Be the Girl(59)

I feel Emmett’s steady gaze on my profile as we round the bend in the street, but I keep my eyes on Murphy, his nose prodding the bushes that line the sidewalk.

“Maybe we should cool it for a bit, until she’s moved on.”

“No! I mean …” I temper my panic at that terrible suggestion. “I don’t want to do that.”

His lips twist in thought. “Is your mom still out there?”

“Uh … I can’t see the house from—”

Emmett’s mouth captures mine in a searing kiss that pulls me right back into the headiness of last night in his bedroom. His one hand slips beneath my hair to cradle the back of my neck while the other snakes around my waist, easing me into his body. I forget all my worries—my past life, the C+ on my math quiz, the kamikaze cat waiting in the bushes, the potential wrath of Holly—as I sink into his warm body, tasting mint on his breath as his tongue slips over mine in a seductive dance.

A car gives a light honk on the way past, reminding me that we’re standing on the street.

“Did you actually want to talk about our project?” I ask in a shaky voice.

“No.” He laughs, releasing me from his hold, glancing around. “Mower’s having people over Saturday night. You think your mom will let you go?”

“Maybe?” I’ll beg and plead if I have to.

He shrugs. “I figured it’d be a good way to ring in your sixteenth birthday.”

“Sixteen minus an hour. My curfew’s eleven,” I admit with bitterness.

His face pinches. “Even on your birthday?”

“We’ll see.” Maybe I’ll ask when I get home, while she’s still buzzing from her tile-shopping non-date with the handyman.

“Try. His parents are going away for the weekend so it’ll be a good time.”

“I’ll probably leave that detail out.”

Emmett chuckles. “Good idea. And he lives over there.” He points to a side street up ahead, lined with grand oaks and sizable houses. “So we can walk. No worries about driving.”

Which, I’m guessing, means Emmett’s planning on drinking. “You don’t have hockey?”

“Not on Thanksgiving weekend. It’s one of the only weekends I can let loose.”

What does that mean? Is he planning on getting drunk? What is Emmett like when he’s drunk?

Jen’s words hit me then, about how he and Holly were known to “go at it” at parties. I witnessed it firsthand. Well, I witnessed the prelude and then the hickey aftermath.

What’s going to happen at Mower’s house this weekend? What is Emmett going to expect from me, still very much a virgin?

When do we have that conversation?

Murphy squats.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter.

“Yeah. Literally.”

“No … I mean, I didn’t bring a bag!” I check my jacket pockets in case there’s an extra one from the shelter visit.

There isn’t.

As discreetly as possible, I glance around at the houses, to make sure no one’s watching.

The moment Murphy has finished, Emmett declares, “Run!” and we take off at a slow jog toward our houses, allowing Murphy to keep up.

We laugh the entire way.





17





Dear Julia,

I’m petrified of this Saturday night.

Is that stupid? Because it feels stupid to be so nervous. It’s Emmett, after all. But … IT’S EMMETT. I don’t want to screw this up by saying or doing the wrong thing, or doing something the wrong way. Do all teenaged girls worry about this kind of stuff or am I strange? This is when I wish Denise and I were still friends. Maybe I should ask Jen. I’m guessing she’s still a virgin, but she’s also smart and level-headed. She’d probably give good advice. I don’t know if Mom will let me go anyway. Mick ended up staying for dinner tonight, so it didn’t feel like the right time to ask. Or maybe it would’ve been the perfect time, with Mick there and her in a bubbly, non-Mom mood. But I was getting creeped out with all the secret looks they kept giving each other, so I ate and then hid up in my room.

Mick’s okay, by the way. A bit of a dork—he tried to strike up a conversation with me about Star Wars—but he seems nice enough. He doesn’t have any kids. That’s a bonus. I don’t need any more stepbrothers or -sisters. The ones in Calgary are more than enough.

So … I guess I’ll ask her about Mower’s house tomorrow, after the cross-country meet.

~AJ





“Did you double-check your laces?” Richard points a stubby finger at my running shoes and I look on instinct. “Yeah. Twice.”

“All right! Go whoop some Xavier ass for us.” The second cross-country mini-meet is at a conservation area near Xavier Secondary in Klemptville. They’re a big rival high school for Eastmonte and also where Jen and Holly both came from before moving.

I size up the runners readying on the start line. Most of them are tall—one looks like she’s teetering on six feet. “I don’t know. I’m guessing some of those girls can go the distance.”

“So can you. And you’re fast. That’s a deadly combination in this sport. Stay with the pack.” He pats my shoulder. “You’re Aria Jones and you can do this.”