“A big war in the 1960s.” He shuffles toward the living room.
“Did people die?”
“It was a war. Of course people died.”
“How many?”
“Lots.”
“Did you know any of them?”
“Nope.”
“Have you been in a war?”
“Nope. Murphy?” Merv snaps his fingers. The poor dog peers back and forth between him and Cassie, looking reluctant to leave when staying will guarantee him at least one pancake from the floor, the way Cassie eats.
“I used too much maple syrup,” Cassie announces, licking her finger and eying the pool of sticky liquid on her plate with delight.
Maybe it’s the sickly sweet smell of it that finally drives Murphy away, toward the beckoning of the other old man in the house.
My mother lifts the edge of one pancake, tipping her head to the side to check its readiness. “So, Aria, I made an appointment for manis and pedis for eleven—”
“Can I come, too?” Cassie blurts out.
“Uh …” My mom shrugs, exchanging glances with me, as if to ask, “Are you okay with that?”
I shrug, not sure how to answer. “Have you ever been, Cassie?”
Cassie’s head bobs vigorously.
“That means they’ll be touching your hands and feet,” my mom adds warily.
Cassie grins, holding up her hands to show off her chewed-up fingernails, the cuticles torn and red. “I won’t pick. I promise.”
“Well … if your mom says it’s okay, then we’d love to have you come along. Right, Aria?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
A rare, somber expression washes over Cassie’s face, her gaze shifting between her plate and the back door off the kitchen, her thoughts unreadable. And then she’s pushing away from the table in a panic and rushing for her shoes.
My mom laughs. “You can finish your breakfast first.”
“I just have to ask my mom and then I’ll be back. I just have to—don’t leave without …” Her words trail as she bolts out the door and races across the lawn, her elbows out and legs jutting.
My mom chuckles as she watches her go. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy to get a manicure.”
“I hope Heather lets her come.” I pour myself some coffee and wipe down the table before sitting, hugging my body against a sudden chill.
“So, I gave it a lot of thought last night and …” Mom pauses to flip the pancakes over, leaving me hanging.
And my stomach tightening.
If you’re about to tell me that I can’t date Emmett …
“Now that we’re here and things are going well, and you’re doing well, you should have some of your privacy back. I know you and Emmett probably want to be able to text each other without your mother reading your messages.”
“No more spyware?” I hold my breath.
She snorts. “No more spyware. I’m still going to keep a GPS tracker on your phone, though, and I want all your passwords. And if I ever ask to see your phone because I’m worried, you will give it to me immediately, no questions asked, or there will be serious consequences, understood?”
“Of course. So … when will—”
“Already done. I disconnected it last night.”
I sink into my chair, a grin stretching across my face. “Thanks, Mom.”
Her phone rings as she’s setting a plate of pancakes in front of me. “Hey, Heather,” she answers. She looks out the window toward the Hartford house as she listens. “No! Of course. We’d love to have her come with us … No, I promise, she did not invite herself.” Mom’s eyes flash to mine, amusement in them. “Yes, we’re going to go after breakfast. Tell her to come back before her pancakes get cold … Yes, she has a whole plate waiting for her, here …”
I tune out their conversation, sliding my phone from my pocket to text Emmett.
Hey … What are you doing?
Emmett answers almost immediately.
Still in bed. Being lazy. You?
My stomach flips. Emmett’s lying in bed right now. What does he sleep in? What does his hair look like?
Eating pancakes.
Nice. Will I see you before tonight?
I smile.
Maybe. FYI, my mom isn’t reading my texts anymore.
There’s a long pause as the three dots bounce and stop, and bounce again.
So I can tell you how crazy you made me last night?
“Sounds good, Heather.” My mom ends her call with a chuckle. “She says she hasn’t seen Cassie this excited in a long time.”
“Cool,” I murmur absently, punching out a response.
Yes. You can tell me that a thousand times.
* * *
When we arrive home from shopping around five that afternoon, parked cars line the street and a cluster of guys in jerseys linger in the cul-du-sac, hockey sticks in their hands. Two nets are set on either end and Mark stands at the sidelines in a black-and-white-striped shirt.
“What’s going on here?” Mom eases her CR-V past them and into our driveway.
“Annual Thanksgiving weekend road hockey game.” I smile as I spot Emmett in the center, laughing over something with another guy.
As soon as Mom has thrown her car into park, a whistle sounds and the game is back on.
“Sounds like fun.” She peers at four girls from school who linger at the sidelines, bundled in sweatshirts against the cold, their hands gripping various mugs and paper coffee cups. Lindsay is among them, in a cute pink sweater and UGG boots. Cassie is watching as well, sitting in the open trunk of Emmett’s Santa Fe, holding a set of purple pompoms. When we dropped her off after the nail salon appointment, she bolted for her house to show off her painted fingernails.
“Kids from school?” Mom asks as Emmett smacks the ball into the net and his teammates cheer.
“I think so. A few, at least.”
Mom checks the clock. “I better start dinner. You know how Uncle Merv is.”
“I’ll be there in a sec to take Murphy out.”
Her eyes drift to the street hockey game in progress. “No, you should hang out here. With your friends.” Relief radiates off her. That I have friends. That I have a boyfriend.
