Any Other Girl (11 page)

The back of my neck grew warm and I stepped away from him, setting the trays on the counter next to the fridge. “Um, tomorrow night? Nate's parents are leaving in the morning for some sort of conference and won't be back until Tuesday. That's what his dad told mine when he called to invite them to the barbecue.”

“Is Harper in?”

I started dumping the ice into a giant bowl. “Nah,” I said over the noise. “She's kind of the strict rule-following type. She'd be paranoid the whole time about getting caught.” In truth, I hadn't even mentioned the prank idea to her. For one, breaking rules really did make her nervous and she'd probably freak out in the middle of it and get us all arrested for trespassing. Also, one of the reasons Emmett and I had decided to exact revenge on Nate in the first place was because he'd been such a jerk to her. If we ever got caught, she'd just feel responsible, like her honor wasn't worth defending and getting into trouble over. So it was better not to involve her at all.

“Tomorrow night, then,” Emmett said, holding out his hand so we could shake on it.

I wiped my wet fingers on my shorts and then wrapped them around his. As we shook, I tried to ignore the prickle of heat creeping up my arm.

Later, after our guests had all gone home, my dads and I tackled the mess in the kitchen. Dad wrapped the leftovers while Pop and I worked our way through a tall stack of dirty dishes, each of us tired but content. The first barbecue of the summer had been a success.

“That Holly is a sweetheart,” Dad said as he fought with the plastic wrap. “And Emmett seems like a good kid.”

Pop handed me a dripping glass to dry. “Does Harper still have a crush on him?”

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing my dish towel over the glass until it shone. “But he's not into her that way. At all. Actually, I think he might be gay.”

Pop raised his eyebrows, considering this, while Dad made a scoffing sound behind us. I turned to look at him.

“That boy isn't gay, Katrina,” he said, tossing the mangled plastic wrap on the counter. “I think that much is obvious after tonight.”

“Why is it obvious?”

He reached over to ruffle my hair. “Because he could barely take his eyes off
you
.”

chapter 14

“C
ome on, ladies! Hustle, hustle!”

I winced for what was probably the tenth time since the Erwin Eagles took the field. The bald, heavy guy sitting in front of us on the bleachers not only reeked of armpit, but he was also deafeningly loud. Even more so than me, and that was saying a lot.

“Wonder who he's here for,” Aunt Carrie mumbled beside me.

“Whoever it is, I'm sure she can hear him clear as day,” I whispered back.

“So can most of China,” Dad said on the other side of me.

I sniffed and went back to watching the game. Dad and I were the only ones really paying attention; Aunt Carrie kept yawning and fiddling with her car keys, and Pop had spent the last twenty minutes stroking his chin as he stared off into space. He'd reached a pivotal scene in Book Six that afternoon and even Dad couldn't pry him off the laptop. He would've gladly kept writing into the evening if I hadn't played the father-daughter-bonding guilt card again. At least he was outside, near people. Even if some of those people had a staring problem.

I wished I'd remembered to bring my homemade pompoms. Not only was it a fun way to support Harper, but the spectacle of a summer person cheering for the home team would distract the locals from whispering about my dads. Erwin was a small town, and word had gotten around fast over the past few summers. Same-sex couples were somewhat of a novelty around there. Some people didn't care, but others couldn't seem to get over the shock of it. Sometimes I felt like I was in Oakfield all over again, surrounded by gossipy soccer moms.

“Pass it to thirty-three. She's open!” shouted the man in front of us, pounding his palms together for emphasis. The bleachers shook with his movements. “Christ, these girls aren't playing for shit tonight,” he said at a lower volume to himself.

Unable to help myself, I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, “Great job, Eagles!”

Aunt Carrie buried her face in her hands while Dad laughed. The man in front of us turned to shoot me a look, his gaze landing instead on my dads, sitting side-by-side next to me with their hands just barely touching. Then he turned back around, muttering, “What is this, a frigging gay pride parade?”

Oh no, you didn't
, I thought. When I bent forward to say something rude back to him, both Dad and Aunt Carrie shook their heads, stopping me. I leaned back, sighing, just as the halftime whistle sounded. The bald jerk got up and clomped down the bleachers to the field, probably on his way to berate the team up close and personal.

“Let it go, baby,” Dad said, patting my knee. “Not worth it.”

Pop surfaced from his haze long enough to agree with him. “Rise above,” he said, raising a fist.

