I let out a sigh away from the phone so that he doesn’t notice, and then I toss the baseball onto the floor and flop backward onto Tyler’s bed, pulling the towel over my head. “Are you really still mad at me for coming here?”
“I’ve never been mad, Eden,” Dean says gently, reassuringly. I wish he was, though. In the background I can hear the purring of engines and the faint echo of the radio. He must be at work. “Just disappointed that you’d rather spend your last summer with me . . . without me. We’re hardly ever going to see each other after the fall, and you know that, yet you still chose to take up the whole New York idea.”
“It’s New York, Dean,” I say quietly, squeezing my eyes shut. “New York.” And Tyler. Tyler, Tyler, Tyler. Endlessly.
“Sorry, you’re right. It’s New York,” Dean repeats. His tone is quickly growing sour again, his voice deepening. “I’m sorry I can’t compete with Times Square or Central Park. I’m sorry that I must seem so shit in comparison.”
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
“I gotta get back to work.” Dean’s usually so soft-spoken, but right now his voice is rough. “Enjoy New York. You know, since it’s so much better.”
He hangs up before I can even reply.
I sit up and gape at my phone for a minute. As if Dean just hung up on me like that. Pissed off at him, I grit my teeth and get to my feet, quickly wrapping the towel around my damp hair. All I want to do is hang out with Tyler again, away from Dean and his crappy attitude, so I swing open the bedroom door and enter the living room.
Snake’s still texting, only now he’s standing and leaning against the kitchen worktop. He glances up at me from beneath his eyelashes, not quite lifting his head. He looks at me a little strangely, like he wants to laugh at the towel wrapped around my head.
“Where’s Tyler?”
“You’re a minute and a half too late,” Snake says. “He just left. He had to head out.”
“Why?”
“Emily needs his help with something. Asked for a favor.” He shrugs.
“Emily?” I echo. Something inside of me shifts, like I can quite literally feel my stomach dropping. Emily? I swallow. “Who’s that?”
Now Snake looks up. “He’s never mentioned her to you?”
10
For exactly forty minutes, I can’t sit still. I gnaw on my lip, I bite at my cuticles, I pace the living room. Every so often I think I might throw up, but I hold my breath and force the feeling away. I’m so nervous. And so scared. And so furious. Who is Emily and why am I only hearing about her now?
“What’s your problem?” Snake calls over his shoulder from the living room, craning his neck to stare across the room at me. He’s been watching some documentary about an airplane crash for at least a half-hour now, and he even puts it on mute for a second as he shifts his attention to me.
“I don’t have a problem,” I lie. Standing in the kitchen, I grip the worktop even harder and try to meet his eyes, but I worry that he’ll notice my panic, so I try to smile.
“She’s nice,” Snake says in an effort to reassure me. It does little to help, though. In fact, it only makes me feel worse. “She’s British.”
“British?” I echo. Awesome, I think. Cute accent. Something different. There’s no way I can compete against a British girl. No way in hell.
“Yeah, from London.” Snake laughs and turns back to the TV, putting the sound back on. “Every time I hear her talk it puts me in the mood to watch Harry Potter.”
He must think I’m weird. He must wonder why I’m so uneasy. I mean, what’s the big deal about my stepbrother hanging out with a girl? What’s the big deal about this girl potentially being more than just his friend? That’s the thing. It wouldn’t be a big deal if he were nothing more than my stepbrother. It wouldn’t bother me if I weren’t so in love with him.
But the truth is, I don’t know who this girl is. I don’t know why Tyler’s never brought her up before. What if they are dating? What if everything he said last night was just bullshit?
I feel nauseous yet again, and I try to push the thoughts out of my mind until my stomach settles once more. I’m just about to turn to the cupboard to fetch myself a glass when I hear the apartment door unlocking. My eyes fire over immediately and Tyler steps into the apartment, dragging a suitcase behind him. A bright-pink suitcase. He pauses and pushes the door open further.
Beside him, there’s a girl.
I almost hurl my fist into the worktop at the mere sight of her.
She’s taller than me, yet still smaller than Tyler, and her complexion is warm. Her hair is straight (and damp) and it ends just below her bust, gradually growing lighter at the tips. Anxiously, she interlocks her fingers as her eyes flit around the room. They’re bright, yet they look swollen. And she’s pretty. Really, really pretty. Pretty in a natural, simple way.