That I have a new life.
I smile. “Thanks for today. I had a great time.”
She takes my hand in hers, first to study my indigo-blue nail polish, but then to give my fingers a squeeze. “We should do that again. Soon.”
“Deal.”
She frowns at the back seat, filled with shopping bags of winter clothes and boots for both of us. “Maybe in spring, when I’m earning a paycheck again.”
Cassie is waiting at the passenger side door by the time I’ve stepped out. “They’re playing hockey,” she announces, a hot chocolate mustache lining her upper lip.
“I see that. How are your nails doing?”
She holds them up with a sheepish grin to show me the bits of silver polish left. “I picked them.”
“Oh, Cassie.” I shake my head but laugh and she joins in.
“Are you coming over to watch a movie with us tonight?”
“I … uh … I have plans?”
Her eyes grow curious. “What are you doing?”
“Uh …” I don’t want to lie to her, but I remember what happened the last time she found out we were going to a party. Upsetting her might be worse.
“Hey, AJ! You’re coming to Mower’s house tonight?” Zach bellows.
And I guess that makes my decision easy.
“Is there a party?” Cassie asks and, in the next breath, “Can I come?”
Shit. “I think we have to ask your brother?”
“Emmett!” she hollers, unbothered that there’s a hockey game in progress. “Can I come to the party?”
Emmett makes a time-out gesture with his hands and trots over, throwing Zach a dirty look. He stops next to me, out of breath, his forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat. “He
y.”
“Hi.”
His hand settles on the small of my back, but he doesn’t lean in to kiss me and I can’t decide if I’m disappointed or relieved.
His eyes roam the back seat. “Did your mom’s card start smoking?”
I laugh. “Almost.”
“Emmett, can I come with you and AJ to the party tonight?” Cassie pushes.
He sighs heavily. “You wouldn’t like it …”
“Please?” she pleads, and I can hear the raw emotion in her voice. “Please, can I go? I never get to go.”
His throat bobs with a hard swallow, his brown eyes darting to mine, begging for a way out of his guilt.
I can’t help him much, because I’m feeling guilty now, too. “It’s within walking distance …” I say low, more to him. “It’d be easy enough to walk her back if she wanted to come home. She could stick with us.”
He nods slowly, as if deciding something. “Okay, fine. If Mom is okay with it, then—”
“Mom!” Cassie’s already gone, galloping up the path toward the house.
Emmett groans. “She’s going to kill me for putting that on her.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is. We’ll keep an eye on her. It’s one night and you can’t keep her in a bubble forever. It’s not fair to her.”
“I know. It’s just …”
“How much trouble can she really get into? She’s, like, the most predictable person I’ve ever met in my life.”
“Until she’s not.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m so worried.”
“Because you’re a good brother and you care about her? But she’ll be with us and all your friends who know her and wouldn’t let anything happen to her, right?”
“Yeah, of course.” He leans down to kiss me.
“Ticktock!” Zach shouts. “And nice friend, by the way, moving in on the girl as soon as you find out I like her.”
My cheeks burn as eyes all around the cul-du-sac—including Mark’s—land on me.
Emmett snorts, stepping away with a grin. “You never had a chance, Farmer.”
* * *
A knock sounds on the front door as I’m finishing up the last coat of mascara.
“Hey, guys!” I hear my mom say. “Cassie, I didn’t know you were going, too.”
“Yeah, my mom let me. She said I have to stay with AJ and Emmett.”
“That sounds like a good idea. I’m sure they’ll take good care of you.”
I can hear it in her voice—the relief. If Heather and Mark are allowing Cassie to come out, they must feel comfortable with the people we’ll be with, and that means my mom can relax a bit.
I pull my bedroom door shut behind me and ease down the stairs.
Mom nods with approval at the fitted black jeans and periwinkle off-the-shoulder knit sweater we picked out today.
“Your hair is wavy,” Cassie announces, her inquisitive blue eyes roaming my long locks as if memorizing each curve. She’s wearing a pair of black leggings and a flattering striped shirt. It’s a simple but more mature, coordinated outfit than she usually wears to school, with no animal prints or logos. Bracelets adorn her wrist and her hair has been straightened and styled. I’m guessing Heather helped her dress for tonight.
I shrug. “I felt like something different today.” Something special, to ring in my sixteenth year.
Emmett stands beside her, wearing dark-wash jeans and a wool jacket, the collar flipped up, and looking more like a magazine cover model than a high school kid.
“And you’re wearing more makeup.” Cassie squints as I approach. “You have eyeliner … mascara … eyeshadow …”
“Okay, enough analyzing her.” Emmett chuckles and shakes his head. He leans in to whisper something to her.
“Yeah.” Cassie nods, grinning. “You look pretty, AJ. For your birthday.”
“Thank you.” I bend to zip up my camel-colored boots, but also to hide my blush.
“You have your phone?” My mom hands me my jacket.
“Of course.”
“Okay. Have fun. Remember, twelve o’clock or you’re a pumpkin.” It was easier to get her to agree to a later curfew than I’d expected.
Cassie laughs. “Hey! Just like Cinderella!”