“I know, I know.” And I did know, but knowing didn't help ease my guilt. Instead of drawing attention away from them, like I usually managed to do, I'd drawn it
to
them. Unintentionally, but still. Ever since I was little, I'd felt a responsibility to shield them from that kind of thing. It wasn't my job, I knew, and they'd been dealing with hate and intolerance long before I came along, but I still blamed myself when I failed to stop it from happening. They may have gotten used to the comments, but I never would.

To distract myself from Baldie, who'd wisely switched seats when he was through harassing the ref, I dug out my cell phone and opened my messages. Right away, my gaze zeroed in on last week's texts with Emmett, preserved for all eternity in my phone. Or maybe not. My thumb hovered over the EDIT button as I debated whether or not to delete them for good. I wouldn't have even bothered, but Dad's words from Sunday night still weighed on me. In fact, I felt so uneasy about the idea of Emmett possibly liking me, I didn't even consider inviting him to the game. I even thought about canceling our little caper later on, but my desire to teach Nate a lesson overrode any worries I may have had about potential awkwardness between Emmett and me.

Besides, maybe Dad had it all wrong. I hadn't noticed Emmett watching me with any particular interest. Then again, maybe the reason I hadn't noticed was because I always made a conscious effort not to watch
him
. Especially with Harper around.

God
, I thought as I hit the BACK button, leaving the texts alone,
I'm a horrible daughter and a horrible cousin. And friend
, I added, thinking about Shay, who still hadn't replied to the half a dozen emails I'd sent her since the day she supposedly blocked my texts. Obviously, one thoughtless mistake on my part had been enough to ruin our friendship beyond repair.

Sometimes I wished I could be more like Harper and Emmett and even Pop. They held back, observed quietly, considered each possible consequence before proceeding. Me, I tended to rush right in, vocal and impulsive, focusing only on what was right in front of me.

 

Despite the fact that I prided myself in being a rebel, I'd never actually sneaked out of the house before. For one, it wasn't exactly easy to sneak out of a fourth-floor condo, and two, Pop was often awake at odd hours, writing. However, I was in a cottage with many viable exits, and both my dads were sound asleep by midnight.

At twelve-fifteen, I emerged from my room, tiptoed across the kitchen, and slipped silently out the sliding glass door to the deck. It was that simple. When I reached the yard, I paused and pulled on my shoes before continuing on to the road. I didn't turn on my flashlight until I was entirely out of view of the cottage.

Emmett was in the exact place we'd agreed upon—next to the big spruce tree with the knot on its trunk that looked like a creepy old man face. Harper and I called him Walter. The tree was a great meeting place as it was near the road and about halfway between her cottage and mine. Currently, Walter's weathered face was propping up Emmett.

“Kat?” he said, squinting against my flashlight's glow.

“No, I'm a bear. Roar.”

“A bear with an extremely bright flashlight?” I heard a clicking noise and then his flashlight came on, blinding me. He lowered the beam from my face and aimed it on my body instead. “What on earth are you . . . oh.”

I looked down at myself. “What? You said to wear black.”

He clearly wasn't aware that when it came to fashion, I rarely skimped. Black wasn't a shade I wore often, but I had managed to rustle up some black leggings and a form-fitting black cami I usually only wore under sheer tops. Black flats and a sleek ponytail completed the undercover look I'd been going for. And red lipstick, of course, because it just seemed fitting.

“Yeah,” he said, his flashlight still trained below my neck. “I did say that.”

Good thing it was so dark because I was pretty sure we were both blushing.

I moved out of the light and started walking down the road. Emmett fell into step beside me. He was dressed in black too, and all I could make out were his teeth when he asked, “Sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.” Our flashlight beams danced together on the gravel ahead of us. “Did you bring all of them?”

He jiggled the backpack on his shoulders, producing a muffled clanging sound. “Pretty much cleaned out the Dollar Store in town. The only color I couldn't find was purple.”

“That's okay. We'll just have to do without it.”

We turned off our flashlights before skulking up Nate's driveway toward his cottage, which wasn't as dark as I'd hoped. The porch light glowed, and muted blue light shimmered out from the living room window, indicating that the TV was on.

Emmett examined the lawn ahead of us, which was plenty big enough for what we had planned. “Do you think he's still awake?” he asked as we crept closer.

“He's home alone with his brothers,” I said. “If I had to guess, I'd say they drank beer all night and then passed out watching a movie.”

