Be the Girl(40)

“Okay?” We’re doing this in his bedroom? Is Heather okay with this? My mother wouldn’t be. My heart pounds as I climb the stairs, Cassie in close pursuit.

Heather rounds the corner, a tea towel in her hands. “Hi, Aria. Cassie, I need you to come down here and help me peel the carrots.”

“Not now, Mom. I’m going to hang out with Aria and Emmett.” I guess she has gotten over her anger with her brother.

“No. They’re doing homework. It’s not chitchat time. We already talked about this.” Heather is still calm, but there is an edge to her tone that says this isn’t negotiable.

It appears Cassie catches it too, because she turns and eases down the stairs, making a point of stomping her socked heels against the hardwood floor as she passes by her mother.

Heather rolls her eyes, then heads back to the kitchen.

And I head for Emmett’s room.

It’s across the hall from Cassie’s and slightly bigger, with slanted ceilings like mine and a window that overlooks the street. There’s no built-in bookshelves or reading nook, though. As bubblegum pink and girly as Cassie’s room is currently, Emmett’s room is shades of navy blue and burgundy, and hockey everything.

“Wow.” My eyes roll over the hockey sticks mounted to the wall with brackets, countless medals dangling from the ends.

And in the center of it all is Emmett, his long body looking especially good in jeans and a faded T-shirt, sprawled out on the navy-blue patterned rug, his back propped against his bed frame, his laptop open on his legs.

His feet bare.

“Hey, have you looked over McNair’s expectations yet?” He’s frowning at his computer.

“I scanned it.” I set my backpack on the floor and kneel beside him. Sitting next to him for an hour each day has helped me learn to control my breathing, but where there was once mind-blanking nervousness, now there is wild excitement. Equally distracting.

He runs his index finger across his screen, open to the Social Studies 12 portal page. “It says here minimum seven minutes, maximum twelve minutes, and we’ll be penalized for going outside of that.”

“I guess that means we have to rehearse the slides.”

“Yeah. And they have to be in PowerPoint, with a maximum of twenty-five words per slide, and a maximum of ten slides in total. So, basically, she doesn’t want us reading off slides to the class.”

“Those are always the worst presentations to sit through, anyway.”

He snorts. “Right? Still, this is going to take planning.”

“But we’re allowed to have talk sheets to guide us.”

“Thank God.” He frowns as he continues reading.

Meanwhile, my eyes involuntarily veer to his feet, to his toes that are long and touched with dark wisps of hair at the knuckles. His nails are neatly trimmed. All in all, they’re not awful.

“Why are you glaring at my feet like that?” Emmett asks suddenly.

“What? I’m not,” I deny, feeling my cheeks flush.

“Liar.” He laughs. “You were looking at them like you want to cut them off at the ankle and throw them in a Dumpster.”

I cringe at the visual.

“They’re clean. I did shower after practice.” He’s staring at me, waiting for an explanation, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I hate feet,” I finally confess.

“What?” His thick, dark-brown eyebrows pop. “You hate feet. How can you hate feet? They’re feet! They help you run those cross-country races!”

“I’m not arguing that they’re useful. But they’re ugly.”

“You’re saying that my feet are ugly.”

“No, yours are … not bad.” Because I doubt there’s an ugly inch on your entire body.

He pauses. “What about your feet? Are they ugly?”

I shrug.

His full lips twist in thought. “Only one way to find out.” Setting his laptop aside, he leans over to seize one of my legs, his firm grip wrapping around my ankle.

I shriek as he effortlessly drags me closer to him, using his free hand to slip off my ankle sock.

“Wow. Look at this hideous thing! I can’t believe you leave the house with these!” he teases, inspecting my toes, painted with a sparkly blue nail polish.

“Shut up!” I laugh, tugging on my leg, trying to free myself. It’s in vain; he’s too strong.

“Seriously though, they’re freakishly small. How do you run so fast with these tiny things?” He drags his finger over my insole, making me jolt. “Freakishly small, ticklish feet, huh?”

Oh God. “No!” I cackle as his fingertips dance over the bottom of my foot, torn between mortification and exhilaration, knowing that within moments my face will turn an unsightly mottled pink as it did when my dad would pin me down and tickle me, years ago.

“Hey! What are you guys doing?” Cassie steps in, her eyes flashing back and forth, grinning at us.

Emmett releases his grip of my leg. “Nothing. Aria was showing me her ugly feet and she’s right. They’re horrible.”

Cassie pauses, as if weighing that. “You’re joking.”

Emmett sighs. “Yes, I’m joking. Aria has cute feet. Mine are ugly. What’s up, Cassie? We’re working on a project.”