Be the Girl(30)

“I wasn’t going to anyway.”

She holds up her finger in warning. “And I want the account info. Password and everything.”

“Of course.” I snatch the last bite of zucchini bread—I hate to confess that it’s good—and head to my room, feeling a small surge of victory.





Dogs, standing.

Dogs, sitting.

Dogs, running.

Dogs, jumping.

I shake my head as I scroll through Cassie’s profile. There’s even a close-up of a dog’s eyeball with a caption that reads “Bert’s eye,” followed by several laughing emojis. She’s a one-girl publicity department for the Eastmonte Animal Shelter. Of course, she’s only advertising to her circle of thirty-six people. Thirty-seven, now that she accepted my friend request, after I texted to get her handle and to give her mine: therunningllama.

I spy Emmett’s profile in Cassie’s list of followers—my real motivation for searching out Cassie. His icon is a professional photographer’s action shot of him on the ice. Of course. I click on the link and my stomach tightens with excitement, seeing that it’s not set to private. He has over two thousand followers.

Curling up in the window seat, I begin to scroll. He doesn’t post often, and when he does, it’s usually something about hockey or his team. Where there is the odd picture of him without a helmet, I linger, my heart rate spiking.

It’s at least twenty pictures before I come across a picture of him and Holly, taken last Christmas based on their matching Christmas sweaters. There’s another one of them, lying side by side in the snow, laughing.

I can’t help myself—I click on the tag that takes me to Holly’s profile.

It’s full of pictures of Holly and Emmett, of Holly alone, and beautiful candid shots of Emmett that make my heart ache, all of them with a slew of hashtags that stake her claim over him.

He’s all mine.

That’s what she said in the bathroom today.

My teeth grit at that wide, toothy smile.

What a phony.

A horn honks outside and I peer out the window to see a black SUV waiting in the Hartford driveway. Moments later, Emmett strolls out of the house in a dark-gray suit and silver tie, his stick in one hand, his enormous hockey bag in the other. He rounds the truck to toss his equipment in the back before climbing into the passenger seat.

They wear suits to games? Hockey is weird.

I grab a nearby book and pretend to read as the SUV backs out of the driveway. It’s Friday night. Will Emmett feel sorry for me if he happens to look up here and see me alone?

Did he actually say that to Holly?

My chest burns with equal parts anger and embarrassment.

Once the SUV is out of sight, I slide my earbuds in and replay the audio recording for the sixth time tonight, in all its unmistakable glory.

Proving that the only pretty thing about Holly is her big, fake smile.





10





Dear Julia,

WHAT SHOULD I DO?

I know what I WANT to do—send that video to Emmett. I have his number. I could do it. But what will he think? Is Jen right? Will he be pissed with Holly? Will he dump her for what she said? She’d deserve it.

But what if he doesn’t, and he’s pissed at me for recording her? Plus, my mom will KILL me if she finds out I was hiding in a bathroom stall, recording conversations, which means I can’t send this video to Emmett; she’d see it in her spyware.

So maybe I should just play it for her, and see what she says. Holly’s a horrible person. My mom would see that in a heartbeat.

Or she could demand that I delete it. Then I don’t have proof. Then Holly gets to keep strutting around being the Queen of Fake while talking trash about Cassie and me, and Jen, and who knows who else, all while pretending she’s this sweet angel and sucking on Emmett’s neck like a damn vampire (I’ve definitely been around Uncle Merv too much).

See the dilemma I’m in, Julia?

I know what I want to do. The thing is, I also know why I want to do it, and my reasoning probably isn’t all that noble.

~AJ





Eastmonte cross-country team, Practice tomorrow morning (Monday) is cancelled due to inclement weather. Thx, Ms. Moretti.

I fall back into my bed, surrounded by textbooks, and let the relief swarm my body. Thank you, lightning. Without that forecast, we’d be running in rain tomorrow morning and that is a crappy way to start off a week.

My phone chirps with an incoming text and my heart skips a beat when Emmett’s name shows up at the top.

You see Moretti’s email?





Between hockey and Holly, Emmett was out most of the weekend, which is probably a good thing because I haven’t figured out what to tell him yet, if anything. There’s a good chance that if I show Emmett the video, he’ll break up with Holly, and I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t want that. But the thing is, she deserves it for the things she said—not about Jen and me but about Cassie. The more times I listen to it, the more I convince myself that that’s reason enough to out her.

Sure, Cassie’s one of the most awkward girls I’ve ever met, but, funnily enough, she’s grown on me. I may never be able to have a deep conversation with her, but she’ll always be genuinely happy to see me. And if she heard what Holly said about her? Just the thought makes me want to march across the lawn and play the recording for Emmett.