Be the Girl

But it’s only an hour’s drive to downtown Toronto, a city we haven’t had a chance to venture into yet but I’m excited to see.

And so the questions begin. “My uncle is getting older and he lost his wife. My mom wanted to be closer to him.” I practiced that line in the mirror last night, and it comes out smoothly now.

The first bell rings.

“Cool.” Jen shuts her locker door with a slam. I can’t tell if she was interested in knowing that or just being polite. “Our class is right here.” She points to the open door across from us, where a short, plump teacher with a black bob stands, greeting students.

I steal a glance down the hall in time to see Emmett and Holly approaching, Holly burrowed against Emmett’s side, his arm slung over her shoulder.

I feel a pull in my gut. I hate being envious of other people. But I’m human as Dr. C. liked to remind me, and feeling a range of emotions along a wide spectrum is normal. Envy is normal.

Right now, I am sick with envy and I haven’t said two words to this girl yet.

“See?” Emmett winks at me. “Making friends already.”

“Buddy assignment,” I mumble, feeling Holly’s blue eyes size me up.

“Right. Hey, Jen.”

“Hey, Emmett.” She hesitates a beat. “Hey, Holly.” I could be wrong—I’ve known Jen for all of five minutes—but her tone shifts from genuinely happy to forced with that latter greeting.

“Hey Jennifer,” Holly says in a soft, sexy timbre. “Good summer?”

“It was great. Thanks for asking. I’ll save you a seat inside, Aria.” Jen speeds into the classroom.

“Holly, meet Aria, my new neighbor. Aria, my girlfriend, Holly.” Emmett gestures between us.

“Hey.” Holly’s bright blue eyes practically sparkle and her smile grows even wider, if that’s possible. “I’ve heard so much about you from Cassie. I feel like I already know you.”

I laugh. “Yeah, I can imagine.” Is there anyone in Cassie’s world who doesn’t know about me already?

“Right?” Her laugh is like a well-tuned flute. “Emmett tells me you’re going to walk home with her after school? That’s so nice of you.”

“No big deal. I live next door.” I shrug.

“But it makes me sad.” She pouts. “I used to walk her home once a week. That was one of my favorite things to do.”

Emmett frowns down at her. “You can still walk with them, if you want.”

“I can’t, given my tutoring job. I don’t know how I would’ve managed. It’s kind of worked out that Aria’s here now.”

“Right,” he nods with the reminder.

“But I’m glad she has you. She deserves to have more friends.” Holly’s smile oozes warmth.

Ugh. Emmett’s girlfriend is beautiful and nice. Not a surprise, I guess.

“Mr. Hartford, Ms. Webber, second bell’s about to go.” The teacher, Ms. McNair, I presume, calls out, her warning gaze drifting over me as well.

“Good thing we’re all taking your class then.” Emmett grins as he trails Holly in, leaving me to walk in last.

Jen waves to me from a two-person desk, front and center.

With a soft groan, I sink into my seat.





5





“Aria Jones.” Ms. Moretti pushes the door to her office shut. “How’s your first day at Eastmonte going so far?”

“So far, so good,” I say, watching her strut around the desk in her four-inch heels, her muscular calves bulging from the strain. Other than that, she’s a tiny woman, with an olive complexion and jet-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” She settles into the leather office chair behind her desk. It’s giant in comparison, and I can’t figure out if it’s because it’s oversized or she’s that small. “So, tell me something about yourself.” She flashes a wide smile.

My eyes get caught on the gap between her two front teeth for a few seconds before I avert my gaze. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Oh, come on, of course there is. I’m at a loss, unfortunately.” She holds her empty hands out in front of her. “Moving out of province is like moving countries as far as the school system goes. We don’t get much in the way of information about the student.”

Thankfully.

“So …?” she prods, her perfect, symmetrical eyebrows arching with question. “You moved here last week, right?”

“Yeah. We’re living with my uncle. My great-uncle.”

“You and your mother, right?”

I nod.

“And is your dad back in Calgary?”

“Outside of Calgary. You know … divorce.”

“Do you speak to him often?”

I shake my head, studying the surface of her desk so she doesn’t see the truth in my eyes—that I haven’t talked to my father in months.

“How long ago did they separate?”

Do all guidance counselors prod for private information right out of the gate? “Two years ago? Yeah, almost two years ago.” Halloween night, to be exact. My friend Denise and I decided to go trick-or-treating as a joke. We dressed up as zombie brides and went door to door in her neighborhood. It was hysterical, up until a pregnant, redheaded woman opened her door to hand us bags of chips and I spotted my father kicking back on the couch in the living room, beer in hand, a little girl I’d never met before perched on his knee.

The woman, Sonya, is a paralegal at the law firm where he works.

He didn’t even bother denying the affair or that the coming baby was his.

Ms. Moretti nods and gives me one of those downcast sympathetic smiles. “I remember when my parents divorced. I was about your age and I thought it was the end of the world at the time. It turned my life upside down and I didn’t move across the country. This must be hard on you.”

I shrug.

“I’m guessing you left some friends behind that you probably miss?”

“Sure, but they can text me.”

If they had my new number.

If they were still my friends.

It’s quiet for a moment as Ms. Moretti sizes me up. How much has my mother told her? Not too much, I’d imagine. The whole point of moving here was to have a fresh start, and I won’t have that if Mom drags out our baggage and puts it on display.

Finally, Ms. Moretti shuffles some paperwork on her desk before sliding a page across the desk toward me. “One of the best and easiest ways to make new friends is through sports and clubs. I’ve taken the liberty of highlighting a few of the best ones.”

I scan it quickly. Lo and behold, “cross-country” is highlighted in bright yellow. Twice.

“Your mother may have called me and may have mentioned that you placed second in provincials.” She grins sheepishly. “I’m the coach. I’d love to see what you can do.”

“I haven’t been training. I doubt I’d be a good addition.”

She waves it away. “I’ll bet you’d surprise yourself. We practice three times a week, before school. More, as we get closer to regionals. Please consider it. We haven’t had any luck placing in years. Even with Emmett Hartford on the team. Between you and me, we could really use a win.”

My heart skips a beat. “Emmett’s on the team?”

“Yeah. You’ve met him already, I take it?”

“He’s my neighbor.” My cheeks heat, and I hope she can’t see it.

“Well, he’s also quite the athlete, though his heart is tied up with hockey. I think he uses this for his morning workout.” She leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “So come out and help us win a trophy for our display case!”

I can’t help but smile. So far, Ms. Moretti is about as opposite to my last guidance counselor as you can get. Aside from the physical attributes—Mrs. Forester was gray-haired, had yellow teeth from smoking a pack of cigarettes a day, and her style consisted of shapeless dresses and UGGs—she didn’t give a rat’s ass what happened to me or anyone else, as long as she got to retire with her pension at the end of it all. She even said as much to me once.

Meanwhile, here’s this youthful, compact woman across from me, wearing a flirty eggplant-colored dress and a smile, making a genuine effort to motivate me.

Little does she realize, she’s dangled a gorgeous, dimple-cheeked carrot in the air that I can’t ignore.

I hesitate. “So, when does training start?”