Any Other Girl (6 page)

chapter 6

F
or the rest of the weekend, Harper managed to insert Emmett's name into every single one of our conversations.

While making microwave popcorn: “Yeah, let's do extra butter. Emmett's really cute, isn't he?”

While sunbathing on my dock: “My shoulders feel burnt. Do you think Emmett has a girlfriend?”

While eating ice cream sundaes at the counter at Goody's: “Does this chocolate sauce taste different to you? I wonder if Emmett will go out with Gabriella.”

That one in particular made me snort into my waffle bowl. Normally, Harper was too preoccupied with school and sports to bother with dating so the odd time she did like someone, she acted like a twelve-year-old with her first crush.

“Only if he's desperate,” I said.

“What? She might be opportunistic and shallow, but you have to admit she's pretty. A lot prettier than me.”

“Harper, you're gorgeous.”

She licked some whipped cream off her spoon. “Right, because big noses and thin lips and flat chests are
so
attractive.”

“You are. Embrace it. Guys are attracted to confidence too, you know.”

“Says the girl who looks like a voluptuous nineteen-forties pinup model,” she said, nudging me with her elbow. “Confidence has always come easy to you, Kat.”

It didn't always come easy, but I understood why Harper struggled so much with her own insecurities, so I let it go. My self-esteem would probably be shaky too if one of my dads virtually dropped out of my life like Lawrence had dropped out of Harper's. He'd never been the involved-father type, even when he and Aunt Carrie were still together. I remembered how he always used to shoo us out of the room when we were kids, like our voices and happy giggles annoyed him. When Aunt Carrie finally left him after his third consecutive affair, it was a relief to everyone but Harper, who'd assumed the breakdown of her parents' marriage was somehow
her
fault. The way Lawrence treated her did little to dissuade her from the theory. Nowadays, she was lucky if she heard from him once a month.

Still, regardless of how Harper saw herself, anyone who didn't recognize her as the beautiful, great catch she was didn't deserve to clean the dirt off her Nikes. Even cute, grumpy Emmett.

On Sunday evening, Dad left to go back to the city for the week. I hated to think of him all alone in our condo in the evenings, eating greasy take-out and watching the Turner Classic Movies network without me. But knowing him, he'd spend most of his time at the office anyway, working overtime so he wouldn't have to take many calls over the weekend. Pop worked a lot during those five days too, partly as a distraction and partly because Dad wasn't there to remind him to step away from the computer every few hours and “join the land of the living.” With Dad gone, that particular job had been reassigned to me.

The next afternoon, I slid open the screen to the deck and stuck my head outside. Pop sat in one of the plastic lounge chairs, his laptop propped on his legs. “Yoo-hoo,” I called.

“Hmm?” He typed feverishly, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“We're out of milk,” I told him as I stepped outside. “And paper towels. And bananas.”

“Bananas?” he said vaguely, his fingers still dancing over the keys.

“You know, the long, yellow fruit I like to cut up and put on peanut butter toast? Pop?”

He stopped typing, finally, and let out a relieved sigh. “Sorry, Kat. I just
had
to get that sentence right. Now what were you saying?”

I moved closer and peered down into his mug of tea, which sat on the deck beside him. Still full. He hadn't so much as paused to take a drink since nine o'clock. “We need a few groceries,” I said, picking up the cold mug. “And you need a break.”

“Apparently I do,” he said, squinting at the laptop screen. “I actually
typed
the word
bananas
.”

Thirty minutes later, the two of us were strolling down the aisles of Erwin's one and only supermarket. The place was pretty deserted, even for a Monday afternoon.

“You feel like grilling some chicken breasts for dinner tonight?” I asked when we reached the paltry meat section. Erwin's stores weren't exactly famous for their large selections.

“Hmm?” Pop replied.

I knew from experience that it always took him at least an hour to emerge from the foggy, fictional land inside his head, so I never took offense to his occasional negligence. “Chicken,” I repeated, steering him and the cart to the poultry display.

“Right. Do you want to grill some for dinner tonight?”

I patted his arm. “
Great
idea, Pop.”

He didn't fully resurface until we hit the cereal aisle where I attempted to toss a box of Lucky Charms into our cart. “Over my dead body,” he said, intercepting me and putting it back on the shelf. He replaced it with a box of Shredded Wheat. “There. This one has lots of fiber.”

“Pop, why do you insist on feeding me so much fiber? It's not like I'm constip—oh!”

The front of our cart had just come very close to ramming into someone at the corner of the aisle.
Again?
I thought when I looked up to see a pair of blue, blue eyes staring back at me, wide with surprise. Again. I'd almost crashed into Emmett Reese. Again.

“Sorry,” I said, backing up. My cheeks started flaming, mostly because I'd just remembered what I'd been about to say right before our near-accident.

Emmett continued to stare at me, perplexed, like he couldn't quite understand why people kept trying to take him out with large, wheeled objects. “It's okay,” he said, letting go of the front of our cart, which he'd grabbed to avoid the impending collision with his more sensitive regions. “Um . . . Kat, right?”

I nodded and smiled, pleased that he a) wasn't yelling at me and b) remembered my name. “Good memory.” I glanced at Pop, who was watching me with raised eyebrows. “Oh. This is my dad.”

“Bryce Henley,” Pop said, sticking out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“This is Emmett,” I supplied. “His family bought the Cantings' cottage.”

Pop's expression turned grave. “It's a shame about Albert.”

Looking slightly confused, Emmett nodded. As he did, a lock of hair slid down his forehead, obscuring his right eyebrow. The bright overhead lights of the store brought out all the different shades in his wavy hair—brown, lighter brown, blond, and even a few patches of auburn.

