He sighs heavily, and then leans into the room to wave at someone. “Hey, Mr. Eason, Cassie’s here.”
A middle-aged man with no hair on his head and too much on his face strolls out to meet us. “Hey, Emmett. Cassie! Good to see you again,” he greets, his voice deep.
“Which locker is hers this year?” Emmett asks.
“Same one. Keeping it consistent.”
“See? I told you, Emmett.” She focuses on unpacking her backpack, that same petulance she used with her mother the other day creeping into her tone.
Emmett holds his hands up in surrender. “I should’ve known better. We’ll see you later, Cassie. Remember, you’re walking home with Aria after school. She’ll meet you here.”
“Oh, Mr. Eason! Have you met Aria?” Cassie asks, distracted from her locker for the moment.
“I haven’t. But you told me about her last week when you came in to visit the classroom, remember?”
“Yeah. This is Aria.” She points to me and says by rote, “She lives with Uncle Merv. She’s my new neighbor.”
Kind, green eyes shift to me. “Welcome, Aria. You have lucked out with the friendliest neighbor you’ll ever meet in your life.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I’ve picked up on that.”
“Have a great first day at Eastmonte. Cassie, come inside when you’re finished up here.” With that, he ducks into his class.
“You good, Cassie?” Emmett asks.
“Yes.” She nods to emphasize.
“Don’t show anyone your code,” he warns, pointing to the push button combination padlock.
“Okay, Emmett!”
“All right.” He turns to walk down the hall. He’s patient with his little sister’s peculiarities and outbursts. I guess he’s used to them.
“See you later, Cassie,” I say.
“At three forty-six. Right here.” She points at her locker.
“Yes.” I guess I need to be more specific.
“Okay. Bye.” She turns her attention back to her locker.
I rush to catch up with Emmett. “So, what’s that class Cassie is taking?”
“It’s a community class. They do life and social skills learning. Eason is amazing with her.”
“Does she not take any regular classes?”
“She takes a couple that are special for kids like her, on the spectrum. Hey, man! How was your summer?” We stall as Emmett shares a few words with a shorter, stocky blond guy who steals several glances my way but never says hi. I’m sure if Cassie were here, I would have already received an introduction.
“Do you think she’ll go to college after?”
He frowns. “Who, Cassie? No, she’ll be here until she’s twenty-one.”
I cringe at the thought of being in high school for that long.
He nods in greeting to a passing guy, and laughs at another. Walking through the halls is probably not the best time to try to carry on a conversation—about anything—with him.
“This is me.” I point at locker number 698.
“That was my buddy Zach’s locker last year. I’m just down there.” He points haphazardly and keeps going.
I split my time between unloading my lunch bag and blank notebooks from my backpack and watching Emmett stroll down the hall, his gait casual, returning smiles and greetings from at least a dozen people. It’s obvious he’s well known. And well liked.
He hooks his combination lock into his locker just as a blonde in a flirty black skirt and wedge heels barrels into him from behind, her arms looping around his waist. In the light of the hallway, I can see how perfect Holly truly is, with her sculpted cheekbones, expressive blue eyes, and wide, pouty lips.
I groan.
“You okay?”
I turn to find a round-faced girl with owlish eyes and an upturned nose at the locker next to me, and realize she’s talking to me.
“I’m fine. Just … life. It’s so predictable.”
“Tell me about it.” She snorts, pushing her frizzy auburn hair off her freckled face. She’s at least five inches taller than me and on the heavy side, with broad shoulders and a slightly hunched posture. The corners of her mouth are naturally curved downward, making it look like she wears a perpetual frown. “I’m Jen. Or Jenny, if you want. Just not Jennifer. You’re Aria, right?”
“Uh … yeah?”
“Mr. Keen assigned me to you,” she explains, and that downturned mouth curves into a reassuring smile. “The buddy system?”
“Oh. Right. I forgot.” He did mention something about a student being assigned to me, to help me adjust. And this student happens to be wearing a beige shirt with a yellow #2 pencil print.
