Be the Girl

I offer her a tight smile. “Thanks.”

“See you later. Bye, Jennifer!” They don’t even acknowledge Josie before strolling away to the other side of the cafeteria, their heads dipped toward each other conspiratorially, laughing about something. I no longer have to guess at what.

“Why don’t you tell her that you go by Jen? That you don’t like being called Jennifer,” I mimic, unable to hold the accusation from my tone. Someone needs to confront Holly about something. Anything.

Jen chews slowly—much slower than usual—which tells me she’s stalling to answer. “She knows,” she finally says, gulping down her Pepsi. She hesitates, then glances over at their table. “I’ve known Holly since I was six. We both used to live in Klemptville.” Those owlish, gray eyes regard me for moment before she shifts her attention to her sandwich in her hands. “Holly is really good at pretending to be nice. But she’s not. She’s mean and competitive, and jealous of anyone who does better in school or sports than her. She made kids cry. She made me cry, and I’m a year older than she is. Called me fat and ugly. She started rumors about me—that I still wet the bed, that I kissed my cousin, Rob.” She shakes her head, her face twisted with dismay. “I was miserable. It got so bad, I didn’t want to go to school.” Jen’s head dips lower as she admits softly, “Some days I wished I wouldn’t wake up.”

My stomach tightens.

Jen has been bullied before.

By Holly.

“We moved to Eastmonte when I was twelve and life got better. I mean, sure, there’s still jerks around here, but nothing like her. No one that mean.” Her lips twist. “And then last year, who comes strolling down the hall but Holly Webber. I nearly puked.” Her eyes flitter to me. “But when she saw me in the hall, she came up and hugged me, and told me how happy she was to see me.”

“Did she apologize?”

Jen shakes her head. “She never acknowledged the things she said to me. But she was acting different. Like, over-the-top nice. So, I figured either she grew out of her mean stage, or she’s taking some serious anti-bitch pills.”

I snort. Even Josie, who has said nothing until now, smiles.

Jen’s gaze sits on Holly’s table for a moment. “She got a lot of attention right away. I mean, look at her. Miss Popularity almost from day one. She’s smart, too. So, I think she figured out that a guy like Emmett wouldn’t look at her twice if he knew she was a bitch.”

“Do you think Emmett would want to be with her if he knew what she used to be like?”

“You kidding? See that guy sitting on the table over there?” With a covert finger, she points to a boy with spiky blond hair and a black T-shirt, sitting three rows over. “That’s Adam Levic. Last year he said something mean to Cassie—I can’t remember what—and Emmett knocked him on his ass. He got suspended for fighting. There was a rumor of him losing his big hockey scholarship because of it. I don’t know if that was ever true but it was serious.”

“I can’t picture Emmett fighting anyone.” I can’t see him ever getting that angry.

“He’s not the type,” she agrees. “Not like Adam.”

I watch as the caf monitor comes by and ushers Adam off the dining table, pointing at the chair. Adam rolls his eyes but drags himself off. Now that he’s standing, I see he’s at least a few inches shorter than Emmett, but he’s stocky, with broad shoulders and thick forearms.

“Emmett is super-protective of his sister, if you haven’t noticed yet. And Cassie’s the kind of kid that Holly would torment.” Jen’s thin lips purse. “If Holly acted half the way she did in Klemptville, I can’t see how he’d give her a shot, no matter how perfect her boobs are. At least, I have to think so, or it crushes every fantasy I’ve ever had about him.”

You and me both.

“Me too,” Josie chirps in a whisper.

I study that perfect, blonde head attached to that perfect body and that perfect smile for the rest of our lunch period.

What would Emmett do if he knew it was all a fa?ade?





“The plumber is at Uncle Merv’s,” Cassie announces as we round the bend of our street, toward our cul-de-sac. Sure enough, the battered red pickup truck sits in the driveway. “I wonder what he’s doing.”

“Fixing something.”

“Yeah … he’s fixing something,” she echoes, and it sounds like she’s trying to match my tone. “Maybe we could watch a movie tonight? Emmett has a hockey game. I’m not going.”

Which probably means it’s out of town.

She says this like it’s a bonus that Emmett won’t be around the house. Meanwhile, it would be motivation for me to go. Normally. But now I have this recording of his girlfriend burning a hole in my pocket and I don’t know what to do with it.

“I have a lot of homework to do this weekend. But definitely next weekend,” I promise.

Her head bobs furtively, and I know she’s logging that into her mind. It’s a commitment that she won’t forget.

“See you later, Cassie.”

“Bye, AJ.” She trudges off toward her house and I take the walkway up to ours, noting the orange and yellow flowers in pots sitting on either side of the rickety stairs.

I step through the front door to the high-pitched whir of a drill coming from upstairs, Uncle Merv and my mother bickering in the kitchen, and the smell of chocolate and spice lingering through the air.

“What do I need with all this damn kitchen stuff, anyway?” Uncle Merv says, waving his hands at the piles of small kitchen appliances, containers, and mismatched dishware hiding the countertop. “Donate it or toss it. I’ll never use it.”

“We don’t have to keep all of it! I just thought there might be something of sentimental value here and—”

“Unless I’m gonna be buried with it, I don’t need to keep it! I don’t need a broken blender or a chipped plate to remember Connie.”

“Fair enough. You’re right.” Mom gives his shoulder an affectionate pat.

“What’s going on?”

Mom turns to smile at me. “Hey, hon! I’m doing some cleaning. Figured it was a good time, with Mick repiping the house next week.”

I frown. “What’s he doing upstairs?”

“Making a whole damn lot of noise and eating your mother’s zucchini bread,” Uncle Merv complaints.

Mom rolls her eyes. “He’s replacing the shower faucet and valves.” She nods toward the kitchen table—a slice of said zucchini bread and a glass of milk await. Such a different world from the one in Calgary, where she didn’t step through the door until well after seven, long after I’d found myself something from the store-bought, premade options to heat up for dinner.

“So? What happened at school today?” She looks at me expectantly.

I flop into the chair. “Number one: if you don’t go back to work soon, I’m going to be a thousand pounds by Christmas.”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s a nice, round number.” Uncle Merv rubs a hand over his protruding belly and hobbles out of the kitchen toward the living room where the TV still blares.

“Three things from your day at school,” Mom reminds me, settling into her seat with one of her high-end collectible china cup-and-saucer sets—that used to sit in the display case, untouched, even on special occasions.

“Your fancy china, Mom? Really?”

She lifts it as if in cheers. “No point saving it until I’m dead.”

“You sound like Uncle Merv.” Who is this woman sitting in front of me? “Nice flowers outside, by the way.”

“Aren’t they? I saw them outside the grocery store today and figured I’d dress this old house up a bit. I haven’t bought chrysanthemums in years.”

“Yeah. Not since I’ve been alive.”

“Quit stalling.” She flutters her fingers at me.

I sigh. “Number one: I matched my worst time from grade nine at cross-country practice today.”

“See? Told you. Not bad for a kid who just started running again.”

“I guess. Number two: I had another surprise math test today and the questions were nothing like from the textbook examples. I think I failed it.”

Mom frowns with worry. “How much do these surprise tests account for?”