“Uh … sure.” I shovel the last two mouthfuls of potatoes in and begin collecting dirty dishes.
Her hand presses against mine, staying it. “I’ll clean up. Why don’t you finish unpacking those boxes in your room?” she says with a forced smile.
I duck out and ever so slowly climb the stairs, my ears perked.
“Merv! That’s aspirin!” my mom whispers. “You can’t be pulling that out in front of Aria like that!”
I can’t hear whatever she whispers next, but I don’t need to. I know the gist of the conversation.
There’s a long moment of silence. “I wasn’t thinking,” Uncle Merv says in a low, grating voice. I doubt he could whisper if his life depended on it. “I’ll hide it away.”
With a resigned sigh, I climb the rest of the way and disappear into my bedroom.
* * *
My eyes are closed and rhythmic music pulsates through my earbuds when a knock sounds on my bedroom door.
“Come in!” I hit pause on my playlist.
The door eases open.
“Hey, your mom asked me to—bring these in.”
I bolt upright in bed as a towering guy with wavy chestnut brown hair strolls in, his arms loaded with two cardboard boxes, his lips pressed together firmly as if trying not to laugh.
Cassie trails him, her mouth splitting wide with a grin when she sees me. “Your face is green!” she declares with a bark of laughter.
And burning red beneath this mud mask.
“Why is your face green?”
“It’s just … nothing,” I mumble.
“Is it a face mask?” she presses.
“Yes.”
“Where do you want these?” the guy asks, having the decency to avert his gaze.
“Over there?” I croak, pointing to the shelves by the window, desperate to tunnel beneath my sheets. As if the mask isn’t bad enough, my hair is piled messily on top of my head and I’m wearing an old cotton T-shirt with my former high school’s logo and boxer shorts that, while comfortable beyond compare, are far from cute.
“This is my brother, Emmett. He just got home from the United States,” Cassie introduces proudly as he leans over to set the boxes on the floor, giving me a great view of his muscular arms and the shape of his broad back, straining beneath the weight. “This is Aria with a green face. She likes dogs, just like me, and she hates tomatoes, just like me.” The introduction comes out in one long string of words, using her slightly offbeat inflections.
Emmett eases to his feet. “Hello, Aria with a green face who likes dogs and hates tomatoes.” His smile is wide and broad, and shows off his perfect white teeth and two deep-set dimples in his cheeks. His eyes are a rich, dark brown and they complement his olive-toned skin. His nose is angular and in perfect proportion. His jawline is square and solid, any hint of boyishness gone.
Much like my ragged ensemble, this guy is far from cute.
He’s gorgeous.
I swallow my embarrassment. “Yeah. Hey.”
“Look what Emmett brought me!” Cassie holds up a stuffed animal in a burgundy jersey with a yellow “M” across the front. “His name is Goldy Gopher. He’s a hockey mascot. I love mascots. Do you like mascots?”
“I don’t know? Maybe?” What I do know is that I really don’t want to carry on a conversation about mascots with my hot neighbor and his sister while I look like this.
“So, we’ll … uh …” Emmett casts his thumb toward the door.
“Yeah. Good. I mean …” I shake my head, cringing at myself.
“You have stars!” Cassie’s wide eyes lock on the stickers above my bed.
“Yeah.” More humiliation to add to tonight’s collection. Mom “stumbled upon them” in the wallpaper section at Home Depot. Truthfully, I think she went looking for them. She’s like that when she gets something in her head. I plastered on a fake smile instead of telling her I’m too old for glow-in-the-dark stars.
“I like your room. It looks different.” Cassie’s eyes drift, scanning the space as if memorizing it.
“See you around, Aria.” Emmett ruffles Cassie’s hair on his way past, and then hooks an arm around her shoulders and steers her toward the door. She stiffens. “Come on. Let’s give green-faced Aria some privacy,” he mock-whispers, earning her burst of childlike laughter.
He pulls my door shut, but not before turning back to offer one last devastatingly handsome look, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement.
