Heather said, “Did you see how Riley commented on every photo? About how much she loved your house, too, and how you’re both so gorgeous? It’s a little much.”
I checked to see and she was right: Riley was almost as annoying as Arianna. To be fair, she’d been over a bunch of times and never taken any photos—or snuck upstairs without telling me—so she wasn’t in Arianna’s league or anything, but the fact that she wanted everyone on this stupid Instagram feed to know that she’d also been to Luke Weston’s house was a little nauseating.
“Do you see why I need you to come to Elton College with me?” I said. “What if everyone there is like them? What if there aren’t any Heathers?”
“There are Heathers everywhere,” she said. “There’s nothing special about me.”
“Stop it,” I said. “You’re special to me. You’re the only friend I trust. Well, you and Aaron.”
“It’s good he moved here,” she said.
“Yeah, I know you think so,” I said with a grin.
She shrugged with an embarrassed smile and swiftly changed the subject. “Applications are due tomorrow at midnight East Coast time, right? I was thinking it would be fun to click submit together. Is George coming that night?”
“Yeah. I just need to go over my essay with him one last time. Why don’t you come at eight? That’ll give us an hour to check everything before hitting send.”
“Can I? I’d love that—if I stay home, my parents will be standing over me, worrying about every sentence. If I tell them your tutor will read it over for me, they’ll back off.”
“For a good girl, you can be very devious.”
“You taught me everything I know.”
twenty-four
Before George came on Wednesday, I reread my two essays and decided I hated them both. One was too insincere, the other too negative.
I felt anxious and unsettled, so when Grandma came down to make a cup of tea, I snapped at her that she needed to stay out of the kitchen, because George was coming soon and we had to get a lot of work done.
She said calmly, “I’ll clear out as soon as he gets here. Do you want some mushroom tea?”
“Words cannot express how much I don’t.”
“Don’t be narrow minded. Why is it okay to drink brewed leaves and not brewed mushrooms? Think outside the box.”
“I love when you use clichés to encourage me to be original. If I promise to defy convention in all other ways, will you please not make me drink mushroom tea?”
“Your loss,” she said. “So George is coming back tonight?”
“What do you mean ‘coming back’?”
“He was here earlier—working on your mom’s office. He came yesterday, too. He wants to finish it before they get back.”
“I didn’t know he came by.”
“Well, you were at school.”
“He could have stuck around and said hi.”
“He probably had plans.”
Did he, though? Or was he just sick of me?
When he arrived, I opened the door for him but hung back a bit, feeling awkward now that he was there. I could still remember his disappointed expression when we parted the last time we’d talked, and it made it hard for me to look him in the eyes. Plus he’d since read my essay and that was embarrassing in its own way—I’d acknowledged some pretty ugly truths about myself. I felt exposed.
He probably thought it was stupid, anyway.
“Hey,” I said, trying to sound normal and not succeeding.
“Hey,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Fine. Come on in.”
“Thank you.”
This was going great.
We headed toward the kitchen.
“Heather coming?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I wanted to have time to talk about my essay first.”
“Sounds good,” he said without any real enthusiasm.
Grandma looked up as we entered the kitchen. She was sticking two slices of gluten-free bread into the toaster. “Oh, I’m sorry. I promised Ellie I’d clear out of here by the time you came, George, but I’m so slow. . . . Just let me finish making toast and I’ll disappear, I promise.”
I caught George’s expression and realized how bad that sounded—like I was still determined to make my grandmother feel unwanted in my home. “It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I don’t mind if you’re here; I’m just stressed about how much work I need to get done.”
“I completely understand,” she said. “George, would you like a cup of mushroom tea before I do my disappearing act?”
“Mushroom tea?” he repeated uncertainly.
“Trust me, you don’t want it,” I said.
“I would love some,” he said immediately.
“Excellent!” She beamed, delighted, then turned to me with sudden concern. “Don’t get mad at me, Ellie. It will only take one more minute.”
“I’m not mad at you. I don’t know why you always think I am.”
“I’m annoying,” she said. “I know it.”
I couldn’t take it. She was going to make George think I was mean and uncaring. Not that he needed much encouragement in that direction. “Tell George about the movie we saw on Sunday,” I blurted out suddenly, and felt my face turn hot as soon as I had—it was so obvious what I was doing. So pathetic.
“Oh,” George said with a sudden sharp look at me. “You went to the movies together?”
“We did,” Grandma said, bustling around, pouring steaming water from the teakettle into a mug she had filled with bits of something shriveled and ugly. “And we had so much fun. The movie itself was a little violent for my taste, but the popcorn was wonderful. And we all went out for frozen yogurt afterward.”
“Yes, we did,” I said, raising my chin defiantly and looking directly at George for the first time that day.
“Okay, here’s your tea.” Grandma handed him the mug. “Let it steep a few more minutes, then drink the top part. Don’t worry about what’s left in the mug. Just enjoy the liquid and throw the rest out.”