“I hope not,” Gabby said. “I mean, she knows that I’m just trying to be single for now, not date anyone, just focus on myself. You know? Which is exactly what I told Pierce, too. I’d go with the brown belt, by the way. The woven one.”
“Thanks, Gabs.” Em threaded it through her belt loops, noting distractedly that she had to buckle it into the tightest hole. She was thinking about how Skylar would feel if she knew her crush-object had fallen for Gabby. On one hand, the girl obviously worshipped Gabs. But Skylar was probably a bit jealous, too. Hell, Em knew exactly what it felt like to be overshadowed by Gabby. She recalled moments spent yearning for what Gabby had: the supposedly perfect life, the supposedly perfect boyfriend. Of course, memories of Zach made her think of Chase, and how for him, the desire for so-called perfection had been even more consuming. Bad enough for him to do terrible things. And then to have terrible things done to him. . . .
And while Gabby was stressing about stuff with Skylar, Em was equally remorseful about how things had gone down with Drea the other night. Now that she had some distance, Em was embarrassed and even a little scared by how she’d behaved on JD’s stoop. That wasn’t her. That was someone darker, someone worse.
She wanted to apologize, to explain herself. But so far, she hadn’t found the words.
Gabby nudged her out of her thoughts with her elbow. “If you were Skylar, would you totally hate me right now?”
Em finished putting on her mascara. “I think you should just let it go,” she said. “Skylar will get over it.”
“But I want her to know,” Gabby insisted, “that I would never do that to a friend. Especially not after . . .” She trailed off. Em’s betrayal fell between them like a shade. “Anyway. Can I borrow these?” She held up a pair of long silver earrings.
“Of course,” Em said.
“I wonder if the Dusters will be hot,” Gabby mused as she put on the earrings. “Bass players are always hot, aren’t they?”
“Sorry, who are the Dusters?” Em looked up distractedly from the pile of boots she was contemplating on her closet floor.
“Emmmmmmmm,” Gabby whined. “They’re just the semifamous band I’ve been telling you about for a week. It was a total coup that we got them for the Fling. They, like, never do high school shows. But we had a connection through that senior, Angela something-or-other. Isn’t it too perfect?”
“Too perfect,” Em echoed. “Maybe I could interview them for the yearbook spread about the dance.” She felt a glimmer of her old self.
Gabby flopped onto the bed and sighed. “I guess. The whole thing is going to be a mortifying disaster, of course.” She looked at Em for a reaction.
“Um, why’s that?” Em couldn’t help but smirk at Gabby’s flip-flopping between exhilaration and despair.
“Only because we don’t have a theme and the dance is a week away!” Gabby groaned.
Em felt guilty that she didn’t know. “We don’t?”
“God, Em, no! Where have you been? Well, I know where you haven’t been—at the planning committee meetings.” All of a sudden, Gabby got quiet. “Seriously, Em, where have you been recently? Where has your head been? I can’t shake the feeling that . . . Are you still hiding something from me?”
The question was so straightforward that it threw Em off. She tried to focus on lacing her boots, but her hands began to shake a little. She wished, desperately, that she could talk to Gabby—that she could tell her everything. Then she realized: There was something she could come clean about. She cleared her throat and stood up with one chocolate-brown boot in her hand.
“You’re right, Gabs,” she said slowly. “There is something I’m hiding from you.”
Gabby stared at her, eyebrows raised, chewing on her lip. “I knew it.”
“I haven’t told you . . . the fact that . . . Well, this is going to sound weird, but . . .”
“Just say it!” Gabby made frantic whirring motions with her hands.
Em took a deep breath. “Okay. Well. I’m falling in love with—I’m in love with JD. Like, totally. Head over heels.” She blushed, unable to believe that she’d said the words aloud. It actually felt . . . good.
Gabby was confused. “JD . . . Like, JD the chauffeur?”
“We really shouldn’t call him that, Gabby,” Em said. “He’s more than that.” But Gabby’s reaction was no surprise. In public, Em had never treated JD as anything more than her personal driver. No wonder he thought she was a stuck-up bitch.
Gabby pressed for details. “So, when did you know? And doesn’t he, like, totally love you back? He’s always been pretty obsessed with you, hasn’t he?”