Be the Girl

“Term project time!” Ms. McNair announces, brushing at a streak of white chalk dust on her navy suit jacket. “As discussed at the beginning of the year, a sizable chunk of your overall grade will be based on your class project. To make it easy, you’ll be partnered with your tablemate.”

I steal a glance Emmett’s way and my stomach flutters with excitement.

“You’ll be required to present on a social issue and how it affects teenagers in society today. Expectations for this assignment are posted on the class portal. I have the topics here.” She holds up a stack of quote cards and then walks around, setting one on each table. “I like for my students to be passionate about what they’re learning and presenting so, for today only, you can swap with another group.”

A curly-haired guy named Sidney holds up his card with the word “abortion” displayed in bold black block letters. “Hot topic for anyone daring enough, right here! Anyone … anyone …”

“Many of these topics are big and contentious,” McNair continues, ignoring him. “You are to approach this from an unbiased angle. Work on this project is to be done mainly outside of regular class time, with thirty minutes given each Friday for prep and discussion. Presentations will happen the week of November 18 to 24.”

I catch a waft of her floral scent as she passes by our desk, setting down an index card with one word scrawled across it in bold, black ink:

BULLYING.

A sinking feeling hits the pit of my stomach.

McNair taps her fingertip over it. “Timely, for you two, given that happens to be Bullying Awareness and Prevention Week.” Louder, she continues. “Please fill out your names on the bottom of the card and drop it off on my desk on your way out.”

Emmett slides the card between us and reaches for a pen.

“Did you want to try to swap that?” I ask.

“No, this is a good one.” He pauses. “Unless you don’t want it?”

I force a smile. “I’m fine with it.” Can he tell I’m lying?

“Great.” He grins, and my attention is pulled to those adorable dimples. “How easy is this going to be to work on, living next door to each other?”

“So easy.” I watch him scrawl “Emmett Hartford and Aria Jones” across the bottom and my mind instantly drifts away, into a direction where those two names belong together.

The bell rings, ending class.

Emmett drops the card on McNair’s desk as we pass, and then trails me out to my locker. “What’d you and Steve get?” he asks Jen.

“Racism.”

Emmett whistles. “That’s a big one.”

“Yeah, especially when I’ll probably be doing all the work.”

I can’t disagree with her. I don’t think I’ve seen Steve take notes once in class yet.

“Hey, AJ, I should be home from practice by five. Do you want me to come over after so we can talk through this?”

My heart flutters. “Sure.” Where, though? In the cramped kitchen that Mom is overhauling? On the hideous living room couch next to Uncle Merv while he listens to his audiobooks or watches war documentaries, trying to drown out the sound of Mick drilling and sawing? And then I remember. “Oh, wait—they’re redoing the plumbing at the house today.” Mick showed up this morning with another guy as I was leaving for cross-country. “So it depends—”

“Let’s make it easy. Come over to my house. I’ll just ask my mom to keep Cassie busy, so she’s not distracting us.”

“Sure.” I grab my math textbook.

Emmett’s eyes flicker to the next bank of lockers over. “Walk me to my next class, ’kay?” He drops his voice and leans in. “Patricia Morgan’s on the prowl again.”

With a covert two-step glance, I look first to Jen, and then behind her, confirming that the tall, beautiful, raven-haired girl lingers at her nearby locker, no doubt watching Emmett from the corner of her eye. It sounds like he’s not as eager to spend time with her as I expected. My heart soars with relief. “Sure. I guess.”

“What? You too cool to be seen with me all of a sudden?”

I slam my locker shut. “Let’s get something clear: I’ve always been too cool.”

He bumps my shoulder playfully as we stroll down the hall.

Curious eyes are on us the entire way.





“Don’t forget. Dinner’s at six sharp!” Mom calls out as I step out the front door, leaving the mouthwatering aroma of her homemade spaghetti sauce behind. Mick and his guy weren’t able to finish everything today, but they did enough to turn the water back on at around four, in time for Iris to drop off Uncle Merv. Mom figured it best to send him to a quiet house with working toilets. Not sure what she’s going to do with him tomorrow.

“Going next door?” Uncle Merv frowns at that same bush I’ve seen him tending to a few times now, a spray bottle in his grasp.

“Yeah. I have an assignment with Emmett. What are you doing?”

“Trying to save this rosebush from certain death.” It sounds all the more ominous in his dry, gruff voice. “It was Connie’s favorite. It gives off these big fuchsia-colored blooms, the size of your hand.” He holds his hand out in front of him to emphasize. “We’ve had it for years. Connie knew how to take care of it and then she passed and … well, I started seeing these black fungus spots on the leaves in spring. Not sure I’ll be able to save it.”

Sometimes I forget that Uncle Merv had a whole other life before we showed up. That he wasn’t always alone. “You must miss her a lot.”

It’s a moment before he responds. “We were married for sixty-one years. And all we ever had was each other. Weren’t blessed with kids.” He spritzes the mottled leaves. “It’s funny, we spent our lives hoping we’d live long enough to grow old, and now here I am—my body aching and my eyesight going, wondering what fresh hell tomorrow’s got in store for me, and which day is the one I’m not going to wake up to. At least when Connie was around, we were wondering together.”

Sixty-one years with someone, only to lose them in an instant. What must that feel like? Is that why Uncle Merv is so grumpy?

An idea strikes me. “You need a dog,” I blurt out.

His unkempt eyebrows arch as he peers at me. “You think I should replace my dead wife with a dog?”

“No! There’s this dog at the shelter. Murphy. He’s old and alone and, I don’t know, maybe you could both use the company.”

“Hmm … We had a dog once. I remember it being a lot of work,” he mumbles, aiming the spray nozzle. “You’re beginning to sound like Cassie.”

“It was just a thought.” I sling my backpack over my shoulder and I cross our front lawn and then the Hartfords’.

“AJ!” Cassie’s face stretches with a wide smile as she greets me at their front door, crumbs from whatever she was snacking on coating the corners of her mouth. “This is a surprise! I didn’t know you were coming.” She backs up to let me in, then points to the two cans of paint sitting on the floor. “My dad is going to paint my bedroom just like yours.”

“That’s cool. When’s he doing that?” I ask, sliding off my running shoes.

“This weekend! And I’m getting stars, too!” Excitement radiates off her.

“AJ!” Emmett pokes his head out from his bedroom. “Come up.”

“Okay?” We’re doing this in his bedroom? Is Heather okay with this? My mother wouldn’t be. My heart pounds as I climb the stairs, Cassie in close pursuit.

Heather rounds the corner, a tea towel in her hands. “Hi, Aria. Cassie, I need you to come down here and help me peel the carrots.”

“Not now, Mom. I’m going to hang out with Aria and Emmett.” I guess she has gotten over her anger with her brother.

“No. They’re doing homework. It’s not chitchat time. We already talked about this.” Heather is still calm, but there is an edge to her tone that says this isn’t negotiable.

It appears Cassie catches it too, because she turns and eases down the stairs, making a point of stomping her socked heels against the hardwood floor as she passes by her mother.

Heather rolls her eyes, then heads back to the kitchen.