More importantly, it doesn’t sound like they reconciled last night, a realization that leaves me struggling to keep the smile of relief from showing.
It’s a few seconds before I realize he’s waiting for me to say something.
“Maybe she feels she needs to act a certain way with her friends?” I offer halfheartedly, because agreeing too quickly with him would be self-serving.
“And what does that say about her choice in friends? No. I’m done with Holly. I think she finally figured that out by the time she dropped me off.”
“What time was that?”
“Late. After one.” He pauses. “You were sitting in the window.”
“I fell asleep there.” I reach up with my free hand to rub the back of my sore neck.
“Figured. You know, with all the drool.”
My mouth drops open. “I was not drooling!”
“Oh, yeah. There was this big gob, dripping down here.” He reaches out to drag his finger playfully down my chin, earning a swat and my laugh.
“Like you’d be able to see drool from down there anyway.” My mind searches my vague, sleepy memory of coming to, curled in a ball, my face cold from the glass. There could have been drool.
“You like that spot, don’t you?”
Yes, because I can watch you. “It’s comfortable. And it’s kind of neat that Uncle Merv built it for my mom, and she used to read there too. My room back home was boring. A rectangle with two plain windows, and stucco on the ceiling. Painted lavender. But this one has personality. I like it.”
“Do you miss it? Calgary, I mean.”
“No,” I say without missing a beat.
“Really?” He hesitates. “Your dad still lives out there, doesn’t he?” He’s fishing for information.
“Yeah, but he has a new family and he has no interest in being a part of my life anymore, beyond the required monthly child support payment.” I feel Emmett’s gaze on my profile but I keep my eyes on Murphy as he sniffs around a bramble of bushes.
“He sounds like a loser.”
I swallow the rising lump and give the leash another light tug. “He wasn’t always that way. But things happen, people change.”
“Not parents. They’re not supposed to change like that.”
I shrug. “Maybe.” That whole concept of unconditional love seems to have evaded him.
“What about your friends?”
“They’re still there.” I shrug. “My mom and I needed a change. This was a good one.”
Emmett nods slowly. “I can’t imagine leaving Zach and Mower, and all those other guys. I guess I’ll know what that feels like next year, though.”
Eastmonte without Emmett. Just the thought brings an ache to my chest.
“I’m sure you’ll have no problem making new friends.” Plenty of Hollys and Patricias to chase after you. A sour taste fills my mouth.
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and I feel an overwhelming urge to know what Emmett’s bottom lip between my teeth would be like. “I keep telling myself that it worked out, having things end with Holly now, before I’m gone. Long-distance relationships never work.”
His words are a sharp needle to this intoxicating bubble I imagined growing around us last night. The last thing he wants is to get into another relationship.
He dips his head. “So, about last night, in the House of Horrors—”
“That was scary, right? I don’t know what the hell happened. And honestly? I don’t think wiping wet sponges on people’s faces is sanitary.” Topic change now, please. So I don’t have to stand here and listen to Emmett tell me that I’m a great person and he likes me as a friend but it was a mistake almost kissing me and blah, blah, blah.
He sighs. And then smiles. “No, it probably isn’t.”
Murphy whines and burrows his nose deeper into a bush then, his tail wagging. A deep growl responds and a second later, a gray-and-black-striped cat springs out and tears off across the street. Murphy goes after it, wrenching my arm and jerking me forward with his burst of strength.
Emmett’s reflexes are as swift as the cat’s. He dives in, seizing the leash to keep Murphy from running in front of a small red hatchback as the driver slams on the brakes and the car comes to a jarring halt.
Adrenaline races through me as the car rolls by, the lady giving me a dirty look on her way past. “Oh my God, that was close.”
“Yeah.” Emmett is well within my personal space, much like he was at the carnival. It hurts, knowing last night was a freak occurrence, never to happen again.
I take a calming breath. “Did the cat make it?”
We both peer to the opposite side of the street just as the striped furball bounds over someone’s front lawn.
