I shook my head. In fact, all of me was shaking, so angry at her . . . and at myself for letting her affect me. “Do you even hear yourself? This is Dad you’re talking about. That’s so messed up.”
For a moment Chloe looked contrite, her eyes full of doubt and vulnerability. She looked young again. Like the sister I once had before she went away to college and got married. The one who was always laughing and happy and busy with her friends.
Mia started crying. The look vanished from Chloe’s face, and she was hard-eyed and biting again. She stormed past me and marched up the steps. “Trust me, baby sister. Stay away from that one next door. I’ve watched him over the years. He’s the ruiner of girls. You’re not unique or special. You’re not going to be the one to break him. He’ll be the one to break you.”
GIRL CODE #8:
Don’t forget your family and friends just because you’re suddenly dating someone. They were there for you before, and you’ll want them to be there for you after.
Flor
DAD was home when I came down around ten the next morning. He must have come home sometime in the night. Or maybe early in the morning when I was dead asleep.
I could see him through the glass doors of his office, his dark hair crisp and shining wetly from a recent shower. Before he met Dana, he’d had silver at his temples. Overnight the gray had miraculously disappeared.
He waved at me as I passed, barely glancing up from his computer.
I made some oatmeal, drank a big glass of water, and went for a run. I kept it short. Only a mile. I had soccer practice this afternoon, and I’d get plenty of running in then.
I sent a text to Willa, apologizing for bailing on her the night before; then I decided I’d try to get a head start on homework. I didn’t need to let my other grades slip too. I had enough to worry about.
I was an hour in and had just finished reading the assigned chapter for economics when I picked up my phone. There were a few group texts from the girls on my soccer team. Nothing from Willa. I went to my thread with Zach. I still had a little red heart next to his name. I couldn’t bring myself to delete it yet. That would be me admitting things were well and truly over. That wasn’t happening yet.
My last text to him was still unread, and that stung. I’d sent it on Wednesday, asking him if he wanted to come over and hang out. Yeah. I knew. It smacked of desperation. I’d never been like this over a guy before. Usually I had more pride. Usually I had the upper hand in the relationship, acting indifferent and casual.
It embarrassed me that I was being this way . . . and still. I couldn’t stop myself.
My fingers hovered over my phone, poised, considering sending him another text.
“Gah!” I flung my phone down on my bed before I could do something that stupid. I wasn’t going to get him back by coming off as desperate and clingy. No. I needed to figure something else out. I needed to remind him why he fell for me in the first place. A large part of that had to do with my confidence. I needed to be the confident girl I once was. I needed to get back to her somehow.
Feeling a little better, I nodded and went back to my reading. I worked until it was time to leave for soccer, then drove to the park where my team practiced.
I played on a select team with girls from all over the city. There was school soccer, of course, but if you were shooting for college recruitment, you needed to play year-round for a competitive soccer club. I tried out for Club Storm when I was eleven years old and had been advancing through the ranks ever since, making my way up the ladder until I was on the club’s most advanced team for my age group.
Only one girl on my team went to Madison with me, and she was racing across the parking lot toward me now, her backpack bouncing behind her, her red braids flying wildly.
“Oh my God!” Molly exploded. “Were you at Sharla’s party last night?”
I nodded as I got my backpack out of the back seat.
“Did you get an MIP? The party got raided and I heard they lined everyone there up on the front lawn and gave out MIPs like they were candy bars. They even arrested a few kids who were so drunk they couldn’t stand.”
“No.” I frowned. I really should have trolled my social media this morning. Apparently I had missed a lot. “I must have left before that happened.”
But what about Willa? Was that why she wasn’t answering her texts? Did she get into trouble? That would make sense.
Suddenly I felt like the worst friend in the world. I shouldn’t have left her. I was so caught up in myself, in Zach and my dad and his girlfriend and the fact that I was failing math and losing my chance to be varsity captain. I wasn’t there for Willa. Not like she was always there for me.
I took out my disappointment and frustration by throwing myself into practice, putting at least three girls on their butts. Two hours later I was drenched in sweat and felt a little better. The endorphins had kicked in . . . but I still felt bad about Willa. I needed to check on her and apologize.
I reached for my phone as soon as I got into my car. No text from Willa. I started my car, then went on social media, quickly seeing evidence of Sharla’s party as I waited for my air conditioner to kick to life. There were even some photos taken after the cops got there from the kids waiting in line on the lawn just like Molly had mentioned. I rolled my eyes.
I spotted Jenna in one shot, standing in a line next to Hayden as cops issued tickets. Her face was caught mid-speech, and it wasn’t a pretty expression. She’d hate it.
It was ridiculous that people would post such inflammatory material, but unsurprising. Every nuance of life was subject to documentation. Nothing was sacred.
I called Willa on the way home, listening on my car’s speaker as it rang and rang. Eventually her voicemail came on. I left a message. She must have gotten into big trouble to not have access to her phone.
When I got home, Dana’s car was in the driveway. I blew out a frustrated breath and sat in my car for a moment, composing myself before going inside. Couldn’t Dad go a night without seeing her?
