“Because my parents make me work here.” He smiles faintly, though he’s not looking at me. “When you’re forced to do something, you always end up hating it, you know?”
Right. For example, how I’m forced to be Tuttle’s partner in English. I hate it.
Well, I’m supposed to hate it.
“You ended up finding a partner for the project in English, right?” I ask him.
“Oh yeah.” He nods. “Celeste Marshall. I’ve worked with her before. She’s really smart. Not that you’re not smart, but Tuttle snagged you up first, so…”
His voice drifts and I slam the register’s cash door shut, startling him. I hate that he brought Tuttle up, yet I also feel responsible for it. I’m the one who opened my big mouth.
“I’m sorry about that. I really wanted to be your partner,” I reassure him gently.
Blake shrugs, his cheeks coloring. “It’s no big deal. Next time, right?”
I hope there’s a next time. I feel like I need to make it up to him.
Once we’re finished with the cash register lesson—including me ringing up a real pair of customers who came into the shop—he brings me to the toppings bar. Pointing out what everything is, he explains I need to make sure to keep everything well stocked. Replenishing the toppings as often as I can is crucial to keeping the toppings bar in good shape. The more they pile on their frozen yogurt, the heavier their cup weighs, and the more we can charge them. Though summer is dwindling, which causes the frozen yogurt business to slow down—at least according to Blake.
“Hours will eventually be cut by mid next month, if not sooner,” Blake explains as we walk back to the storage room. “Business drops once summer is really over, and by the end of football season, it really dies off.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s too cold to eat frozen yogurt,” he says, his voice definitely carrying a duh vibe.
“You can still eat it inside,” I point out. “It’s never too cold to eat delicious frozen yogurt.”
Blake studies me like I’m crazy. I sort of am, but frozen yogurt really is delicious and my stomach is growling, which is embarrassing. “If you can convince people of that and increase business during the winter months, my mom might kiss you.”
I make a face. “I’m not into that sort of thing.”
Blake’s cheeks blaze up. His face is so red I feel instantly sorry for him. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters.
“I know. I was just teasing.” Could I be more awkward? Reaching out, I touch his arm and smile at him but he won’t even look my way. The buzzer indicating someone just walked into the shop goes off and he’s gone in an instant, not looking back at me once as he scurries out of there.
Guess he was just saved by the bell.
Smoothing a hand over my hair, I walk back out into the front of the store, my mouth dropping open when I see who’s standing in front of the frozen yogurt machines, contemplating the flavors.
“Oh. Hey,” Emily Griffith says distractedly, barely glancing in my direction.
White-hot rage rises inside of me as I walk over to join Blake behind the counter. I want to sock her in the mouth. Punch her in the stomach. Slap her face as hard as I can. And I’m not one prone to violence, but this chick makes my blood boil.
Worse? She doesn’t even realize it.
“You don’t have salted caramel anymore?” Em whines at Blake.
“We’ll get it back soon,” Blake reassures her with a friendly smile.
All she does is make a face as she shoves her cup under the nozzle and adds birthday cake flavored frozen yogurt to it. I watch as she examines the toppings bar, then dumps chocolate chips, M&Ms and chocolate sprinkles on top of her yogurt before bringing it to the counter.
Blake never moves away from the cash register, and I scowl at him. “Let me ring her up,” I say.
“I’ve got it.” He never takes his eyes away from Em as she stands in front of us looking positively bored. She even yawns. Doesn’t bother covering her mouth either.
Again, I want to punch her. And I promise I’m not a violent person.
“I need the practice on the register.” I hip-check him and bump him out of the way, flashing an extra big smile at Em. My mom always said to kill them with kindness, so I’m going for that approach. Besides, she has no idea what she did to Tuttle and me.
Or does she?
“Will that be all?” I ask Em with a sickeningly sweet voice.
“Looks like it, don’t you think?” she says sarcastically.
