Don't Kiss the Messenger (Edgelake High School, #1)(25)

She took a seat on the edge of the bed and looked up at me. “I did it. I wrote Emmett an email.” Her eyes were beaming. She looked like she was expecting a trophy. At the very least, a medal.

“Great,” I said. I watched her, waiting for more. Were we supposed to high-five?

“I think it’s really good.” She set the laptop on the bed and opened it. “I just need a second opinion before I hit send,” she said.

I sat down next to her.

“Bryn, I’m sure it’s fine. Just be yourself, you don’t need me read over it.”

“You have to. You’re the one who gave me writing advice. You said to be real, honest, and to take a risk by exposing something about myself that isn’t perfect.”

I was impressed she remembered the list. Now she had piqued my interest. I grabbed her laptop and stretched across the bed on my stomach, supporting myself on my elbows.

I looked over at her and she smiled a triumphant grin and pointed to the screen. I cleared my throat and read the email out loud.

Dear Emmett,

Hi! How are you? How was your weekend? What did you do? How was your game?

I have been soooo busy!!! Tons of homework and lame crap. You know? I feel like the Edgelake teachers don’t get how busy we are. They can be so condescending, yet the money our sports bring in is probably paying their salary. Right? I love Madison, but I miss having a second of free time to myself. I’m like, give me a break.

How do you handle it all?

Sorry to be Crabby Cathy. I’m just stressed this weekend. No amount of chocolate ice cream in the world can help. I eat a bowl of it every night. Gross, right? What’s your favorite food?

Hopefully we can hang out soon.

P.S. You have great hair.

~Bryn

I sat up and stared at the screen, pushing the tips of my fingers in a circle around my temples.

“Headache?” she asked me.

“More like acute nausea,” I said.

“Oh God, CeCe. Was it something you ate?” she asked.

It’s a reaction I have to really bad writing, I wanted to say. “Bryn, let’s go over the elements we discussed,” I said, in my best encouraging tutor voice. I scanned the email. “Where did you expose yourself?”

She stared at me like it was obvious. She pointed at the screen. “I told him I eat a bowl of chocolate ice cream every night.”

I looked at the screen and then back at her. “So?”

“So?”

“It’s delicious, and we live in Wisconsin,” I said. “It’s like one long chain of ice cream stores.”

“It’s a disgusting habit,” Bryn argued. “Especially to eat right before bed. It’s one of the most fattening foods available. And Madison has an ice cream shop on practically every street corner. It’s like being surrounded by drug dealers, pushing it on me everywhere I turn.”

I nodded. It was one of the perks of living here. “Have you tried Michael’s Frozen Custard yet? It’s the best.”

“CeCe. You’re not helping.”

I looked back at her email and laughed. “That’s your vice?” I asked. “That’s your deep, dark, hidden flaw?”

“I guess so,” she said. “I’m really embarrassed about it. I mean, eating right is everything. I want to be a yoga instructor and run my own studio someday. I want to get certified. I need to give up caffeine and sugar.”

Her sincerity made me cough back my laugh. Bryn might be the sweetest, most unassuming girl I had ever met. But I had a feeling that Emmett wanted someone with mystery, with depth, with wounds and stories and inner demons. You don’t send lyrics from Hozier to the girl-next-door.

“Wow. Okay, moving on,” I said. “Where do you take a risk?”

She pointed a perfect red-painted fingernail at the bottom of the screen.

I stared at the sentence You have great hair.

“What?” I asked.

“I gave him the greatest compliment of all compliments. Hair is my thing. A bad hair cut can be a deciding factor on whether or not I’ll go out with a guy. It’s so sad how many guys put no time or money into a decent haircut. It defines their entire face. I spend half the time in class just looking at all the terrible buzz cuts.”

She wrapped her fingers around my arm and her face filled with terror. “Some guys even cut their own hair,” she whispered.

“No!” I feigned horror.

“But Emmett’s hair is perfect. It’s always ruffled. Windblown. Tossed just right. I want to know what products he uses.”

“It’s probably just sweat,” I said.

She lifted a shoulder. “Well, I wish sweat did that to my hair. Seriously, CeCe. I never give that compliment out easily. That is definitely taking a risk.”

“When I said to take a risk, I was thinking more along the lines of something really personal.”

She nodded slowly, but her hesitating look told me she was drawing a blank.

“Try making it about him,” I said. “How did you feel the first moment you talked to Emmett?” Words jumped to my head: heightened. Aroused. Awakened. Stirred.

“Like a dumb ass,” Bryn said. She reached out for the laptop and I blocked her arm.

“No, no, you can’t write that you felt like a dumb ass. Try to be more poetic. How about you felt exposed, vulnerable, naked?”