Be the Girl(72)

“And AJ would appreciate it if you don’t mention that to anyone because I’ll get in a lot of trouble with my mom,” I say.

“I know.”

“She’s serious, Cassie. Debra won’t let AJ out anymore if she finds out she was drinking. That’s a secret between us, okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” She’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t want Mom to know that I ate the bad cookie.”

“It wasn’t your fault, though.”

“No! She’ll never let me go to a party again!” There’s so much frustration in her voice. “I won’t be able to go to prom.”

“Prom? That’s …” Emmett’s face twists up. “Since when do you care about prom?”

“It was in that movie we saw in the theater,” I whisper. “And I explained it to her. She liked the idea of dressing up and going to a big party.”

“That’s not even … you’re only in grade ten.”

“I guess she’s planning ahead.”

“I can still hear you talking about me,” Cassie says. “Don’t tell Mom. Please.”

Emmett’s jaw clenches. “We’ll see how tonight goes, okay?”

“I think I’m fine.” Her face pinches with exaggerated thought. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not sure that I’m fine.”

“Did you eat a bad cookie, too?”

“No.”

“Then you’re better than me.”

Emmett rolls his eyes—she has a point—and slouches into the couch, as if the night has finally settled its full weight upon his shoulders.





We hear the front door open at ten minutes to midnight, and a moment later Heather’s heels click on the floor above our heads.

Emmett and I exchange a glance and then watch Cassie, who doesn’t so much as twitch. She drifted off about twenty minutes ago—whether from the marijuana or exhaustion from overstimulation, I can’t say, though it would seem that Adam’s paltry skills with baking pot cookies might have saved us tonight.

“So?” I whisper, squeezing his fingers. “Are you going to tell them?”

His lips pucker as he considers his answer, and I so desperately want to lean in and kiss them, something we haven’t done since before the incident at Mower’s. “She’s never asked me to keep a secret like that before. And she’s right, my mom will never let her out again. Not that I have a problem with that after tonight.”

The basement door creaks open and his chest rises with a deep breath. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth as soft footfalls land on the steps.

It’s Mark that appears, though.

“Hey, guys, how was your night?” His voice is low and relaxed.

“Good,” Emmett offers.

Mark bends over to peer at his sleeping daughter, his eyes dancing with amusement. “She must have had a lot of fun.”

Emmett’s eyes flicker to mine, ever so briefly. “How was the Coopers’?”

“Oh, you know. Lots of food.” Mark pats his belly. “It took your mom a little while to get used to the idea of Cassie at a party, but she finally mellowed. The wine helped.” He settles a hand on Cassie’s shoulder, giving her a soft shake.

“What are you doing? Don’t wake her up!” Emmett’s whisper is harsh—panicked.

“I can’t leave her in the basement all night. And she’s too heavy to carry, even for you.”

“I’ll crash down here with her. I’m just gonna walk AJ home. She won’t wake up alone.”

Mark shrugs, eyeing his sleeping daughter. “Not sure how I’d wake her up anyway. She’s out like a light. Too much stimulation?”

Emmett’s gaze slides to the TV. “I guess.”

“Well … good night. ’Night, Aria. And, oh, happy birthday in,” he checks his watch, “seven minutes.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

Mark is a soft-spoken man who works a lot, but when he’s here, he’s here, popping allergy pills so his daughter can borrow a dog for a few hours. He’s so different from my father, a loud man who can find the negative side to everything and missed my fourteenth birthday—didn’t even call—because he was preoccupied by his “business trip” in Banff with his paralegal mistress.

I doubt he even remembers that it’s my birthday tomorrow.





The lights in the living room are off when we reach my front door.

Is Mom upstairs in bed already? Or hiding in the dark, watching for me?

“So, tonight was … interesting.” I dig the house keys from my pocket. At least it started out great.

“Yeah.”

“How’s your hand?” I’m aware it’s the fourth time I’ve asked.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, really,” he dismisses, his attention drifting off, down the street, toward the direction of Mower’s house. Is the party still going on?

“Okay, well … I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, at dinner?”

He nods, chewing the inside of his mouth in thought before leaning down to steal a quick, chaste kiss. “I should get back, in case Cassie wakes up high and freaks out.”