Highly Suspicious and Unfairly Cute(35)
“Yes,” she says tightly, “I realize that. But Zion says they can get a cake from Tesco Express for after dinner, but anything more is out of the question because then everyone would need one for their birthdays. Obviously I said no because that sucks, and anyway, I don’t want to invite everyone—”
Ah, the sheer Celine-ness of that statement. Some things never change.
“—so I thought we could just have a very small but very good secret surprise party, except I don’t go to that many parties and obviously you do.” Her tone implies that my regular presence at social gatherings is unspeakably disgusting, but I let that slide.
“Let me get this straight. You—you—are planning to break the rules to make sure Aurora has a decent eighteenth birthday. And you’re asking me to help.”
Celine is wary again, like I might laugh, or refuse, or bite her. I’m not going to do any of those things. I couldn’t if I wanted to, because I’m too busy grappling with this unwelcome reminder of what a good friend she can be. She doesn’t care about people easily, but once you’ve got her, you’ve got her.
Until you give her up.
There’s a hollow space in my stomach that feels a lot like regret.
“Well?” she asks, eyebrows raised.
“I don’t know,” I say, folding my arms, drawing this out. She wants my help. She wants my help. “What’ll you give me in return?”
“Here.” She opens her hand and blows softly across her palm. I feel her breath against my cheek.
The hollow in my stomach sort of…hops, like a little kid on a playground. Am I breathing loud? Or is it just the trapped air in this tent? “What…what was that?” I ask. My tongue feels heavy.
She smiles, so sweetly. “Those were all the fucks I had to give, Bradley.” Then she shows me her middle finger and goes to crawl out of the tent.
I’m laughing so hard, I can barely speak. “Of course I’ll help. Celine! Come on, come back.”
The miracle is, she does.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CELINE
What does not-enemies even mean? Clearly it’s a matter of opinion, but I know my stance: there’s a lot of people in this world, and you can’t just categorize them as yes or no, friend or foe. There must be shades, gradients, in-between phases, because absolute trust leads to absolute heartbreak. You can’t pull the rug out from under me if I’ve barely stepped on it in the first place.
All of which is to say, Brad and I might be not-enemies, but that doesn’t mean we’re friends. I should keep him well beyond arm’s length.
Instead, I asked him to arrange a party.
Minnie: …You asked WHO?
Celine: Well he’s the only person I know here!!! I had no choice!!!!!!
Minnie: FT me it’s urgent
Celine: NO. I will see you next week Michaela
Minnie: WHAT IS IN THE WATER OVER THERE
I don’t know! It just happened! The last party I organized was Michaela’s seventeenth and all I had to do was get us tickets to an under-eighteens night at Rescue Rooms and buy her some birthstone jewelry. I think she had a good time at the club, but there’s no Rescue Rooms in the woods, and I don’t have time to buy Aurora a birthstone—
And Brad goes to parties constantly, according to a few clips I might have accidentally seen on a friend of a friend’s Instagram Story, so asking for his help made sense. Letting him take over the entire thing completely, however, makes no sense at all.
Now it’s Friday night, I have no idea what the plan is, and I’m trying to explain to Aurora why she shouldn’t take her makeup off yet even though we’re both in our pajamas and it’s way past curfew.
“But I’ll get foundation on my pillow,” she says doubtfully.
“So don’t lie down,” I advise.
She looks at me like my head’s fallen off. “It’s bedtime, Celine.”
Well, yes, it is. And she seems pleased enough with the card I made her and the gluten-free cream cakes I managed to trade off of Mary (RIP to my sparkly chili-shaped hair slide), so perhaps the whole party idea is way OTT and I’ve made a mistake. I’m wondering how to tell Brad this entire thing is off when someone knocks very, very quietly at our door.
Crap. It’s too late. I cast a nervous glance at Aurora as I tiptoe to answer it. She is a Scorpio; I know she has hidden depths.
Hinges squeak, carpet sticks, and I grunt as I wrestle with the ancient handle. Then Sophie and Raj pop their heads into our room. I have very little idea what Brad’s planned (he’s been annoyingly secretive), but I assume these two are part of it, because Raj cranes his neck to look past me, lays eyes on Aurora, and grins. “All right, birthday girl?”
“What are you doing here?” Aurora whispers, getting up. “It’s well after curfew. We’re supposed to—”
“Live a little,” Sophie advises firmly. Her hair has given up on the sleek and glossy vibe, and her pajamas have Lilo and Stitch on the front, but nothing else has changed since we met during orienteering—she’s still intimidatingly athletic and exudes bad-bitch energy, and I love it. “Aurora, come on,” she says with authority, and after a moment’s pause and a questioning glance at me, Aurora does indeed come on.