And in that moment, beneath a cluster of tacky glow-in-the-dark stars, my face green with clay and red with embarrassment, I fall hopelessly in love with the boy next door.
As soon as the door clicks, I flop back into my bed with a groan.
* * *
My mom pokes her head into my bedroom at nine on Monday night to find me curled up on the window seat. She smiles. “I knew you’d like that spot.”
I tuck my bookmark into my page. “Did you get hold of the electrician?” My new ceiling fan is sitting in a box in the corner.
“Not yet. It’s a long weekend. But I did speak to the plumber and he’s coming tomorrow afternoon. I’m hoping he can hook up the new washer right away, for the sake of my sanity, and so Uncle Merv can see that laundry machines shouldn’t move halfway across the room when they’re running.” She bites her lip. “You ready for tomorrow?”
I nod toward the new jeans and red top I laid out over my desk chair, as if that’s adequate armor for the first day at a new high school.
“Oh, that is a nice outfit.” My mom smiles as if picturing me in it. “Cassie will come by around eight to get you. And, listen, I told Heather you’d be willing to walk Cassie home after school. Emmett apparently has hockey every day.” She shakes her head, as if the idea of that is unimaginable. “It’s less than fifteen minutes. You’re good with that, right?”
“Sure. I guess.” It’s not like I have anything else to do.
She hesitates. “I was also thinking, Dr. Covey passed along a name of a therapist, not too far from here. About a half hour, I think. I could call and—”
“No, Mom. I’m good. Seriously.”
“But you should keep talking to—”
“No! That means a new doctor and going through it all again. Dr. C. helped me. She was good. I’m good. It’s been more than a year. I want to move on.”
Mom’s brow furrows deeply, as if she wants to push but isn’t sure if she should.
A chorus of shouts sound from outside. “What’s going on out there?” She wanders over to peer out my window.
“Emmett and his dad are playing road hockey.” I assume it’s his dad, anyway. The man is about the same height and he has a similar stride as Emmett, and he’s thrown his arm around Emmett’s shoulders twice since they hauled an enormous hockey net from the garage and set it up under the street lights in the quiet cul-du-sac an hour ago.
“It sounds like he’s the next big thing. Heather said he was scouted by that college a year ago. They only offer scholarships that early if the kid is going to be a star.” Mom watches as Emmett deftly maneuvers around his dad and shoots the puck. It sails into the top left corner. “They’re a nice family, aren’t they?”
“Seems like it.” I flip my book open again, pretending to read, though my eyes are still trained on the street. I’ve been staring at the same page for the past hour.
While Emmett’s dad goes to fetch the puck from the net, Emmett stretches his arms over his head. His gaze wanders casually over the street.
It comes to rest on my window.
I duck my head. “Mom, you’re staring!”
“Right. Sorry.” There’s a hint of humor in her voice as she steps away, moving toward the door. “I have a good feeling about this year.”
“Yeah, me too,” I lie. Right now, I’m waffling between stomach-churning nerves and paralyzing fear of what tomorrow and beyond will bring. But for my mom, I’ll front.
“I think I’m going to turn in early. I’m exhausted after these past
few days.”
“Okay. Good night.
“Good night. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Her eyes drift to the window, and a tiny, knowing smile touches her lips. “Don’t stay up too late.” She pulls my door shut softly.
I shift my attention back to the street in time to see a small red car pull into the Hartford driveway. That seems to be the man’s signal to head inside, patting Emmett on the shoulder. He walks past the driver’s side just as it opens and a girl wearing black shorts and pink tank top that show off her muscular legs and well-endowed chest steps out.
I groan. “And you must be Holly.” I take in her thick mane of honey-blonde hair that hangs halfway down her back in stylish waves and swishes as she skips toward a waiting Emmett. I can’t make out the details of her face from here, but I’m guessing she’s beautiful. A guy like that wouldn’t go for anything less.
I watch him coil his arms around her waist; she wraps her arms around his neck. She squeals as he lifts her up into a kiss.
