something!” She giggled. “I mean, if Brendan Salinger singled you out on the first day…”
“He didn’t single me out!” I cut in. I was down for looking—that’s it. Window-shopping strictly. And besides, based on the girls I’d seen at this place, my boring self was hardly getting a second glance from someone who looked like him.
“I’m sure I’m just an excuse.” I sighed. “He thinks Kristin sucks—with good reason—and just wanted to give the new girl a hand. That’s fine, whatever. It’s cool.”
She just shook her head and pulled out a small bottle of some random pop star’s signature perfume, spritzing me with the sickly-sweet smell.
“Oh, come on, Ash, that smells like a unicorn fart,” I cried, recoiling at the overpowering, candylike smell. She just dragged me into the bathroom and pulled a pot of lip gloss out of her bag.
After about ten minutes of fussing over me in the bathroom—I borrowed some mascara and that was it—Ashley and I worked our way down to the quad, a large courtyard separating the main building of the school with an annex. They were playing basketball, but it might as well have been murderball. Guys were getting knocked down, players were getting kicked out of the game, then brought back in—and I noticed Kristin was in charge of keeping score.
“Eleven-eight,” Kristin said smugly. She had rolled her uniform skirt up until it was practically a belt and gave a lusty look to one side of the court. I followed her gaze and saw Anthony and Brendan there—and instantly wanted to hit her with my backpack. My mind immediately went to what Cisco said. Some people really are just rotten.
Brendan spun around, dribbling the ball with one hand and brushing his black hair back with his other. He was fast, that’s for sure. He had changed out of his uniform into a white T-shirt and gym shorts. Every time he aimed for the basket, his shirt hiked up, and I have to admit, it was hard not to notice just how very nice what was hiding under his shirt was. His black hair hung low on his forehead again, as he contemplated his next move, deciding to throw the ball to Anthony. Guess they’d made up.
And then he turned his striking green eyes on me.
Ashley was the first to notice. For all her exuberance, she kept her cool pretty impressively. For a minute.
“Oh. My. God. Brendan. Is. Staring. At. You.” She tried her hardest not to move her lips, but failed miserably. Wow, this girl has absolutely no future as a ventriloquist.
“I know,” I replied, trying to look cool as I met his eyes. He continued to stare at me, his gaze unbroken, with those bright emerald eyes peering at me from his messy black hair, until his teammate tossed him the ball. For someone not paying attention, he caught it easily, turning away to make the next basket. Brendan caught the ball as it swooshed through the hoop, holding it under his arm and turning around. He gave me a sly smile, tilting his chin up in a small greeting. I smiled back, taking note of an unfamiliar feeling in my stomach. Holy crap, this must be what butterflies feel like.
I broke his gaze, pretending to root around in my backpack for something.
“Ashley, let’s go,” I whispered.
“No way! Seriously, you should stay and talk to him.” She grinned devilishly and wagged her eyebrows up and down.
I grabbed her arm. “No! Please!” I hissed, feeling panicky. “Let’s go.” Within seconds, we were out of the quad, walking home.
“Look, Emma…I don’t pretend to know what you’ve been though…” Ashley started on the walk home. Oh, no. Please. Don’t make me talk about this.
“Ashley, look,” I began, a little harsher than I intended, and I instantly felt terrible. The truth was, today would not have been as easy as it had been without her.
“What?” She looked at me with wounded eyes.
“I don’t…feel comfortable. At all. A lot of the time,” I mumbled, picking at my dark nail polish and peeling the paint off nervously. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to start crushing on some guy who I have zero chances with. I don’t even know how I’m going to do on the friend front. Kristin Thorn already hates me for some bananas reason. Don’t you understand? It hasn’t worked out all that well for me—being close to someone.”
Ashley looked at me with more wisdom than I’d ever given her credit for. Suddenly, I felt stupid for denying her the knowledge of her fourteen years.
“Emma,” she said, softly. “I get it. And it’s okay if you want to feel a mess. But if you start to feel normal again, and if something makes you happy, it doesn’t mean that you don’t miss your mom or Ethan. It doesn’t mean the last few years didn’t suck. But remember, this is your chance to just be Emma. Not Emma with the wicked stepfather, Emma with the terrible home life, Emma the whole school is talking about. You’re just Emma. Your mom would want you to be happy. So would your brother.”
“I know, Ashley.” I sighed, wincing as I always did anytime I thought of my mom and brother, Ethan, lost within a year of each other.
“Why on earth my mom decided to marry Henry when she knew she was sick, I’ll never know.” Henry had been asking my mom to marry her forever, and I never understood why a cancer diagnosis made her finally say yes.
“She wanted to make sure someone was around to take care of you,” Ashley said quietly. “I get it. She didn’t want you to be alone.”
I am anyway. I pursed my lips, willing myself to keep a strong front as I shuffled along the concrete sidewalk.
“Emma, I’m serious,” Ashley said, coming to a full stop. “Give yourself a break. If not for you, then for them.”
I sighed. “I know, Ash, in my head. I’ll work on convincing myself, you know, here.” I pointed at my chest.
“In your boobs?” She hooted, giving me a devilish look, and I laughed, relishing the break in the somber mood. “Hey, you never showed me your ID. Lemme see,” she said, pulling at my backpack. Glad for the change of subject, I reached in my backpack and pulled out the small white card.
“Jeez, Emma.” Ashley let out a low whistle. “Seriously, this sucks.”
“That bad?” I grabbed it back. “Let me see.”
Oh, great.
I looked like the “before” picture on one of those makeover shows. I hadn’t been paying attention to the gray lady, so she caught me looking up, startled, my mouth kind of open and slack-jawed. The too-bright flash had given my skin a tone that could only be described as yellow-gray. Zombie girl, at your service. Still, it was a nice picture of my necklace. It caught the light nicely—you could really see the crest on it.
“Sorry about the bad ID, Emma,” Ashley said.
“You’re a bad ID!” I said, laughing.
“Oh, you’re still doing that?” she asked, rolling her eyes at my stupid little joke. Anytime I couldn’t think of something clever to say, I just told the person they were whatever we were talking about. Ethan and I used to spend hours annoying our mom with it.
“It’s dinnertime, kids,” she would call from the kitchen. “Turn off the TV.”
“You’re
