“No,” Emmett replied. He rolled his still-unopened beer can back and forth between his palms. “Cross-country.”
“What’s the difference?” Finn asked.
“It just means I run on natural terrain instead of on a flat track.”
“That sounds hard,” Gabriella said as her gaze devoured the contours of his toned runner’s body.
Emmett shifted uncomfortably, as if her blatant ogling bothered him. Figuring I owed him one for the ATV incident, I swiftly diverted everyone’s attention away from him and onto me.
“What does a girl have to do to get some s’mores around here?” I said, standing up and craning my neck in the direction of the dock as if waiting for Mrs. McCurdy to appear with her boxes of graham crackers and chocolate—which I kind of was.
“Oh, yeah,” Nate said. “I think Mom forgot to buy the stuff.”
“She forgot?” I cried. Mrs. McCurdy always provided s’mores for our bonfires. What was going on? First Goody’s, and now this. What else had changed without my knowledge?
“So, Emmett,” Gabriella said, twirling one of her dark brown curls around her finger. “How do you like Millard Lake so far? Are you here with your parents?”
Emmett, who’d been looking at me during my s’mores outburst, dropped his gaze to the fire again. “Yeah. It’s a nice spot.”
“What does your dad do?” Zoe asked. Sometimes she and Gabriella acted like it was the eighteen hundreds and their parents wanted them to find a suitable mate and marry into a well-off family.
“He’s in accounting,” Emmett said, and then all of a sudden he stood up and handed his unopened beer to Nate. “I’m gonna take off now. There are some things I need to do.”
“But you just got here,” Gabriella said, pouting.
Emmett glanced around the clearing, his gaze never quite landing on any of us. “Uh, it was nice to meet you all,” he said before turning around and loping easily over the rocks to the dock, where he disappeared into the night.
“Was it something we said?” Zoe asked in the awkward silence that followed.
Nate shrugged and took another gulp of beer, Keaton lit another sparkler, the twins went back to staring at Zoe and Gabriella, and I looked over at my cousin, who hadn’t said a word in the past twenty minutes. She blinked at me like she’d just gotten whacked in the head with a bat and then let out a long, dreamy sigh.
Yep, it was official. My shy, sporty little Harper had just entered the beginning stages of a sweet summer crush.
chapter 6
For the rest of the weekend, Harper managed to insert Emmett’s name into every single one of our conversations.
While making microwave popcorn: “Yeah, let’s do extra butter. Emmett’s really cute, isn’t he?”
While sunbathing on my dock: “My shoulders feel burnt. Do you think Emmett has a girlfriend?”
While eating ice cream sundaes at the counter at Goody’s: “Does this chocolate sauce taste different to you? I wonder if Emmett will go out with Gabriella.”
That one in particular made me snort into my waffle bowl. Normally, Harper was too preoccupied with school and sports to bother with dating so the odd time she did like someone, she acted like a twelve-year-old with her first crush.
“Only if he’s desperate,” I said.
“What? She might be opportunistic and shallow, but you have to admit she’s pretty. A lot prettier than me.”
“Harper, you’re gorgeous.”
She licked some whipped cream off her spoon. “Right, because big noses and thin lips and flat chests are so attractive.”
“You are. Embrace it. Guys are attracted to confidence too, you know.”
“Says the girl who looks like a voluptuous nineteen-forties pinup model,” she said, nudging me with her elbow. “Confidence has always come easy to you, Kat.”
It didn’t always come easy, but I understood why Harper struggled so much with her own insecurities, so I let it go. My self-esteem would probably be shaky too if one of my dads virtually dropped out of my life like Lawrence had dropped out of Harper’s. He’d never been the involved-father type, even when he and Aunt Carrie were still together. I remembered how he always used to shoo us out of the room when we were kids, like our voices and happy giggles annoyed him. When Aunt Carrie finally left him after his third consecutive affair, it was a relief to everyone but Harper, who’d assumed the breakdown of her parents’ marriage was somehow her fault. The way Lawrence treated her did little to dissuade her from the theory. Nowadays, she was lucky if she heard from him once a month.