Sighing, I grabbed my backpack and went in.
I took my cleats off on the back porch, spying through the blinds on them in the kitchen. They were cooking again, and the delicious smells carried outside and wrapped around me. My stomach grumbled as I opened the back door and entered the house.
“Flor!” My dad said my name like he was surprised I was home. Like I didn’t live here. Like I didn’t have practice every Saturday and come home at this exact time.
Dana eyed me over the rim of the wine glass she lifted to her lips.
I smiled overly brightly at her, dropped my backpack on one of the barstools lining the island, and headed for the refrigerator, glancing at the oversize skillet on the stove as I passed. “What are you making?”
“Paella.”
It looked as good as it smelled, but I kept that to myself.
I took out the chocolate milk and poured myself a large glass. “Is it ready?” I asked, trying to act casual and like I didn’t want to dive face first into it. I was always starving after practices.
“Yes. Just waiting on the bread warming in the oven.”
I nodded and took a bowl out of a cabinet and a spoon from a drawer. I moved to the stove and dished a healthy portion for myself.
Dana glared at me. I glared right back. It was my house. I lived here, and I would bet my dad had paid for the groceries to make this meal. I set the bowl on the counter and took the grated Parmesan out of the fridge and sprinkled it over the top.
“My, my, that’s a lot of calories,” Dana murmured, helping herself to more wine.
Did she really just say that to me?
I forced myself not to ask how many calories were in her wine and said instead, “I ran about a thousand miles today. I think I’ll be okay.”
She fixed a smile on her face and shared a knowing look with my father. “You’ll have to adjust your eating as you get older. You won’t have that kind of metabolism after high scho
ol.”
I rinsed out my milk glass and refilled it with water. “Thanks for the advice.”
Balancing spoon, bowl, and drink, I started out of the kitchen, calling over my shoulder, “Thanks for cooking.”
Dad’s voice stopped me. “Would you mind eating with us?” He motioned to the table.
I turned and stared at them warily. This was the first time he had requested me to eat with them. Well, other than the time we went out for sushi when he first introduced us.
I had been stupidly, naively excited then. Dad had a girlfriend who he really liked. I imagined us forming a unit together. I knew she couldn’t take the place of the mother I’d lost to the beaches of Playa del Carmen the majority of the year. But for some reason I had a vision of Gloria from Modern Family. He’d mentioned she was younger than he was.
Dana, however, was no Gloria.
I gathered within five minutes that she viewed me as competition for my father’s attention. Every comment I made, she one-upped me. Every story, she had a better one. Even when I was talking about something that had happened to me at school, it reminded her of something that had happened to her.
By dessert, I had given up and was saying very little, and that seemed just fine with the two of them. They carried on talking like I wasn’t even there. I told myself not to worry about it. She and my father wouldn’t last forever.
I still told myself that.
“I need to go work on my math.”
“Oh, how is that cutie tutor of yours?” Dana waggled her eyebrows at me.
“It’s not like that. He’s just my tutor.” I muttered, still confused at this invitation to eat with them. They liked it when it was just the two of them. They preferred it that way.
She waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. When are you seeing him again?”
“Tomorrow,” I reluctantly admitted as I pushed up from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to shower.”
Dana wrinkled her nose as if she could suddenly smell my stink.
Dad motioned to the table and moved to take the bread out of the oven. “Sit down, Flor.” It was a command. A command from my father was rare these days. “This won’t take long.”
I obeyed, moving to the table and setting my bowl down with a thud. I pulled out a chair, sank into it, and waited for them to join me.
They dished paella into their bowls and set them on the table. They sat side by side, always in touching distance. I sat across from them, feeling like a suspect on one of those police dramas with the two detectives across from her.
Dad placed the bread on the table along with some butter. The bread was rich and dark and smelled like heaven. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had dinner with Dad at this table. I eyed them both cautiously, waiting for them to start eating.
Dad tore off a piece of bread and then offered the basket to Dana.
She motioned to her bowl of paella—a quarter of my portion. “This is more than enough carbs for me. I’ll have to work out for hours tomorrow as penance.”
Dad nodded and handed me the basket. I practically tore off half the loaf, feeling rebellious. Then I reached for the butter, lathered the bread with a generous smear, and took a big bite, moaning in enjoyment.
Her eyes narrowed.
It was petty, but I took my pleasures as they came.
I swallowed my bread, then tasted the paella and rolled my eyes in exaggeration. “Dad, this is so good.”
“I’m glad you like it. I found the recipe online.”
I ate a second bite and sighed in contentment. “You can make this anytime.”
He chuckled and reached for Dana’s hand where it rested on top of the table next to him. I watched as she took a dainty bite of her meal.
“What’s this sausage?” I asked.
“Andouille,” he replied. “Too spicy?”
I shook my head and took another bite. “No. I like it.”
A beat passed, and then I heard my father clear his throat.
My wariness returned in full force. I paused mid-bite, certain something was about to happen that I wasn’t going to like.