“Little asshole is fine.” He peers down at me with those warm, deep-brown eyes. “You good?”
“Yeah. Thanks. He’s stronger than I thought. He never pulled that hard when we were at the shelter.” I take a step back into safer, more platonic territory. Where Emmett wants to stay. “I should get him home. Pat said to keep the walks short because of his hip.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” Emmett’s lips press tight. If I were a fool, I’d mistake that look for disappointment.
We head back, the leash wrapped twice around my fist in case of more kamikaze cats.
“What do you have planned for the rest of the weekend?”
“Not much. Homework, probably.” I frown at the red pickup truck that turns onto our street. “What does she have him doing now?”
“Is that the handyman?”
“Yeah. My mom is, like, renovating Uncle Merv’s entire house. I don’t know if it’s because she’s bored, or because she feels guilty for not visiting all those years and this is how she thinks she can make it up to Uncle Merv. But it’s Saturday.”
By the time we round the bend in our street five minutes later, Mick is parked and standing casually on the porch with my mother, cradling a mug in her hands. She’s wearing her favorite mustard-yellow cable-knit sweater and, even from this distance, I can see the way her hair spills over her shoulders in fat waves.
“Hot rollers.” Things begin to click like puzzle pieces. The soft laugh to cap off the “please call me Debra,” the Mick-this and Mick-that, all the projects … “Oh my God. My mom has a crush on the handyman!” I don’t mean to sound appalled by the idea.
Emmett and I linger on the sidewalk, watching the exchange—the way Mick shifts his body, his crinkle-eyed smiles at the porch floorboards, the way my mom giggles and fusses with her sweater collar, her gaze holding his intently, her smile effervescent. She has a thing for him and I think it’s reciprocated.
“Now we know what Mick’s working on today.” My mom.
Emmett chuckles. “And you’re not okay with that?”
“No, I am. At least I think I am?” I pause to consider it for a moment. “It’s just weird. I’ve gotten used to the idea of my dad being with someone else. But my mom?”
“I can’t picture my parents apart, let alone dating other people.” Emmett peers over at his house, as if trying to imagine it at that moment. “It’d be weird,” he finally agrees. “Is this guy nice, at least?”
I shrug. “Seems like it, but I haven’t talked to him. I don’t know anything about him. Like, has he ever been married? Does he have kids?” Is he a closet drinker? A serial cheater?
One thing’s for sure—my mom is going A-to-Z opposite from my partner-at-a-busy-law-firm dad if she’s chasing after Mick. But wouldn’t that fit with this new life she’s taken on? It’s like she’s making a concerted effort to become the exact opposite of who she was in our old life.
Mom bursts out in a strange, youthful laugh and then, spotting us standing on the sidewalk, casts a casual wave.
“How long before they do it, do you think?” Emmett asks suddenly.
My jaw drops and then my hand flies out to swat against his hard chest. “Ew!”
He winces, rubbing the spot where my hand
made contact.
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “I watched a guy ram his entire body into you on the ice.”
“I wear padding!”
“All that muscle is basically padding.” And now he knows that I’ve spent a lot of time ogling his body.
By the time we reach my driveway, the awkwardness from earlier has made its way between us again. “So, I guess I’ll see you around?” Where do we go from an almost-kiss? Back to being just neighbors and running buddies and social studies partners, I guess.
Just friends.
He hesitates. “Hey, I’ve got a game tonight in town, if you’re not doing anything. I’m sure Cassie would love for you to come.” His eyes are steady on me.
Is he really asking me for Cassie’s sake? Not that it matters. I’d accept either way.
Still, I try not to sound too eager. “Only if you score … three times.” I pull the number out of the air.
His lip curls with amusement. “You expect a hat trick for gracing us with your presence?”
“Sure?”
Emmett’s head falls back with his laughter. “You really don’t know a thing about the game, do you?”
“You put the puck in the net.” I shrug. “I’ve never lived next to a hockey family before. You people are weird.”
