Be the Girl(75)

Emmett groans and rolls off, leaving me instantly cold. This ache only grows when I watch him stand and, as discreetly as possible, adjust himself.

I pull myself into a respectable sitting position on the edge of Emmett’s bed, smoothing my hair, as the door swings open and Cassie barges in.

“Dinner’s ready,” she announces with a grin.

“Meet you guys down there.” Emmett strolls to the bathroom across the hall.





“That was delicious, Heather.” Uncle Merv wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin and then tosses it onto his dirty plate.

“Well, I hope you saved room for dessert,” she says through a glass of wine—I guess she didn’t have too much last night, after all.

Leaning back in his chair, he rubs his protruding belly, his loose jowls lifting with his grin. “Oh, I suppose there might be some room left in here for pie.”

“Or something else.” Cassie grins, her eyes flittering to me before shifting to her mother. She waggles her eyebrows and nods her head, urging Heather. She’s been giving her mother that look all night, and Heather has mouthed or whispered, “Not yet,” over and over again.

I suspect it has to do with my birthday.

“Emmett? Why don’t you help me clear.” Mark collects dinner plates.

Emmett, who’s sitting beside me, whose leg nudged against mine the entire dinner, stands.

I move to help.

Mark pats the air, winking at me. “Stay, relax. We’ve got this. Cassie?”

Her mouth makes an “oh” shape and, with a furious nod and her wide eyes flashing to me, she scrambles out of her seat.

I prepare myself for the ensuing embarrassment.

It comes five minutes later when the lights suddenly dim and Cassie’s laughter sounds, and Heather aims a giant lens at me to take a picture. My cheeks burn as Emmett leads, carrying a homemade chocolate cake on a plate, sixteen pink candles blazing from the top. Everyone’s voices meld together in song, including Uncle Merv’s gruff baritone, and Heather snaps picture after picture.

“We made it yesterday. It took us all day! I helped decorate,” Cassie declares as Emmett sets the cake down in front of me.

“Make a wish,” he whispers, his eyes glimmering in the candlelight.

I smile up at him. I’ve already got my wish, I want to say. All my wishes.

Life is good again.

I take a deep breath and blow out the candles. Someone—Heather, I assume—has piped “Happy birthday, AJ” across the center in green icing. Messy, uneven squirts of pink and blue icing surround the tidy lettering, half of them with a Junior Mint embedded within. I’m guessing that’s Cassie’s contribution. Now the rattling sound in Cassie’s pocket and her secretive behavior the other day make sense.

“There were supposed to be more mints on top—” Heather begins with a chuckle.

“But I accidentally ate them.” Cassie smiles, as if she’s proud of that fact and everyone, including Uncle Merv, can’t help but laugh. Because Cassie makes people laugh, just by being herself—her innocent, curious, kindhearted self.

An unexpected wave of anger ripples through me. How could Holly be a part of something so cruel as what that asshole Adam did to Cassie last night? How could she allow something like that to happen?

I temper my anger and smile, pushing thoughts of Holly from my mind. “Thank you. This is a nice surprise.”

“Yeah.” Cassie shrugs, as if it’s no big deal, her hungry eyes sizing up the cake. “So … can you cut it now?”





21





“Miss Webber … you have a meeting with your guidance counselor.” Ms. McNair holds the slip of paper between her two fingers, hand-delivered by a mousy girl with thick glasses and a pale complexion.

“Oh! I totally forgot!” Holly croons.

Fake. Her voice grates on my nerves.

McNair glances at the clock. “Drop your essay on my desk on the way out, as I assume you won’t be back before class end.”

There’s a rustling sound behind us as Holly gathers her things, and I steal a glance at Emmett, only to have him offer me that sexy smirk that makes me forget everything else.

The next thing I know, Holly is stumbling past me with a soft “oomph,” her hand flying out to brace herself against my desk, knocking my pencil case off in the process. Pens and highlighters scatter across the classroom floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Aria! I’m such a klutz!” She stoops and, in a rush, collects my things.

“It’s fine,” I mumble, stifling my eye roll.

“Here. I think I got everything. Oh, except this.” Her upturned nose crinkles as she holds up a long tube and reads, loud enough for the entire class to hear, “Herpes cold sore cream.”

My face explodes with flames as gasps and snickers and a few outright bursts of laughter sound around us. “That’s not mine!”

“Sure. Okay, well …” She tosses it onto my desk along with my pencil case and then holds her hands out as if she’s touched something foul. Her blue eyes land on Emmett with her cringe. “Have fun with that.”

“Oh my God, that’s not mine,” I mutter under my breath for only Emmett to hear, my eyes stinging with the threat of tears. It doesn’t even say “herpes” on the tube!