“So, I have a locker beside you.” She points at it. “Plus we have first period and lunch together. I’m here to show you around, answer any questions you have, that sort of thing. Anything you need. I’m in my last year so I know the school pretty well.”
“That’s great. Thank you.” At least now I know three people here, not including the teachers and janitorial staff Cassie introduced me to.
“Where are you from?”
“Out west. Calgary area.”
“Cool. Why’d you move here?” She says that like there’s something wrong with Eastmonte, and I guess maybe to some people, there is. It’s a sleepy town surrounded by a lot of corn and hay. When Mom and I drove along the main street at night, I half expected a zombie to meander out, it was so dead. There’s one Tim Hortons, two grocery stores, and a restored two-screen movie theater. As far as excitement goes, there’s none.
But it’s only an hour’s drive to downtown Toronto, a city we haven’t had a chance to venture into yet but I’m excited to see.
And so the questions begin. “My uncle is getting older and he lost his wife. My mom wanted to be closer to him.” I practiced that line in the mirror last night, and it comes out smoothly now.
The first bell rings.
“Cool.” Jen shuts her locker door with a slam. I can’t tell if she was interested in knowing that or just being polite. “Our class is right here.” She points to the open door across from us, where a short, plump teacher with a black bob stands, greeting students.
I steal a glance down the hall in time to see Emmett and Holly approaching, Holly burrowed against Emmett’s side, his arm slung over her shoulder.
I feel a pull in my gut. I hate being envious of other people. But I’m human as Dr. C. liked to remind me, and feeling a range of emotions along a wide spectrum is normal. Envy is normal.
Right now, I am sick with envy and I haven’t said two words to this girl yet.
“See?” Emmett winks at me. “Making friends already.”
“Buddy assignment,” I mumble, feeling Holly’s blue eyes size me up.
“Right. Hey, Jen.”
“Hey, Emmett.” She hesitates a beat. “Hey, Holly.” I could be wrong—I’ve known Jen for all of five minutes—but her tone shifts from genuinely happy to forced with that latter greeting.
“Hey Jennifer,” Holly says in a soft, sexy timbre. “Good summer?”
“It was great. Thanks for asking. I’ll save you a seat inside, Aria.” Jen speeds into the classroom.
“Holly, meet Aria, my new neighbor. Aria, my girlfriend, Holly.” Emmett gestures between us.
“Hey.” Holly’s bright blue eyes practically sparkle and her smile grows even wider, if that’s possible. “I’ve heard so much about you from Cassie. I feel like I already know you.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I can imagine.” Is there anyone in Cassie’s world who doesn’t know about me already?
“Right?” Her laugh is like a well-tuned flute. “Emmett tells me you’re going to walk home with her after school? That’s so nice of you.”
“No big deal. I live next door.” I shrug.
“But it makes me sad.” She pouts. “I used to walk her home once a week. That was one of my favorite things to do.”
Emmett frowns down at her. “You can still walk with them, if you want.”<
br />
“I can’t, given my tutoring job. I don’t know how I would’ve managed. It’s kind of worked out that Aria’s here now.”
“Right,” he nods with the reminder.
“But I’m glad she has you. She deserves to have more friends.” Holly’s smile oozes warmth.
Ugh. Emmett’s girlfriend is beautiful and nice. Not a surprise, I guess.
“Mr. Hartford, Ms. Webber, second bell’s about to go.” The teacher, Ms. McNair, I presume, calls out, her warning gaze drifting over me as well.
“Good thing we’re all taking your class then.” Emmett grins as he trails Holly in, leaving me to walk in last.
Jen waves to me from a two-person desk, front and center.
With a soft groan, I sink into my seat.
5
“Aria Jones.” Ms. Moretti pushes the door to her office shut. “How’s your first day at Eastmonte going so far?”