“You’re right, Cassie.” My mom grins, the tension that normally floats around her missing. “And Aria?” Her eyes flicker to Emmett for the briefest second. “Make good choices.”
19
Mower’s family lives in a split-level house on a quiet street of older homes and large lots. We could hear the steady thrum of music all the way around the corner on our approach, and every time someone opens the front door, it blasts into the night.
“What are the chances someone’s going to call the police on us?” I ask as we turn into the driveway.
“The police are coming?” Cassie’s eyes widen with fear.
“No.” I forget that she takes things so literally. “Only if a neighbor complains about the music being too loud. But we won’t get in trouble. Don’t worry. They’ll just tell us to be quiet.” By kicking us out and shutting down the party, but I don’t need to get into those details.
Six people linger on the porch, laughing and puffing on cigarettes. A haze wafts up into the cool night air.
“They’re smoking!” Cassie hisses.
“Just like they do outside at school,” Emmett responds in a low, calm voice. “You’re going to see people smoking and drinking and doing other things here tonight, Cass. As long as you don’t do any of it and you act cool, you’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I know.” She stands taller, schooling her expression, her demeanor visibly shifting as if she’s making a conscious effort to blend in. Meanwhile, there’s a touch of wild panic flickering in her blue-gray eyes as they take in this new sight, unsure of where to land.
“As soon as you feel like leaving, let us know and we’ll walk you home.”
“Okay!” Her voice is full of irritation.
He sighs heavily, his hand settling on the small of my back.
The moment we step inside, I wonder if bringing Cassie here was a huge mistake. Maybe Mower’s plan was to have “a few people over” but the entire house is crammed with bodies—many faces I recognize from school, some I don’t.
And one—a beautiful face with a fake, sweet smile—that I’d prefer not to see tonight, or any other night.
At least Holly’s across the room. She’s leaning against the wall, fawning over Adam Levic, the guy Emmett punched out last year for being an asshole to Cassie, according to Jen.
I guess she’s found a guy more like her. Maybe this means she’ll move on from attacking me.
Heads turn toward us as we stand in the doorway. People watch Cassie curiously.
Cassie shrinks into herself, her shoulders curling inward, her eyes wide and unsure of where to look, the easily induced smile replaced by stony shock and discomfort.
She’s fully aware they’re looking at her.
I lean in. “Are you okay?”
She shakes her head and shouts, “It’s loud!” She presses her hands against her ears. “It’s too loud!”
I look to Emmett. He nods to the front door.
“Okay, let’s go outside.” I hook my arm through hers. She stiffens, but she lets me lead her out. In moments, we’re back on the porch and Cassie is making a dramatic point of coughing and waving away the cloud of cigarette smoke that lingers, glowering at it.
“We’ll walk you home, Cass,” Emmett says softly.
“No. I don’t want to leave.” She shakes her head furtively, her jaw set with determination, even as wariness flickers in her eyes. “Where’s Zach?”
“Probably in there.” Emmett slips out his phone and sends a quick text. He watches his screen a moment. “Oh. Sweet. Okay, follow me.” He leads us farther down the driveway, behind the house, to a separate garage at the back of the property. “Go up,” he instructs, pointing for Cassie to lead us up a set of wooden stairs tha
t end at a second-story door.
“Better?” Emmett asks as we step into the small apartment.
Cassie nods, her eyes zeroing in on Zach. She grins and Emmett’s shoulders seem to sink with relief. Zach is sitting with four other guys on a sectional around the flat screen, battling it out in a game of hockey on the PS4.
“Who lives here?” I ask, taking in the beige walls and basic furniture. A simple, all-white kitchen runs along one side. A small hallway leads off the other side of the living room, I assume to a bedroom and bathroom.
“Mower’s older brother, when he’s not up in Fort McMurray working.”
“Harty,” Zach croons, dragging the ending, barely glancing over his shoulder to add, “Beer’s in the fridge.”
“Thanks, man.” Emmett shrugs off his jacket and tosses it to a chair, then heads for the kitchen. “AJ?” His eyebrows raise in question.
I consider it a moment, my mother’s “Make good choices” lingering in my mind. Having one or two beers and walking home versus five or six and driving is definitely a good choice. As was grabbing that extra-minty gum. I nod, slipping off my jacket and setting it on top of his.
“Hey. Little Harty’s here, too!” Zach flashes a sloppy grin. He’s already had a few beers. And possibly some weed, based on his lazy red eyes. “Come on over here, Cass.” He shifts his big body, squishing the guys next to him, making room for her in the corner.
“Okay, Farmer.” She laughs as she heads for the couch, shrugging off her coat, letting it land on the floor. She settles in, her eyes locking on Zach, studying him. In this unknown and unsettling arena, she has found her anchor.
Emmett snaps the caps off the bottles and hands me one as he takes in the scene before him—five hockey players and his little sister at a party—with a smirk.
“See? She’s going to be fine,” I assure him.
“You’re right. I’m glad we brought her out. She deserves to do things like this. She’s like everyone else. She just wants to have fun.” He tips the neck of his bottle and clanks it against mine. “Cheers. Happy birthday.”
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