Gritting my teeth, I set her yogurt cup on the scale, stick an orange spoon in it since orange is my least favorite of the plastic spoon colors available, and I punch in the price. She hands me a five and I hand back her change, telling her to have a nice day.
For the first time since she walked in here, she actually meets my gaze and recognition dawns, the dollar bill and loose change spilling from her hand and landing on the counter. “Amanda Winters.”
“Emily Griffith,” I return.
“So. How’s Tuttle?” She smirks.
“I wouldn’t know, considering I really don’t talk to him,” I say coolly, lying through my still gritted teeth.
“Funny, I heard you two were sort of an item. But maybe that was only in your imagination?” She raises her brows.
I imagine leaping over the counter and taking her down to the ground. Wrapping my fingers around her neck and choking her out, Blake cheering me on. I glance over at him, see the lust and adoration in his gaze as he stares at Em, and I know he’s a lost cause.
“Funny, I heard you were passed around the locker room after the last home game. But maybe that was the truth?” I raise my brows just like she did.
The flicker of hurt on her face, in her eyes, is there and then gone in a flash. She swipes her yogurt from the counter and stomps out of Yo Town, leaving her change behind on the counter.
“Put it in the tip jar,” Blake suggests, completely unfazed. Did he not just hear the awful things we said to each other?
A heavy sigh escapes me. I should’ve never said that to Em. It was mean and ugly and I sort of lost myself in the moment. Now I feel guilty as crap. “Go ahead. Do you mind if I take a break?”
“Sure. You get fifteen minutes.”
That’s just enough time to drown my sorrows in a giant cup of watermelon sorbet.
Livvy jumps into my car the next morning, fully decked out in a PINK sweatshirt with matching leggings, her makeup perfect and her long, dark red hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She looks great.
“I thought it was pajama day,” I say once she shuts the door and drops her backpack at her feet. Every day has a theme for homecoming week and I decided to have some spirit. Who wants to turn down the chance to wear pajamas all day?
“It is.” She grins. “I wear this to sleep all the time.”
“You do not.” Her outfit looks expensive and brand new. I’m lucky to snag a PINK shirt at a thrift shop, though there was that one time last Christmas when my grandma scored me one of those special holiday only T-shirts Victoria’s Secret puts out that’s more on the cheap side.
“I do! Well, maybe not this exact outfit.” Her grin fades as she takes me in. “You look…”
“Comfortable?” I offer hopefully. I’m wearing my favorite plaid flannel pajama bottoms I bought at our local Rite Aid because they’re in our school’s colors and a dark gray hoodie that’s covering an old T-shirt my brother gave me after he cleaned out his closet before he left for college. It’s soft and cozy, just like the hoodie, and I wear them all the time.
“Definitely comfortable.” Livvy flashes me a bright smile. “You look cute. I like the braids.”
I put my hair in two French braids because it was still wet from my shower and I didn’t feel like blow-drying it. “Thanks.” I chew on my lip, yesterday’s moment with Em still weighing heavy on my mind.
“How was work?” Livvy asks as I pull my car onto the street and head for
school.
Taking a deep breath, I tell her everything. How awkward Blake and I were working together, how Em came into the store and I said awful things to her. When I finish, Livvy looks…
Impressed?
“I can’t believe you said that to her!” Liv shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “She sort of deserved it.”
“I’ve never heard that rumor, though,” I stress. “I made it up. Just to hurt her.”
Liv shrugs. “It might be true. You never know.”
I’m sort of incredulous. This is her former best friend—and it wasn’t that long ago that they were actual best friends. Sort of like me and Tara, though our falling out happened even before Em’s and Livvy’s. I haven’t talked to Tara in what feels like forever, and sometimes I still miss her. And that’s part of the reason I’m dealing with all this guilt over what I said to Em yesterday.
“I should’ve never said such awful things to her, Liv. I don’t care what she’s done or how she’s hurt you or even me. And I said it in front of Blake. I don’t really know him, and I definitely don’t trust him. What if he tells a friend what happened, and then the friend tells someone else, and then it spreads like wildfire all over campus?” My worst nightmare, knowing I was the instigator of a horrible, untrue rumor.