And then I pull my curtains shut, an uncomfortable feeling churning in my belly.
I might as well slather on another mud mask because I am green-faced with envy.
4
“Text me so I know how it’s going.”
I hike my backpack over my shoulder. “I’m not allowed to use my phone during school hours.” The rule is stated in bold on the first page of the student handbook I received at our visit last week.
“Just send me a quick message during your lunch break, from the bathroom. I’ll be here and I’ll answer right away.” Mom wrings her hands. I think she’s more nervous than I am. “And remember, no social media.”
“That’s easy with the parental control.” I wave the new phone she bought me, reminding her. I can’t load any apps without her blessing and she’s not giving her blessing for Instagram or Facebook or “that evil” Twitter. Basically, the phone is a means for her to get hold of me and nothing more, complete with a GPS tracker.
“I’m not dumb. I know you can still go onto those websites.”
“I don’t want to,” I remind her evenly.
“Right.” But the frown on her face won’t ease. “Don’t forget you have a guidance counselor appointment today, too. Her name is Ms. Moretti.”
I nod.
“I talked to her over the phone. She sounded nice. Energetic … like she actually enjoys her job. And she’s the cross-country coach—”
I groan. “I told you, I don’t think I want to do cross-country again.”
“Of course you do! Remember how well you placed at provincials?”
“That was two years ago.” Before we found out about Dad’s secret family, before my parents divorced. Before my life fell apart.
A knock sounds, cutting our argument short.
Mom opens the door to find a grinning Cassie waiting. “Good morning, Cassie! Ready for your first day of school?” Mom asks with a broad smile. She seems to smile more when Cassie’s around. So does Uncle Merv, and that’s quite the feat because the old man wears a perpetual scowl on account of all his loose, sagging skin.
“Holly gave me this shirt,” she says, as if we’ve met Holly. She looks down at her T-shirt of a sequined unicorn. It’s paired with capri leggings and running shoes that are fastened with elastic band–like straps. “I like it.”
“So do I! Aria is wearing new clothes today, too.”
Cassie’s gray-blue eyes coast over me as she nods vigorously. “Wow. She looks nice.”
A car horn sounds.
“Oh, that’s Emmett. We have to go.” Cassie turns to ease down the steps.
“Remember. Text me,” my mom calls after me, tacking on an “I love you!” for good measure.
I roll my eyes and throw a hand in the air as we make our way toward the navy-blue Hyundai Santa Fe.
“You can sit in the front if you want.” Cassie doesn’t wait for my answer before climbing into the back seat.
My stomach flutters as I open the passenger door. “Hey,” I say as I slide in, trying not to stare at him or make it too obvious that I’m inhaling the delicious scent of soap that lingers in the air. Emmett’s wearing dark jeans and a crisp white T-shirt. So simple and yet so hot. He’s styled his wavy hair with product this morning, to make it full and stand on end.
“Hey.” Emmett gives me a crooked smile before peering over his shoulder at his sister. “You gave up the front, Cass? I’m impressed.”
“Yeah. Aria’s my friend. And she doesn’t have a green face anymore.”
Emmett snorts with laughter as he cranks the engine.
My cheeks burn. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“You’re welcome,” she chirps, then after a pause says, “Oh. You’re joking.”
“Yeah, Cass. She’s joking.” Emmett throws the car into drive.
“Wait! I’m not ready! This seat belt is tricky!” She sounds panicked.
“I’m waiting.” His fingertips drum over the steering wheel as his brown eyes drift over the street. “Following the rules is very important to Cassie, in case you haven’t noticed yet.”
“I heard that,” she mutters as a metal click sounds. “Okay, I’m ready.”
He pulls out. “So, who do you have this semester?”
“Mr. Eason,” Cassie answers.
He smirks. “I meant Aria.”
“Um …” I frown as I search my memory, meanwhile inside I’m buzzing with excitement over the fact that Emmett wants to talk to me. “Mr. Lewis for math.”