“So far, so good,” I say, watching her strut around the desk in her four-inch heels, her muscular calves bulging from the strain. Other than that, she’s a tiny woman, with an olive complexion and jet-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail.
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” She settles into the leather office chair behind her desk. It’s giant in comparison, and I can’t figure out if it’s because it’s oversized or she’s that small. “So, tell me something about yourself.” She flashes a wide smile.
My eyes get caught on the gap between her two front teeth for a few seconds before I avert my gaze. “There’s not much to tell.”
“Oh, come on, of course there is. I’m at a loss, unfortunately.” She holds her empty hands out in front of her. “Moving out of province is like moving countries as far as the school system goes. We don’t get much in the way of information about the student.”
Thankfully.
“So …?” she prods, her perfect, symmetrical eyebrows arching with question. “You moved here last week, right?”
“Yeah. We’re living with my uncle. My great-uncle.”
“You and your mother, right?”
I nod.
“And is your dad back in Calgary?”
“Outside of Calgary. You know … divorce.”
“Do you speak to him often?”
I shake my head, studying the surface of her desk so she doesn’t see the truth in my eyes—that I haven’t talked to my father in months.
“How long ago did they separate?”
Do all guidance counselors prod for private information right out of the gate? “Two years ago? Yeah, almost two years ago.” Halloween night, to be exact. My friend Denise and I decided to go trick-or-treating as a joke. We dressed up as zombie brides and went door to door in her neighborhood. It was hysterical, up until a pregnant, redheaded woman opened her door to hand us bags of chips and I spotted my father kicking back on the couch in the living room, beer in hand, a little girl I’d never met before perched on his knee.
The woman, Sonya, is a paralegal at the law firm where he works.
He didn’t even bother denying the affair or that the coming baby was his.
Ms. Moretti nods and gives me one of those downcast sympathetic smiles. “I remember when my parents divorced. I was about your age and I thought it was the end of the world at the time. It turned my life upside down and I didn’t move across the country. This must be hard on you.”
I shrug.
“I’m guessing you left some friends behind that you probably miss?”
“Sure, but they can text me.”
If they had my new number.
If they were still my friends.
It’s quiet for a moment as Ms. Moretti sizes me up. How much has my mother told her? Not too much, I’d imagine. The whole point of moving here was to have a fresh start, and I won’t have that if Mom drags out our baggage and puts it on display.
Finally, Ms. Moretti shuffles some paperwork on her desk before sliding a page across the desk toward me. “One of the best and easiest ways to make new friends is through sports and clubs. I’ve taken the liberty of highlighting a few of the best ones.”
I scan it quickly. Lo and behold, “cross-country” is highlighted in bright yellow. Twice.
“Your mother may have called me and may have mentioned that you placed second in provincials.” She grins sheepishly. “I’m the coach. I’d love to see what you can do.”
“I haven’t been training. I doubt I’d be a good addition.”
She waves it away. “I’ll bet you’d surprise yourself. We practice three times a week, before school. More, as we get closer to regionals. Please consider it. We haven’t had any luck placing in years. Even with Emmett Hartford on the team. Between you and me, we could really use a win.”
My heart skips a beat. “Emmett’s on the team?”
“Yeah. You’ve met him already, I take it?”
“He’s my neighbor.” My cheeks heat, and I hope she can’t see it.
“Well, he’s also quite the athlete, though his heart is tied up with hockey. I think he uses this for his morning workout.” She leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “So come out and help us win a trophy for our display case!”
I can’t help but smile. So far, Ms. Moretti is about as opposite to my last guidance counselor as you can get. Aside from the physical attributes—Mrs. Forester was gray-haired, had yellow teeth from smoking a pack of cigarettes a day, and her style consisted of shapeless dresses and UGGs—she didn’t give a rat’s ass what happened to me or anyone else, as long as she got to retire with her pension at the end of it all. She even said as much to me once.
Meanwhile, here’s this youthful, compact woman across from me, wearing a flirty eggplant-colored dress and a smile, making a genuine effort to motivate me.