“That won’t happen.” Livvy waves a hand, dismissing my concern. “There are so many rumors swirling around Em right now anyway, it’s just another one to add to the list.”
I pull the car over on the side of the road, put it in park and turn to stare at my new friend. We might’ve known each other for years, but these last few weeks are the first time we’ve spent any amount of time together. I’m unsure if I can trust her either. “I don’t know if you’ve always been like this, but no wonder you and Em aren’t friends anymore. It’s like you don’t even care about her.”
Livvy’s expression turns hard and her eyes narrow. “I did. I do care about her. There’s just…so much that’s happened between us. I don’t know if I can ever forgive her.”
“She probably feels the same way.”
Liv’s jaw drops. “What do you mean? She’s the one who had sex with Dustin.”
“And you’re the one who keeps fooling around with Dustin on the side,” I point out. “Even a few nights ago you did, Liv. Since when is it okay to toy with his heart?”
“Toy with his heart? Are you serious right now? I think you’ve read too many romance novels.”
I blink at her words. That was sort of rude. “Don’t forget Ryan in all of this. You’ve been dishonest with him too.”
“I overreacted to that stupid picture Em posted, you know this!” The words explode out of Livvy like she’s been holding them in for years. “I know it was wrong, what I did with Dustin. What do you want me to do? Tell Ryan?” She stares off into the distance, crossing her arms, and she’s blinking rapidly. Like she’s trying to fight off tears.
“Maybe you should be honest with him,” I start, but she turns to glare at me, her eyes shiny and her lips tight.
“You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like, dealing with toxic relationships,” she practically snarls.
“Ha! Are you kidding me right now? I caught my best friend with my boyfriend and they were actually having sex. Naked, penis-in-vagina sex. I saw it with my own two eyes, Olivia! I know exactly what it’s like! I’m way too familiar with it,” I say bitterly.
“My situation is different,” she says, but I shake my head and she goes silent.
“Not really. All three of you have this messed up friendship. You do realize that, right? Sneaking around behind each other’s backs, messing around with each other. You were never honest with Dustin or Em and they weren’t honest with you either.” I hesitate, then decide to go for it. “From the way I see it, you’re all equally guilty.”
Now Livvy won’t even look at me. “Shouldn’t we get to school before the first bell rings?”
Sighing loudly, I put the Toyota in drive and pull back onto the road. We remain silent the rest of the car ride and when we arrive at school a few minutes later, Livvy climbs out of my car without a backward glance, slamming the door so hard the entire car rattles.
Great. Now I’ve pissed off the only friend I have left. But I had to say it. Had to point out that what she’d done with Dustin was just as bad as what Em did with Dustin. They’re all guilty, especially Dustin, yet the girls are so mad at each other. Why didn’t they see the part he played in this?
Contemplating the entire situation was better than focusing on my own problems, so I wallowed in the Livvy/Dustin/Em/Ryan love triangle/square as I walked through the parking lot, weaving through the cars, ignoring everyone I passed by. Not that they paid me any attention. Though I swear I hear a low whistle and when I glance over my shoulder, I see Tuttle following a considerable distance behind me.
Ugh. I glare at him, wishing I had laser eyes—a wish my younger brother Trent makes on an almost daily basis—before I turn and practically run into the senior building.
I dash into the first girls’ bathroom I see to hide from Tuttle and compose myself. Of course, there’s Brianne Brown and Em staring at their reflections in the hazy mirror, both of them glossing up their lips so thick I wrinkle my nose, imagining how sticky that must feel.
“Oh look, here’s Little Miss Perfect,” Em says, turning to face me wearing a smirk. “Where’s your best buddy?”
“You mean your best buddy?” I say pointedly.
Brianne sends me a withering look in the mirror’s reflection. “Give it a rest, flute player.” Her face brightens. “Hey, does that give you an advantage with blowjobs, sucking on a flute all those years?”
