Be the Girl(57)

I stifle my laugh as we move toward class, sucking in a breath as his fingers graze the small of my back.

We step in to plenty of curious eyes settling on us.

And one set that glares suspiciously.

Whatever. If she has a problem with this … it’s her problem.

The second bell rings and announcements blast over the intercom as we take our seats.

The next sixty-five minutes are a blur.

A blissfully happy blur.





Mick is taking me to see some tile options for the kitchen this afternoon. That orange linoleum has to go! I’ll be back around five.





A date?





I watch the three dots dance on my screen as my mom types her answer.

No, of course not. What kind of date would that be?





But what if Mick thinks this is a date? Would you be okay with that?





More dancing dots.

Would YOU be okay with that?





Will YOU stop making zucchini bread if I say yes?





I get a flat-mouthed emoji in response and then,

I’m asking seriously, Aria. You’ve been through a lot.





It always comes back to me.

Mom … Dad had a baby with another woman. You should date if you want to.





I hesitate before sending the next text.

And Mick seems like a nice guy.





Not that I know him at all.

Doesn’t he? I don’t think he charged me for replacing the broken lock on the back door.





That’s because he cut himself a key so he can sneak in at night.





Aria!





Gotta go. Jen will think I fell into the toilet.





I smile and tuck my phone away before finishing up in the bathroom stall. I step out and round the corner.

And find Holly standing in front of the tiny mirror, dabbing at the tears that run down her cheeks. I hadn’t heard the door creak open, hadn’t heard her make a sound. At least she’s alone.

And I can guess what those tears are about.

I quickly wash my hands, intent on getting the hell out of there. She deserves it, I remind myself. She brought this on herself.

I’m two seconds from the door, thinking I’m going to avoid an awkward confrontation.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Her silky-smooth voice rings with a sudden realization.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Guilty. I sound guilty. Can she hear it, too?

“That’s why you were staring at me in the caf that day, at lunch.” Each word comes with more conviction. “That’s why you called me out in class over Jen’s name. You were in here, hiding in the bathroom stall, recording my private conversation.”

“Your private conversation in the girls’ bathroom?” I scoff, trying to shrug it off, daring to face her now.

Disgust twists her beautiful face. “And then you sent it to Emmett so you could break us up. So you could have him.”

“That’s ridiculous, Holly.” A tiny twinge deep inside me flares at her accusation, as if she hit somewhere too close to the truth. “I heard what you said.” I add quickly, “Emmett played the recording for me,” though I don’t know if I’m fooling her anymore. “He deserved to know who he was dating. That’s why whoever sent it to him did it. So he’d know the truth about the kind of person you are.”

She takes two steps forward, moving into my personal space, her eyes filled with rage. “You’re going to regret it.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.” I hold my stance, setting my jaw, meeting her glare, hoping she can’t see the dread in mine.

The door swings open and two girls stroll in, stopping short at what must look like a fist fight that’s about to break out. I use the interruption as my excuse to hightail it out of there.

What will Holly’s next move be? She has no proof that it was me.

I remind myself of this, even as the weight of her promise settles in my gut.

This is not supposed to be happening again.





It’s five thirty when Heather pulls into the driveway after picking Cassie and me up from the animal shelter. My mom and Mick are leaning against the posts on opposite sides of the porch steps, my mom’s stance casual as she laughs at something Mick said. She’s swapped her usual yoga pants and T-shirt for dark-wash jeans and a soft-pink long-sleeved knit top. Her hair and makeup are done.

She looks … different.

Happy.

Murphy moseys around the front lawn, his nose to the grass, his leash dangling from his collar as if my mother thought to take him for a walk but gave up.

“What is Mick doing now?” Heather asks, parking next to Emmett’s SUV.

Her.

Emmett’s lewd comment from the other day rings in my ear and I stifle my cringe. How long before she’s staying over at his house? “The kitchen floor, I think. Mom wants tile.”

“That’ll freshen it up.” She eyes them shrewdly. Does she suspect that there’s more going on than rendered handyman services?