“He’s good, but his tests are brutal.”
“Great. As if I didn’t already hate math.”
Emmett chuckles. “Yeah, same here. I’ve got Calculus this semester and I’m dreading it. Who else?”
I fish my course syllabus from my back pocket and unfold it. “Ms. Singh for Biology.”
“Never had her.”
“Lunch period four.”
He cringes. “That’s the late one. That sucks.”
“Which one do you have?”
“Period three.”
“Me too!” Cassie chirps.
My disappointment swells. The only two people I know in school and I’ll be left to eat by myself. I continue scanning my agenda. “Mr. Kapp for English, last period.”
“Oh. Him. He’s …” Emmett’s eyes flash to the rearview mirror. “I’ll warn you about him later,” he says softly.
Because Cassie will repeat whatever she hears, I’m guessing.
“Okay.” The thought of a secret conversation between us sends a thrill through my body. “And Ms. McNair for Social Studies.”
He frowns. “Which period?”
“First.”
“Hey, I’m in that class!”
“Really?” I get to spend my morning period with Emmett? Stealing glances at every opportunity?
I am so going to fail this class.
“Wait, what grade are you in again?”
“She’s in grade eleven!” Cassie yells from behind, as if excited to be able to join the conversation.
“Eleven,” I echo. “But I took a course that’s identical to a prerequisite for this one, so…” I wave a hand, as if the rest is self-explanatory.
“Cool. I can walk with you. You’re on your own after that.”
A mixture of relief and trepidation swirls inside. “That’s okay.” I hold up a second sheet of paper. “I have a map.”
* * *
Daunting.
That’s a great word for Eastmonte Secondary.
I knew this last week, when Mom and I came by to finish registering and get acquainted. The principal, squinty-eyed Mr. Keen, announced that I would put their enrollment at sixteen hundred and sixty-six students. “Don’t worry, that doesn’t mean you’re bad luck,” he joked as he guided us out of his office.
Now that I’m standing in the parking lot watching the old building come alive with students—filtering through doors, lingering in groups, their eyes wandering, their l
aughter and shouts carrying—that number weighs heavily on me. It’s more than double my previous high school.
“I’m nervous,” Cassie announces, adjusting her backpack on her shoulders.
“You don’t need to be nervous.” Emmett reaches into the back seat to grab his backpack, the move stretching his white T-shirt across his curvy, hard chest. “You went here last year, remember? And you have the same teacher. You’re in the same class, with most of the same kids. You’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.” Cassie giggles. “I know.”
We begin the slow walk toward the front doors, and I’m so thankful to have both Hartford kids right now. Otherwise, I’d be doing this alone.
“But imagine how nervous Aria must be,” Emmett says, grinning playfully at me. “She doesn’t know anyone here.”
“She knows me,” she says, not catching on to her brother’s gentle ribbing.
“You’re right. She does. And don’t worry.” He winks at me. “With Cassie around, you’ll know half the school in no time.”
* * *
“Hi, Mr. T!” Cassie waves at a tall, thin man with a hard face who hovers outside the gymnasium’s double doors.
“Cassie Hartford!” His face lights up. “How was your summer?”
“Good. This is Aria.” She jabs a finger toward me. “She lives with Uncle Merv now. She’s my new neighbor.”
Mr. T nods once to me. “Welcome to Eastmonte, Aria.”
“Thanks.” I smile politely, feeling my cheeks flush, as we keep moving.
“What’s that now? Eight teachers?” Emmett asks, high-fiving a guy as he passes him in the hall.
“Nine. And two janitors,” I correct, tugging at the collar of my suddenly uncomfortable shirt.
He chuckles. “See? They’ll all know you soon enough. ’Kay, Cass, here’s your classroom.”
“And my locker.” She opens the door of 971.
“That’s last year’s.”
“No! This is mine this year, too!” she insists, unexpected frustration flaring in her voice as she pulls out a lock and loops it through the latch with a concerted effort.
Be the Girl: a Novel Page 3