Still, regardless of how Harper saw herself, anyone who didn’t recognize her as the beautiful, great catch she was didn’t deserve to clean the dirt off her Nikes. Even cute, grumpy Emmett.
On Sunday evening, Dad left to go back to the city for the week. I hated to think of him all alone in our condo in the evenings, eating greasy take-out and watching the Turner Classic Movies network without me. But knowing him, he’d spend most of his time at the office anyway, working overtime so he wouldn’t have to take many calls over the weekend. Pop worked a lot during those five days too, partly as a distraction and partly because Dad wasn’t there to remind him to step away from the computer every few hours and “join the land of the living.” With Dad gone, that particular job had been reassigned to me.
The next afternoon, I slid open the screen to the deck and stuck my head outside. Pop sat in one of the plastic lounge chairs, his laptop propped on his legs. “Yoo-hoo,” I called.
“Hmm?” He typed feverishly, his eyes never leaving the screen.
“We’re out of milk,” I told him as I stepped outside. “And paper towels. And bananas.”
“Bananas?” he said vaguely, his fingers still dancing over the keys.
“You know, the long, yellow fruit I like to cut up and put on peanut butter toast? Pop?”
He stopped typing, finally, and let out a relieved sigh. “Sorry, Kat. I just had to get that sentence right. Now what were you saying?”
I moved closer and peered down into his mug of tea, which sat on the deck beside him. Still full. He hadn’t so much as paused to take a drink since nine o’clock. “We need a few groceries,” I said, picking up the cold mug. “And you need a break.”
“Apparently I do,” he said, squinting at the laptop screen. “I actually typed the word bananas.”
Thirty minutes later, the two of us were strolling down the aisles of Erwin’s one and only supermarket. The place was pretty deserted, even for a Monday afternoon.
“You feel like grilling some chicken breasts for dinner tonight?” I asked when we reached the paltry meat section. Erwin’s stores weren’t exactly famous for their large selections.
“Hmm?” Pop replied.
I knew from experience that it always took him at least an hour to emerge from the foggy, fictional land inside his head, so I never took offense to his occasional negligence. “Chicken,” I repeated, steering him and the cart to the poultry display.
“Right. Do you want to grill some for dinner tonight?”
I patted his arm. “Great idea, Pop.”
He didn’t fully resurface until we hit the cereal aisle where I attempted to toss a box of Lucky Charms into our cart. “Over my dead body,” he said, intercepting me and putting it back on the shelf. He replaced it with a box of Shredded Wheat. “There. This one has lots of fiber.”
“Pop, why do you insist on feeding me so much fiber? It’s not like I’m constip—oh!”
The front of our cart had just come very close to ramming into someone at the corner of the aisle. Again? I thought when I looked up to see a pair of blue, blue eyes staring back at me, wide with surprise. Again. I’d almost crashed into Emmett Reese. Again.
“Sorry,” I said, backing up. My cheeks started flaming, mostly because I’d just remembered what I’d been about to say right before our near-accident.
Emmett continued to stare at me, perplexed, like he couldn’t quite understand why
people kept trying to take him out with large, wheeled objects. “It’s okay,” he said, letting go of the front of our cart, which he’d grabbed to avoid the impending collision with his more sensitive regions. “Um . . . Kat, right?”
I nodded and smiled, pleased that he a) wasn’t yelling at me and b) remembered my name. “Good memory.” I glanced at Pop, who was watching me with raised eyebrows. “Oh. This is my dad.”
“Bryce Henley,” Pop said, sticking out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“This is Emmett,” I supplied. “His family bought the Cantings’ cottage.”
Pop’s expression turned grave. “It’s a shame about Albert.”