He smirks. “I’ll see what I can do.” Bending down to give Murphy a scratch, he takes steps backward toward his house. “But only if you come.”
He just wants to be friends so why does it feel like he’s flirting with me?
With reluctance—because I could spend the whole day standing here, talking to Emmett—I turn and lead Murphy toward the house.
“Hey, Aria! Mick and I were talking about your closet,” my mom says through a sip of coffee.
“I don’t have a closet.”
“Exactly. He thinks he can frame out the left corner by the door and build you something nice, with shelves and cubbies. Custom. Wouldn’t that be great?”
“That’d be awesome. Hey, Mick.” I offer politely.
“Hi, Aria. How’s the water pressure holding up for ya?”
“It doesn’t take me ten years to rinse the shampoo out anymore, so … good?”
By his nod of satisfaction, I guess that’s the right answer.
Mom’s eyes flicker to Emmett’s retreating back. “He found you, did he?” A secretive smile touches her lips.
Oh, she so knows about my crush on Emmett.
My cheeks burn. Has she been reading my diary after all? A flash of panic tightens my stomach.
No. There’s no way she found it.
“Murphy likes to chase cats,” I blurt, wanting a change of topic, especially in front of our handyman. “And he’s a lot stronger than you’d think, so be careful, if you’re ever walking him.”
“Noted.”
Mick reaches down to scratch beneath Murphy’s chin, earning himself a lick. “Hey there, old man. How you doin’ today?”
Mom studies Mick’s face. Now that I’m closer, I see that she not only did her hair in the time between waking me up and now, but her cheeks are rosy with blush and her lashes are coated in mascara.
She suddenly looks up and catches me watching her gawk at Mick. She gives her head the slightest shake. “Before I forget, Heather and Mark invited us for Thanksgiving dinner next Sunday. I know it’s your birthday but I thought a family dinner would be nice.” Her forehead furrows. “I can’t remember the last time we had a turkey.”
Because turkeys have always been too much work and so messy and “God, what do you do with all the leftovers?” complicated.
And none of that matters because it means I get to spend at least part of my sixteenth birthday with Emmett. “That’s fine.”
“Good, because I’ve already said yes.” Mom’s lips quirk. “I figured you’d be more than agreeable.”
Now she’s teasing me.
I plaster on a wide smile. “You look really nice this morning, Mom. You did your hair and makeup and everything. Were you expecting someone?”
Mom’s eyes flash first to Mick and then to her coffee mug, her cheeks glowing. “I thought we’d go out shopping when you got back from your walk. For a new couch and wine and stuff.”
“You want your fifteen-year-old daughter to help you shop for wine?”
“What? No! And cheese and groceries and …” She’s flustered. My mother is never flustered. She laughs and shakes her head, flashing me a warning glare. “Go on inside, Aria. There’s a plate of pumpkin bread on the table.”
“Pumpkin bread today. Great.” I drag my feet up the stairs.
“Your mom is quite the baker,” Mick offers.
“Yes. All of a sudden, it would seem. It’s like she’s trying to impress someone.”
“Okay. Off you go!” Mom shoos me inside with a wave of her hand.
15
I should have dressed warmer.
Heather warned me that the rink would be much colder tonight than last time, back when summer still lingered in the air. I misjudged and now I’m left shivering in my fleece sweater and my fall vest, my only source of warmth the watered-down hot chocolate I grabbed from the snack bar.
I’ll gladly freeze if it means watching Emmett play, though.
He flies down the ice with the puck, passing it to one of his teammates. Cassie and I were late arriving. He hasn’t looked up here yet, he’s so focused on the game. I doubt he knows I’ve come. We’re sitting apart from Heather and the group of moms again, at Cassie’s request. She says it’s because they yell and swear too much, but I think it’s because Cassie doesn’t get a lot of time away from Heather’s watchful eye, and she relishes every opportunity.
I can’t blame her.