“I hope so.”

The porch light flicked off and I ducked, yanking Emmett down with me. We crawled across the grass to the side of the cottage, out of view of the windows. My heart raced, and I felt torn between laughing hysterically and hightailing it the hell out of there.

“Do you think he saw us?” I whispered, huddling against the siding. I wasn't sure, but I thought we might have been crushing his mom's herb garden.

“I don't think so,” Emmett whispered back.

We were panting from adrenaline and exertion and his breath smelled minty, like he'd just brushed before he left his cottage. I'd brushed too, but I still wondered if I smelled garlicky from the homemade salsa Pop had made earlier in his food processor.

“Should we wait a few minutes?”

I listened hard but couldn't hear anything besides crickets and the occasional rustling sound from the woods. “Yeah, but just a few. This is going to take a while to do.”

We stayed put for about five minutes, crouched low with our backs pressed against the side of the house. All seemed quiet at the McCurdy residence.

“Ready?” Emmett asked. When I nodded, he unhitched his backpack from his shoulders and unzipped it. I turned on my flashlight, aiming it at the opening. He reached inside the bag and pulled out dozens of transparent packages, each one containing forty-eight plastic forks. He'd done good.

It had been Emmett's idea to “fork” Nate's yard, which involved simply sticking a bunch of plastic forks, tine end up, into his lawn during the night. This was a common prank, apparently, one he and his brother had seen on TV when they were little and decided to recreate on their neighborhood bully's front lawn. But for me,
common
was synonymous with
boring
, so I'd put my own spin on it. Hence the multi-colored forks I'd asked Emmett to buy. This “forking” was going to have some meaning.

Two hours later, we were finally finished and it looked even better than I'd envisioned in my head. A large patch of Nate's lawn was now home to a fork portrait
(forkrait?)
that would surely give me away as the culprit, but it was worth it.

“Nice,” Emmett said as he took a picture with his phone.

I did the same, giggling uncontrollably at the image of Nate walking outside in the morning and finding
this
in his yard, visible to anyone who happened to drive by. It was the perfect revenge.

Saturday night at the carnival, after the Tilt-a-Whirl, when I'd asked Emmett to buy not regular white forks, but red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple ones instead, he'd immediately caught on to what I had in mind. A rainbow, at least four feet wide and blatantly unmistakable. The symbol of gay pride and diversity—
that
was what I wanted emblazoned on Nate McCurdy's lawn. I probably would've been content with randomly-placed forks had he not made that crack about my dads making him want to puke. And the incident at the soccer game earlier had only fueled me more.

Nate, and people like him, could do with a little dose of color in their lives.

Emmett and I took off for the road, tired and grass-stained and high on success. I so wished we could be there in the morning when Nate saw our creation, but our imaginations would have to do.

“I can't believe we pulled that off,” Emmett said as we headed back to my cottage.

I grinned and raised my hand for a high-five, but he didn't slap it like he was supposed to. Instead, he touched his palm to mine and held on.

“Emmett,” I said softly when our fingers entwined. This was bad. Really, really bad. In fact, holding hands on a dark road on a warm night when our blood still fizzed in our veins was possibly the worst idea in existence.

“What?”

I stopped walking and pulled my hand from his. He stood in front of me, mere inches away, his flashlight pointing toward the trees behind me.

“Harper really likes you,” I said in a choked voice. Why did he have to smell so damn good, like soap and toothpaste and shaving cream and something else, something uniquely him?

“Do
you
like me, Kat?” he asked in a silky tone I'd never heard him use before. One that made me shiver in response.

Yes, yes, yes
, everything in me screamed. But my mouth formed the words, “It doesn't matter if I do or not. Harper's my cousin.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he said, sounding a little sad. Resigned. “Family is important, right?”

“Very important. To me. So we can't . . . be like that. But you and Harper, you guys have so much in common. If you'd just try—”

He started walking again, cutting me off. I stood there for a moment and then hurried to catch up with him.

“Harper's nice,” he said once I was by his side again. “But I can't force myself to like her as more than a friend.” He looked over at me. “Sometimes people can't help who they're attracted to. I thought we both believed that.”

An image of our beautiful fork rainbow popped into my head. No, we couldn't help who we were drawn to. But in our case we
could
deny it, if we had a good enough reason to. And we did. Family loyalty was the best reason of all.