I lowered the spoon back to the bowl and stirred idly, suddenly too uneasy to take another bite.
Dana and Dad exchanged a look. My father’s hand flexed around his girlfriend’s and she gave him an encouraging nod that made my throat tighten as though a rope were wrapping around my neck and squeezing.
“Dana and I have some news.”
News. The word pounded feverishly through me. Oh, hell. I’d been set up. This was no friendly dinner. Of course not.
I stared at the meal spread before me, seeing it for what it was. A carefully orchestrated trap.
I leaned back in my chair, forgetting all about the paella and bread. I stared back and forth between them and then looked down at their joined hands on the table. “What kind of news?”
“Well. Dana’s lease is about to end . . .” His voice faded away.
I braced myself and exhaled, understanding dawning.
“We’ve discussed it.” He turned his gaze on Dana, his smile shifting into this besotted, infatuated, disgusting thing. He didn’t even look like the father I knew. I’d never once seen him this way with Mom.
There was no saving him. He was lost.
“She’s moving in with us.” I said the words. Spit them out.
Dad faced me again, his eyes bright with excitement. “It’s going to be wonderful, Flor. For all of us. I’ll be home more.” He squeezed Dana’s hand and gave it a small shake. “We both will now.”
Because he won’t be out with her all the time. They’ll be here. Together. I’ll get to see Dana every day.
I was going to be sick.
“Flor,” he prompted. “Say something. Are you happy?”
Dana watched, her mouth curved in an expectant smile. A knowing smile. She knew I wasn’t happy, but my feelings didn’t matter in this. Dad had made up his mind, and I would only come across as difficult and immature if I threw a fit. I suspected she wanted that.
“Of course,” I lied. “It’s wonderful.”
Dad turned to Dana. “See. I told you she would be happy.”
Really? I sounded convincing?
She stared at me. “Yes. You did.”
“So happy,” I confirmed.
I reached for my bowl and resumed eating even though my appetite had fled.
She would not win. I would not give her the satisfaction of seeing me throw a tantrum.
She looked pissed. I could see it in her eyes. She’d been ready for a scene. I wouldn’t give her what she wanted. I’d wait. I’d wait until they broke up. It couldn’t last forever.
Sadly, I knew that.
Nothing ever did.
GIRL CODE #9:
A secret really isn’t a secret if more than one person knows it. It’s just gossip waiting to happen.
Willa
SUNDAY morning we sat down to a huge brunch before Dad had to head back out of town for work. Mom went all out. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, and orange juice.
I couldn’t help watching him and Mom closely. It was Chloe’s fault. She’d put that stuff in my head about Dad. I wasn’t a suspicious or cynical person, and I resented her for putting doubts in my mind.
“How’s work?” I asked him, cutting into my syrup-drenched pancake and peering at him closely.
He looked up from where he was feeding Cheerios to Mia. “Great.” He smiled mildly, and I tried to read past that smile, but there was nothing there. He was just . . . Dad. He liked Monty Python and big plates of barbecue and going to ren fests. This was not a man living a double life. “How’s school? Still getting As, I hope.”
“Oh, you know Willa, Daddy. She’s got her eye on the prize. She’ll get her pick of schools,” Chloe said with exaggerated cheerfulness, stabbing at her eggs.
I stared at her coolly. “Did I mention how great it is to have you living with us again?”
“Willa,” Mom chided.
The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. We all hugged Dad goodbye later when he was ready to go. Mom walked him out to his car. I stared at them through the blinds, watching them hug and kiss, and I decided my sister didn’t know what she was talking about.
I buried myself in homework, pausing to exchange some casual texts with Flor, which I took as a good sign. Everything was fine between us. Nothing had changed. Nothing was going to change.
Zach, on the other hand, sent me several texts and even FaceTimed, all of which I ignored. I’d told him I’d see him on Monday. That would be soon enough. Friday was still too fresh. I’d stared into the dark half the night, thinking about him, reliving those kisses and convincing myself things could go back to the way they were before.
I had finished my homework and started practicing my cello when my phone rang. I looked over at it where it sat on my dresser. Zach’s name appeared over a picture of him in seventh grade when he was smiling really goofy big and showing off his braces. I’d thought it was funny. He’d just rolled his eyes.
I resisted the impulse to answer the call, glancing outside my window to where his house sat, a looming presence in my life as large as the sun. Eventually my phone stopped ringing and I went back to my cello, escaping into my music.
I lifted my head some time later, noticing it was almost dusk. My room had gotten darker, and I stood up to turn on my overhead light. I thought about going downstairs to see if anything was going to happen for dinner when I heard something at my window.
I walked over, wondering if it was a squirrel—they were pretty rampant on our street—and that was when Zach’s head popped into view.
I yelped and lurched back, a hand flying over my heart.
He grinned and tapped on the glass. “Hey.” His muffled voice carried through the window.
“What are you doing?” I stepped forward and peered out the glass to confirm that he was standing on a ladder and not in fact levitating. “There’s a front door.” He’d been using it for years.
The Me I Meant to Be Page 7
