Be the Girl

“Uh …” Jen’s eyebrows arch as they veer to Holly, her face a mixture of reluctance and confusion. I can’t imagine her wanting to spend the next hour sitting beside her childhood bully.

I’m about to say as much when Emmett stops Holly’s friend, Lindsay, who normally sits with a guy I’ve nicknamed Sleepy Steve, because he literally sleeps through first period. Even McNair has given up on trying to keep him awake. “Hey, you mind sitting with Holly today?”

Lindsay shrugs, though her eyes dart curiously to her friend. It seems that Holly hasn’t shared the news of the breakup yet. Maybe she’s still hoping to reverse it before anyone finds out. “Yeah, no problem.” She heads to the back of the class.

Emmett gives Steve a look that might read as “You good with this, man?” Steve merely gives a lazy “I don’t give a shit” shrug. His head will hit the desk soon enough.

Emmett slides into the seat next to me just as the second bell goes and morning announcements come on over the PA. “Thanks for doing this, Jen.”

“No problem.” Her eyes lock on mine, widening with question.

I hold my hands up in surrender, as if I’m an innocent bystander. But I am, I remind myself. I’m the conscientious messenger.

“You’re good with this, right?” Emmett flips open his textbook. He peers at me with those gentle, dark-brown eyes. “If you want to switch back with Jen tomorrow—”

“No.” I shake my head in emphasis. “This is fine.” I smile.

And do my best to ignore the burn of scathing eyes boring into my skull for the next hour.





“Someone recorded her saying crap about his little sister in the bathroom and then sent it to him.”

I stare at Josie, momentarily dumbstruck. It’s the most she’s ever said in one sitting. And it’s about me.

“I heard she accused Mandy Lovatt but they figured out that someone must have been hiding in the stall, listening to them,” Jen adds.

Josie’s delicate face scrunches up. “Creepy.”

I lock my gaze on the homemade zucchini loaf Mom snuck into my lunch, picking it apart slowly as dread blossoms. What if people find out I’m the creepy one?

“I wonder what she said about Cassie.” Jen takes a bite out of her ham sandwich, her curious eyes drifting across the cafeteria to where Holly and Mandy sit.

“Couldn’t have been good because Emmett dumped her ass over it in the parking lot after school yesterday.”

Wow. Josie’s not only talking, she’s swearing too.

I feel Jen’s eyes shifting to me. Will either of them put two and two together and figure out why I was asking about Holly last Friday, after having gone to the bathroom? Will they remember that I was gone for a long time, that I came back pale-faced?

News of Emmett and Holly’s breakup is spreading like flames through dry brush. I started hearing the whispers in math, when Beckett Smith leaned across the row to tell Morris Davenport that “Hartford’s flying solo” again, followed by a fist bump.

By the time I went to swap my books for third period, a tall, raven-haired beauty was hovering at Emmett’s locker, waiting for him to appear. And when he did, the flirtatious smile she was casting his way made me want to vomit.

Josie drags her french fry through her ketchup. “I always knew Holly had a mean streak in her.”

Jen worries her bottom lip. “What’s she going to be like now that she’s done trying to impress Emmett?” Her thoughts are somewhere far off. Probably in her tortured past. It’s a fair question, though. Was playing the part for Emmett the only thing that kept Holly’s ugly side collared?

“We won’t let her come after you like that again,” I say with certainty.

She gives me a small nod and appreciative smile, though I get the impression she doesn’t believe it.





I wriggle my nose against the smell of bleach, wet dog fur, and cat urine as we step into the empty lobby of E.A.S—an old house that’s serving as the Eastmonte Animal Shelter until they can rebuild the one that burnt down two years ago.

“Hello, boys and girls!” Cassie yells.

A wild chorus of howls and piercing barks from beyond a sky-blue door respond, making Cassie laugh.

A short, silver-haired lady emerges moments later. “You love to get them going, don’t you?” Her eyes crinkle with her smile, not at all annoyed.

“Yeah. I can hear Bangles.” Cassie laughs again. “Has Boots had her kittens yet?”

“Not yet. Any day now.”

“Okay.” Cassie nods. “This is my friend, AJ. She came to see the dogs and cats with me.”

“Hi, AJ. I’m Pat.” Pat pauses to straighten an array of pet insurance and adoption pamphlets in a rack on the desk. “You ready for this?”

“I’m not sure,” I confess.

Pat leads us past the door and into a long, narrow room lined with portable metal cages of various sizes. The distinct smell of dog—sweat, fur, drool—is that much stronger back here, on account of the five dogs of varying sizes and color, already on their feet and panting as Cassie holds her hand out to their cages, greeting each one by name.

“Bangles already had his walk today, but Roger Dodger is ready for you.”

“Hi, Roger Dodger!” Cassie exclaims in a high-pitched, excited voice, bending down to clap and greet a scruffy gray Lhasa Apso, who is attempting to cram his snout through the cage. She fumbles with the latch on the cage. “I can’t do it.”

I move in to help her, but Pat puts a hand up to stop me, winking at me. “Yes, you can, Cassie. Remember, pull up and then turn.”

The dog is tearing around in circles by the time the gate pops open. He comes barreling out to jump on her legs.

“He’s so excited!” Cassie laughs.

“He’s always excited when you show up. You’ll need to get him to calm down before you can get that leash on him. And … AJ, right?” When I nod, Pat continues, leading me to a cage with a heavyset black Lab. “How about you take Murphy? He’s much calmer. These two get along well enough. Come on, Murph.”

The dog hobbles out, favoring his back leg.

“Is he hurt?”

“That’s just hip dysplasia. His previous owners brought him in because he couldn’t handle being in a house with little kids anymore. Too much noise and excitement. He got grumpy.”

Sounds like Uncle Merv. “How old is he?” I scratch the gentle dog’s graying chin. He peers up at me with sad, dark eyes. Wisps of silver fleck his face.

“Oh, he’s an old guy. Over thirteen now. He just hangs out, looking for pats. Don’t you, Murph?” She pets his head. “He’s been here a while now. Will probably be here till the end.”

I study the cage that is his home. “That’s sad.”

“Yeah, I know. But it’s hard to get anyone to take a big old dog like this. ’Course Cassie would take the whole lot of them home with her, if her dad wasn’t allergic. Right, Cassie?”

“Yeah. Whoa! Hold your horses, Roger Dodger.” She laughs, letting him lead her toward the back on the leash she somehow managed to affix to his collar.

“Make sure you show AJ what needs to be done. I’ll be with Boots if you need me.”

“’Kay.”

“And Cassie …” Pat gives her a warning look.

“I know!” She grins and holds up a tiny roll of plastic poop bags, as if that’s proof of her intention.





“I go Tuesdays and sometimes Thursdays,” Cassie says, easing out of Heather’s car. “You can come with me if you want.”

“Two hours a week and you should have your community service hours by the middle of winter,” Heather adds, grabbing her purse from the passenger seat floor. “Cassie, why don’t you go in and wash your hands really well and change.”

“I don’t need to change,” Cassie argues.

Heather makes a point of staring at Cassie’s pants, drawing her daughter’s eyes down to the muddy paw prints all over them.

“Oh. That’s okay,” Cassie says, bending down to wipe at them.

“No, it’s not okay. Put them in your hamper, and put on clean pants from your drawer. Not from your floor.”

“Mom! Shhh!” Cassie’s eyes narrow with annoyance.

“I’ll be there in a minute. I need to talk to Aria alone first.”

Cassie lingers.

“I’m asking you politely to give us a moment.”

Cassie doesn’t move, her jaw setting with stubborn determination.