Suddenly there’s a chorus of loud shouts and a whistle blows and the ref points at one of the players on the other team, then makes a hand-chopping gesture. “Hey, Cassie. Do you know what that means?” My words drift as I take in her face. I can’t help but laugh.
She giggles and licks her lips. “I have a chocolate mustache, don’t I?”
“Yup. An extra big one.”
“This is why I need a straw!”
“You should bring one from home next time.” I reach for the box of Junior Mints between us.
And scowl as the last one tumbles into my palm.
“Oh. Yeah.” Cassie pauses to peer down at my hand. “I ate them all.” She’s grinning broadly, her front teeth coated in the chocolate evidence.
I crumple the box as I watch Emmett race for the puck, deftly maneuvering his stick to swipe it from the opposing player.
“Are you mad?” There’s a hint of panic in her voice, as if the idea of me being angry with her is sinking in and causing her anxiety.
“No, I’m not mad. I’m annoyed. Do you know what that means?”
She searches her thoughts. “When someone does something that bothers you?”
“Exactly. It bothers me that you ate all the Junior Mints.” In five minutes. “They’re my favorite.”
She swallows. And then her face breaks into a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry.”
A round of cheers explodes and I glance back in time to see Emmett clapping gloves with another player. “Did Emmett score?” Dammit, I missed it!
He turns toward the stands and points in our direction.
I freeze for a moment. “Me?” I mouth, covertly gesturing at myself, my cheeks heating.
He’s pulled his glove off and holds up one finger.
I feel the big, dumb grin stretch my lips. One goal down. Two to go. I did demand that earlier.
“What is Emmett saying?” Cassie frowns. “Why did he do that?”
“Nothing. It’s a joke between us.”
One of his teammates follows his gaze up to the stands and then gives him a playful shove against his shoulder.
He knows I’m here, all right.
* * *
“I was there on Saturday! The creepy Pennywise clown?” Jen’s blue eyes widen as she squeez
es my biceps. “I hate normal clowns. But that clown? I almost cried!”
I laugh, spinning my combination lock. “Same here.” Had I not had Emmett’s strong chest to bury my face in, I might have.
Then again, if not for carnival Pennywise and the face-licker, I wouldn’t have found myself in Emmett’s arms that night. They deserve giant raises.
“Ready for the chem test, Jen?” Emmett sounds breathless as he sidles up beside me to lean against the lockers, his textbook casually tucked under his arm. He smells of soap and the perfect amount of cologne, like he just stepped out of the shower, even though his hair is barely damp anymore.
“Probably not. You?” She slams her locker shut and adjusts her shirt collar. She’s wearing a turkey print today and, as hideous as it is, I’ve found myself looking forward to discovering what Jen is wearing on any given day. I’ve noticed that not all the looks from students are negative. A girl walked by us minutes ago, her eyes narrowing on Jen’s back just long enough to decipher the tiny birds, before a genuine smile touched her lips.
Emmett smirks. “Probably not.” Those intoxicating brown eyes shift to me. “How was practice this morning?”
I catch myself practically fawning as my head falls back. Emmett truly towers over me. I’ve never had a thing for tall guys, but now that I think about it, none of the fourteen- and fifteen-year-old boys I hung around with reached six feet. I was taller than half of them. “Fine. I ran with Richard.”
“Why? You’re way faster than him.”
Everyone on the team is faster than Richard, including the ninth-grade girls. Short of every other racer injuring themselves midway through, he’ll never place.
I shrug. “My calf felt tight. Didn’t want to overdo it.” In truth, running alongside Richard guaranteed that I wouldn’t have to deal with Holly’s scathing glare. She was leering at me when I arrived at school this morning, in a way that set me on edge.
“Fair enough.” He seems to buy it.
The first bell goes.
“Crap. I’m going to be late.” I rush to dig my books out of my backpack.
“Here.” Emmett reaches for the bag, his fingers grazing mine as he holds it open for me.
Be the Girl: a Novel Page 15
