh … yeah.” Everyone else is chatting and laughing. Meanwhile, this Richard guy is rushing three steps one way, then spinning to rush three steps back, only to repeat.

“He comes out every year. Slow as hell, but he always finishes.” Emmett half frowns, half smiles at the boy, now jumping up and down in place, shaking out his wrists and cocking his head from side to side. “He’s a strange dude, but he’s nice. Cassie loves him. Thinks he’s the funniest guy in the world.”

And with Cassie, I’m sure she’s laughing with him, not at him.

By the time Emmett and I join the group, Ms. Moretti has emerged from the school. She’s traded in her usual dress and heels for jogging pants and running shoes, and when she stands next to Emmett, who is at least a foot taller, I have to stifle my laugh. “Welcome, everyone! I’m excited to see so many of you back this year.” She gives a gapped-tooth grin at the faces circling her. “And good news! We have an import from out west. This is Aria Jones.” She gestures at me. “She’s an old pro. She’s placed in a provincial race before.”

“She’s gonna kick butt,” Emmett pipes up.

“No, I won’t,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks flush as I cast an awkward wave.

Emmett leans in close, his chest bumping my shoulder as he mock-whispers, “We need to work on your trash-talking skills.”

And my ability to breathe in your proximity.

I struggle to concentrate as Moretti spends a few minutes reviewing the rules—no missing more than two practices, must compete at three of the four mini-meets—before she claps her hands. “Okay, we’re going to spend a few minutes warming up and then we’ll do laps around the school property. Just for today. We’ll venture off to our usual course around Miller’s Park on Thursday—”

“Hey, Ms. M!” a female voice calls out. I turn to see Holly jogging toward us, her long blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, her Eagles T-shirt hugging her ample chest, her shorts showing off toned legs. “I’m sorry I’m late. My car wouldn’t start.”

Holly is in cross-country, too?

Emmett didn’t mention that, did he?

“No problem. We’re warming up.”

“Hey, Aria!” she says, giving my forearm a gentle squeeze as she passes by me to fit in next to Emmett. “I’m so glad you’ve joined our team! Em said you’re really good. You won provincials?”

“I came in second,” I say.

“The second-fastest llama Alberta’s ever seen,” Emmett teases, grinning at me.

“Hey, you.” She lifts to press a kiss against his lips.

I struggle to stifle my groan.





The smell of stale sweat and popcorn permeates the air of Eastmonte’s arena, an old brown brick building on the other side of town.

“Just a hot chocolate.” Heather hands Cassie a five-dollar bill with an encouraging nod, but also a clear warning. “I’ll see you two in there?” Pulling up the zipper on Cassie’s hot-pink vest, Heather then heads for the rink on the right, pausing to greet a small cluster of mothers.

We head for the concession stand and the stern-looking older man running it.

The moment he sees Cassie step up, his hard mask cracks. “Finally! It’s been a long summer of not seeing that smile. How are you, Cassie?”