Looking slightly confused, Emmett nodded. As he did, a lock of hair slid down his forehead, obscuring his right eyebrow. The bright overhead lights of the store brought out all the different shades in his wavy hair—brown, lighter brown, blond, and even a few patches of auburn.
Women pay good money for those kinds of highlights, I thought. “Sorry again,” I said and then I whipped out my most dazzling smile, the one that always got me out of trouble with teachers.
“No worries.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, turned as if to walk away, and then swiveled around to face us again. “Would you happen to know which aisle the baking soda is in?”
“Aisle three,” Pop and I replied in unison. We knew the store better than the shelf stockers.
“Thanks,” Emmett said before turning left in the direction of aisle three and then disappearing completely.
“Nice boy,” Pop said as we started walking again. “What do you know about his family?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. That’s the most I’ve ever heard him say.” We rolled into the produce area and I made a beeline for the bananas. “Oh wait. His dad’s an accountant or something.”
“Interesting.”
“And Harper has a crush on him.”
“The accountant?”
“No,” I said, digging for the ripest bunch of bananas. “Emmett.”
“Ah. Even more interesting.” Pop picked up a head of iceberg lettuce and examined it for brown spots.
“But she’s too timid to do anything about it,” I went on.
“Well, maybe she just needs a little push.”
“Yeah,” I said, looking in the direction of aisle three. “Maybe she does.”
After dinner, I shut myself up in my room and, for the first time since we’d arrived, I turned on my cell phone.
I’d sent six texts to Shay so far, the first four asking for a chance to explain and the last two begging for forgiveness. Each one had gone unanswered, which didn’t exactly surprise me. The last time I’d seen her, she’d made it quite clear that she never wanted to speak to me again. It seemed she was fully on the bandwagon with the girls at school who thought I was a whore on some kind of devious mission to steal everyone’s boyfriends. That was far from the truth. For one, I had no interest in stealing anyone’s boyfriend. And two, I wasn’t a whore, whatever that subjective term meant in their minds. Yes, I’d dated a lot of guys, but I’d never had sex with any of them. Usually, they dumped me before I had the chance to consider going that far. Harper was right. Boyfriends didn’t like it when their girlfriends acted too friendly with other guys.
Even when you’re not flirting, you’re flirting, Harper had told me. I guess she had a point. I knew if I didn’t at least try to tone down my excessive friendliness, senior year would be hell. I needed to fix my reputation, and the first step would be showing everyone that I was so redeemed, so transformed, that even Shay had decided to forgive me.
I had the rest of summer to convince her to do it.
My cell phone kept wavering in and out of connectivity, but I’d always found if I stood on the edge of my bed and held it up toward the far corner of the ceiling, I’d get at least one bar. Just enough juice to send a quick text.
Shay, please talk to me. Let me explain.
To my surprise, a response arrived two minutes later.
Nothing to explain. I’m blocking you now. Leave me alone.
I tried to send another text, another appeal, but the signal had been cut off once again. Frustrated, I threw my cell on the bed and flopped down beside it, tears stinging my eyes. One party, one misunderstanding, and our friendship was over. She had been one of my last female friends, the last one to disregard the rumors and give me a chance to prove myself. And I’d failed. Horribly.
At least I’ll always have Harper, I thought, wiping the moisture from my face with my pillow. She was my cousin, sure, but also my friend. Possibly my only friend, depending on whether my classmates’ negative opinion of me died out or gained traction over the summer.
After a while, I stopped crying and started formulating a plan. Harper just needed a little push, like Pop had said, and it was up to me to give her one. Maybe orchestrating someone else’s relationship would stop me from constantly wrecking my own.
chapter 7
By ten o’clock the next morning, the plans were in motion. First, I called Nate McCurdy at his cottage to ask if he’d be willing to help. After a few lewd comments I chose to ignore, he readily agreed. Next, I talked to Harper. I had to propose a slightly edited version of my plan in order to get her on board, but hopefully she’d forgive me later if everything worked out.
The only thing left for me to do was convince Emmett.