Both girls laugh and I go to the empty sink next to them to wash my now shaky hands. Man, I hate drama. I’m the least confrontational person on the planet, yet I keep running finding myself mired in it. “For your information, I didn’t play a flute, I played the clarinet.”
They’re still giggling and rolling their eyes. “There’s a difference?” Em asks innocently.
I should be the bigger person and do what I’ve wanted since our run in. “Hey Em, I wanted to apologize for what I said to you yesterday.”
Em’s mouth pops open into this almost comical O shape. I turn off the faucet and dry my hands, waiting for her to say something, but she remains quiet for so long, Brianne nudges her in the side with her elbow.
“What the hell are you talking about anyway?” Brianne asks me.
“That’s between Em and I,” I say solemnly.
Brianne rolls her eyes, but Em watches me carefully, like she’s waiting for me to give her the punch line.
“You actually mean it, don’t you,” Em finally says.
I nod and stand a little straighter. “I’m owning my shit. And that was a shitty thing I said to you yesterday.”
“It was.”
“And I totally made it up.”
“I figured.”
Now I’m quiet, waiting for her to apologize for that stupid picture she posted, but instead she hooks her arm through Brianne’s and leads her out of the bathroom without saying a word. I deflate the second the door swings shut, bracing my hands on the edge of the sink and staring at my reflection.
That was…hard. I don’t like confrontation. But I apologized and I didn’t melt while doing it either. I’m going to be okay.
Maybe, eventually, we’ll all be okay.
I’m hiding out in the back of the library during lunch, munching on baby carrots dipped in ranch while reading my American Government and Institutions notes in prep for the quiz later this afternoon when I suddenly feel someone standing beside my table, looking right at me.
Glancing up, I fully expect to find Livvy there, contrite and full of apologies, but it’s not Livvy.
It’s Em.
“Hey,” she says, her voice soft. She tucks a chin-length strand of highlighted golden blonde hair behind her ear and looks around before her gaze meets mine once more. “Um, can
I sit down?”
I shrug and she pulls the empty chair next to mine out, plopping her skinny butt on it. I continue eating my carrots, pointing at the open snack bag as an invitation and she takes one, dips it into the tiny plastic cup full of ranch dressing and pops it into her mouth, chewing loudly.
Something you can’t avoid when you eat baby carrots. They have major crunch.
“Ms. Donahue is going to be pissed if she catches you eating in her library,” Em says once she swallows.
Ms. Donahue has run the school library probably longer than all of us have been alive. She’s terrifying. “I’m not scared.”
“Rebel,” she says, nudging my shoulder with hers.
Blowing out a loud breath, I turn to look at her. “What’s up?” There’s no reason for her to sit by me in the library. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Emily Griffith in the school library even once.
“I wanted to thank you, for the apology,” she whispers, glancing around as if she wants to make sure no one is near. “That, uh—meant a lot to me.”
“I felt awful all last night, thinking about what I said to you,” I admit.
Em raises her eyebrows in real surprise. How I can tell, I’m not sure, but I can. “Really?”
I nod my answer.
“Well, I guess I appreciate you feeling bad?”
“I’m not normally a mean girl,” I tell her. “Seriously. This is so not my style. I’m quiet. No one pays attention to me at school. Not usually.”
“Right. But maybe you have a secret. That maybe under the good girl exterior is a bad girl on the side who goes by the street name Stella in the House?”
I burst out laughing, clamping a hand over my mouth when I hear Ms. Donahue reprimand me with a low, “Quiet!”
The front desk is nowhere near where we’re sitting, but Ms. Donahue has no qualms in silencing people wherever they’re at.
“Stella in the House?” I ask Em, still wanting to laugh, but Ms. Donahue will probably kick me out.
Em shrugs. “I thought it sounded good.”
“You are so weird.”
“So are you. Hiding out in here when you could be hanging out in the quad with Jordan Tuttle.” She sighs and shakes her head.
More than Friends - Monica Murphy Page 4