Little does she realize, she’s dangled a gorgeous, dimple-cheeked carrot in the air that I can’t ignore.
I hesitate. “So, when does training start?”
* * *
I assumed all high school cafeterias were the same—dark, crowded, and comparable to the prison meal rooms you see on TV. And, before a renovation two years ago that saw a giant addition built onto the back of the school, the same probably could’ve been said for Eastmonte Secondary’s cafeteria.
I inhale the smell of gravy-laden meat wafting from the lunch line as I take in the bright space—double-story ceilings and a full panel of glass that overlooks the sports field and track and allows in ample daylight; everything is in soft shades of gray and tan with a mixture of round and rectangular tables that seat anywhere from two to twenty people. They even have television screens mounted on the walls!
I spot Jen waving me over to a table by the window and relief swarms me. I duck my head, trying to ignore the glances. In a school of sixteen hundred and sixty-six students, being the new girl is still notable.
“How was the rest of your morning?” Jen asks around a mouthful of her ham-and-cheese sandwich. She’s sitting beside a small Asian girl with a heavy bang cut just above her eyebrows; she peers up at me with a timid smile.
“Okay.”
“This is Josie. Josie, this is Aria.”
Josie nods at me, and while her mouth moves, I don’t actually hear the hello that comes out.
“Hey.” I dump my own lunch—an apple and cream-cheese bagel—out of my lunch bag, starved. Emmett was right—the late lunch sucks. “Math with Mr. Lewis.”
Jen grimaces. “I had him last year. He’s tough.”
“So it seems.” His thick gray mustache lifted with his easy smile as he strolled around the classroom handing out a three-page pop quiz full of equations for us to complete. It’s meant to help him gauge what he’s working with. A pop quiz, five minutes after sitting down. And I don’t think I answered any of the questions right.
Next to that, Biology with Ms. Singh was a breeze.
“At least one more class and you’ve made it through your first day, right?”
“Right.” And English has always been my favorite. I glance ar
ound at the sea of faces. I recognize one or two from my classes, but that’s all.
A burst of laughter carries over the loud buzz of conversation. I glance over to see Holly strut down the stairs from the second floor with a tall, willowy brunette, turning heads as she strolls toward the lunch service line, her toned thighs flexing with each step on those wedge sandals. She waggles her painted fingers at a table nearby, nodding as they point to the vacant seats beside them, mouthing “Thank you!”
“Is she for real? Holly Webber, I mean.”
Jen’s blue-gray eyes flash to the blonde bombshell, where they sit a moment. “Why are you asking?”
“No reason. She just seems so perfect.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Jen picks at the top of her bun, breaking off bits of bread to make it look like something has nibbled on it.
Josie doesn’t say a word. I have a feeling we won’t be having many conversations.
“So, when did she and Emmett hook up?” I ask casually.
“The start of last year. That’s when she moved here. It didn’t take long for that to happen.” Jen’s eyes widen with emphasis. “She looks like that and Emmett’s like, Mr. Popular, in case you haven’t figured that out yet.”
“I took a wild guess.” I join in, pulling my bagel into bite-sized chunks.
“Yeah, everyone’s saying he’s going to end up in the NHL.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t like hockey. But he’s nice. And smart. We were biology partners last year and he did his fair share of the work, and never made fun of people. Not like the other jock assholes who just want to get drunk and laid and be general jerks. Not that Emmett’s lacking in the ‘getting laid’ department. If the rumors after every party are true, those two are doing it every chance they get,” she says. “But at least he’s nice.”
My stomach squeezes. But of course they are. I would be, too. Even though I haven’t actually done “it” with anyone yet. But if I were with Emmett, I doubt I’d be able to keep my hands off him.
I squash that flare of envy, needing to get my mind off the boy next door. “So, what do you know about Mr. Kapp?” Emmett alluded to there being something worth gossiping about.
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