At the lake, there were only two ways to effectively get in touch with people: call their landline or walk over to their cottage and see them. Since I didn’t know Emmett’s phone number, I slipped on a pair of flats and headed over there.
The first thing I noticed as I approached his cottage was that someone had ripped up Mrs. Canting’s prized sunflowers. The second thing I noticed was the yelling. Two separate voices, one male and one female, trickled through the open windows and echoed across the yard. I couldn’t quite work out the specifics of the argument, but it sounded like World War Three. For a second I considered turning back, but I really needed to secure plans for tonight and Emmett was the final corner piece I needed to complete the square. I was banking on his cooperation.
Determined, I crossed the driveway and stepped up to the door. Hesitating for only a moment, I knocked firmly on the weathered wood. The fighting ceased as if by magic, and the door was flung open to reveal a tall, red-faced man in a blue Polo shirt and shorts. “Yes?” he barked.
I gaped at him for a few seconds, speechless. He was breathing hard, as if he’d been interrupted in the middle of a workout instead of a screaming fight.
“Hi!” I said, attempting to muster one of my wide, toothy smiles. I couldn’t quite manage it. “I’m looking for Emmett.”
He glanced over his shoulder into the house where I could see an outline of either a young girl or a very tiny woman. “He’s not here. I think he went out for a run.”
“Oh. Right. Okay, I’ll just come back later then.”
“And you are?” he asked, his dark eyes sweeping over my beribboned ponytail and polka-dotted blouse like I was some kind of freak of nature. Or a time traveler from the fifties.
“Kat Henley,” I said, thrusting my hand out.
He stared at it for a moment and then shook it briefly.
“I live a few cottages that way.” I pointed in the direction of our cabin.
“I see. Well, I’ll tell Emmett you came by.” And with that, he backed into the house and closed the door behind him.
I stood there for a minute, trying to piece together what had just occurred. Obviously, that had been Emmett’s father—he had the same multi-colored hair and perfectly straight nose. But he’d seemed so . . . abrupt. Unfriendly. I guess it wasn’t very different from what I’d witnessed so far in his son.
“What are you doing here?”
Startled, I spun around and caught sight of Emmett standing a few feet away from the house and watching me with a vaguely panicked look on his face. He wore gray shorts and black sneakers and was naked from the waist up
, unless you counted the ear bud wires dangling down his bare chest. They didn’t cover much at all, however.
“Um,” I said, looking everywhere but at him. “I was looking for you.”
“What for?”
Behind me, the screaming had started anew. Quickly, I distanced myself from the door and moved closer to Emmett, all the while keeping my gaze trained above his neck and not on his defined, glistening torso. Why does it have to be so hot today? I wondered.
“A few of us are going to Goody’s for dinner tonight,” I said, finding my smile. “You should join us.”
“I should?” He was still panting slightly from his run, and something about it made the tips of my ears feel warm.
I cleared my throat. “Definitely. It’ll be me and my cousin Harper and McTur . . . uh, Nate . . . and some others.” There would be others there, I was sure, but they wouldn’t be sitting at our table. It would be just the four of us. But like Harper, Emmett didn’t need to know all the details.
“I don’t know,” he said, raking a hand through his damp hair. As he did, a particularly loud burst of yelling filtered outside, making him wince. His cheeks, flushed with exertion, turned even redder.
“Oh, come on.” My hand went up to poke him, but I caught myself and pretended to scratch an itch on my shoulder instead. Don’t touch. Don’t charm. And most important, don’t look down.
“What’s Goody’s?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s this little diner across the road from the entrance to the cottages. You must see it when you drive by. Great burgers. Made totally from scratch, even the buns.”
It was weird, standing there talking about burgers while a brawl ensued in the background. The raised voices seemed wrong and out of place in such a quiet, peaceful setting. Like hearing someone curse in church.
“Look, Kat, you should probably go,” Emmett said, his gaze flicking toward the cottage.
Any Other Girl Page 5
