Be the Girl(32)

I don’t dare look up again until it’s over. Emmett is staring at the screen, his jaw clenched.

“I swear, the only reason I recorded that was to help you with gift ideas. I didn’t know if I should tell you or not—”

“Bell’s about to go.” His thumb moves fast.

“What are you—”

“I texted it to myself.” He thrusts my phone into my hand.

My stomach drops. See how fast that can happen, Aria? “Please don’t send it anywhere—”

“I won’t. I promise.” And then he’s gone, out the door and down the hall, ignoring the nods and greetings of passing friends.

And I’m running to second period, praying I didn’t just make things worse.

Dreading what my mother is going to say when she sees that video and figures out what I’ve done.





“It’s raining!” Cassie announces with a hint of panic as we push through the doors after school, squinting up at the overcast sky.

“It’s only spitting. But we should hurry home before it gets worse.”

“Wait.” She reaches back to pull her hood up over her head and yank the strings tight, until her face is tightly framed by her jacket. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Despite my dour mood, I smile at her.

“What?” she asks, her face splitting into a grin. “Do I look funny?”

“A little bit. But it’s okay because you’ll stay dry. Come on.” We take the sidewalk that leads past the parking lot, toward home.

“There’s Emmett!”

I follow her finger to where Emmett stands, next to his open trunk, facing Holly. His arms are folded across his chest, his face carved in stone. Holly keeps shaking her head and swiping her fingers across her cheek, as if to wipe away tears.

“Hi, Emmett!” Cassie calls, waving frantically, oblivious to their bodily cues that scream, “Do not disturb.”

Holly reaches for his arm and he jerks his shoulder away.

“No. We’re done,” I think I see him mouth.

Holy shit.

This is because of me, because of the video I showed him.

“Emmett!” Cassie calls again. “Holly!”

“You know what? They look like they’re having a serious conversation,” I say slowly. “So we should keep going and you can talk to him later tonight.”

“Yeah. Okay,” she agrees, but she doesn’t move, her eyes narrowing. “I think Holly’s crying.”

“Yeah, I think she might be.”

“Oh no! What’s wrong? Is she hurt?” Rare and genuine grief fills Cassie’s voice.

“I don’t know,” I lie. Callous as Holly’s words may have been, I don’t doubt her feelings for Emmett are real. Which means we’re standing here, watching her heart get ripped out of her chest. “But we should leave them alone, okay?”

Emmett slams his trunk and climbs into the driver’s seat. In seconds, he’s pulling out, leaving Holly there, hugging herself, her face a picture of devastation.

“Holly! Hi!” Cassie waves frantically, as if either she didn’t hear me or she’s choosing to ignore me. “Are you okay?”

Holly looks over at us and then spins on her heels and marches toward her Civic, digging her keys out of her pocket.

Cassie watches, an odd mixture of hurt, confusion, and curiosity filling her face. What’s going on in that head of hers at this moment? How is she’s interpreting this?

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

She squints up at the sky again and pauses a few beats. “Is it raining?” she asks, as fat drops splatter over her lenses.

I sigh. “Yeah. It’s raining.”





My pant legs are soaked and my stomach is in knots by the time I step through the front door.

Uncle Merv is sitting in his usual spot, but his eyes are closed and he’s wearing big black headphones, plugged into the tablet my mother bought him last week. To bring him into this century, she claimed.

“Hey, hon! How was your day?” Mom calls out from the kitchen, her voice light and unsuspecting. Not the voice of an angry person.

I find her seated at the old kitchen table with her tea, smiling. “Look at this old wedding photo of Connie and Merv. I found it in a pile of paperwork and had it retouched and framed.” She holds up the picture for me to see. “Look how young Uncle Merv was!”

She hasn’t listened to the text Emmett forwarded from my phone. Not yet, anyway. I exhale with the bit of relief this brings me.

“Young and thin.” Toothpick thin, with long, skinny legs.

She chuckles. “I’m going to hang it up in the living room for him, as soon as I can find a hammer.”

An array of pamphlets is spread out on the table in front of her. “What’s all this?”

“Oh, I’ve had it with these dinosaur appliances. They’re at least a hundred years old. That oven is uneven and the dishwasher doesn’t clean a thing. Mick said he’d install it if I have it delivered. And …,” she waves a hand at the exterior paint catalogue, “I was thinking about having the front of the house freshened up in the spring. It always used to look so nice, with the flowers and the clean, white porch. Aunt Connie would sit out there every afternoon and crochet.” She smiles, more to herself. “It’s time to bring back some of that charm to this old place.”