Women pay good money for those kinds of highlights
, I thought. “Sorry again,” I said and then I whipped out my most dazzling smile, the one that always got me out of trouble with teachers.

“No worries.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, turned as if to walk away, and then swiveled around to face us again. “Would you happen to know which aisle the baking soda is in?”

“Aisle three,” Pop and I replied in unison. We knew the store better than the shelf stockers.

“Thanks,” Emmett said before turning left in the direction of aisle three and then disappearing completely.

“Nice boy,” Pop said as we started walking again. “What do you know about his family?”

I shrugged. “Nothing. That's the most I've ever heard him say.” We rolled into the produce area and I made a beeline for the bananas. “Oh wait. His dad's an accountant or something.”

“Interesting.”

“And Harper has a crush on him.”

“The accountant?”

“No,” I said, digging for the ripest bunch of bananas. “Emmett.”

“Ah. Even
more
interesting.” Pop picked up a head of iceberg lettuce and examined it for brown spots.

“But she's too timid to do anything about it,” I went on.

“Well, maybe she just needs a little push.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking in the direction of aisle three. “Maybe she does.”

 

After dinner, I shut myself up in my room and, for the first time since we'd arrived, I turned on my cell phone.

I'd sent six texts to Shay so far, the first four asking for a chance to explain and the last two begging for forgiveness. Each one had gone unanswered, which didn't exactly surprise me. The last time I'd seen her, she'd made it quite clear that she never wanted to speak to me again. It seemed she was fully on the bandwagon with the girls at school who thought I was a whore on some kind of devious mission to steal everyone's boyfriends. That was far from the truth. For one, I had no interest in stealing anyone's boyfriend. And two, I wasn't a whore, whatever that subjective term meant in their minds. Yes, I'd dated a lot of guys, but I'd never had sex with any of them. Usually, they dumped me before I had the chance to consider going that far. Harper was right. Boyfriends didn't like it when their girlfriends acted too friendly with other guys.

Even when you're
not
flirting, you're flirting
, Harper had told me. I guess she had a point. I knew if I didn't at least
try
to tone down my excessive friendliness, senior year would be hell. I needed to fix my reputation, and the first step would be showing everyone that I was so redeemed, so transformed, that even Shay had decided to forgive me.

I had the rest of summer to convince her to do it.

My cell phone kept wavering in and out of connectivity, but I'd always found if I stood on the edge of my bed and held it up toward the far corner of the ceiling, I'd get at least one bar. Just enough juice to send a quick text.

 

 

To my surprise, a response arrived two minutes later.

 

 

I tried to send another text, another appeal, but the signal had been cut off once again. Frustrated, I threw my cell on the bed and flopped down beside it, tears stinging my eyes. One party, one misunderstanding, and our friendship was over. She had been one of my last female friends, the last one to disregard the rumors and give me a chance to prove myself. And I'd failed. Horribly.

At least I'll always have Harper
, I thought, wiping the moisture from my face with my pillow. She was my cousin, sure, but also my friend. Possibly my
only
friend, depending on whether my classmates' negative opinion of me died out or gained traction over the summer.

After a while, I stopped crying and started formulating a plan. Harper just needed a little push, like Pop had said, and it was up to me to give her one. Maybe orchestrating someone else's relationship would stop me from constantly wrecking my own.

chapter 7

B
y ten o'clock the next morning, the plans were in motion. First, I called Nate McCurdy at his cottage to ask if he'd be willing to help. After a few lewd comments I chose to ignore, he readily agreed. Next, I talked to Harper. I had to propose a slightly edited version of my plan in order to get her on board, but hopefully she'd forgive me later if everything worked out.

The only thing left for me to do was convince Emmett.

At the lake, there were only two ways to effectively get in touch with people: call their landline or walk over to their cottage and see them. Since I didn't know Emmett's phone number, I slipped on a pair of flats and headed over there.

The first thing I noticed as I approached his cottage was that someone had ripped up Mrs. Canting's prized sunflowers. The second thing I noticed was the yelling. Two separate voices, one male and one female, trickled through the open windows and echoed across the yard. I couldn't quite work out the specifics of the argument, but it sounded like World War Three. For a second I considered turning back, but I really needed to secure plans for tonight and Emmett was the final corner piece I needed to complete the square. I was banking on his cooperation.

Determined, I crossed the driveway and stepped up to the door. Hesitating for only a moment, I knocked firmly on the weathered wood. The fighting ceased as if by magic, and the door was flung open to reveal a tall, red-faced man in a blue Polo shirt and shorts. “Yes?” he barked.

I gaped at him for a few seconds, speechless. He was breathing hard, as if he'd been interrupted in the middle of a workout instead of a screaming fight.

“Hi!” I said, attempting to muster one of my wide, toothy smiles. I couldn't quite manage it. “I'm looking for Emmett.”

He glanced over his shoulder into the house where I could see an outline of either a young girl or a very tiny woman. “He's not here. I think he went out for a run.”

“Oh. Right. Okay, I'll just come back later then.”

“And you are?” he asked, his dark eyes sweeping over my beribboned ponytail and polka-dotted blouse like I was some kind of freak of nature. Or a time traveler from the fifties.

“Kat Henley,” I said, thrusting my hand out.

He stared at it for a moment and then shook it briefly.

“I live a few cottages that way.” I pointed in the direction of our cabin.

“I see. Well, I'll tell Emmett you came by.” And with that, he backed into the house and closed the door behind him.

I stood there for a minute, trying to piece together what had just occurred. Obviously, that had been Emmett's father—he had the same multi-colored hair and perfectly straight nose. But he'd seemed so . . . abrupt. Unfriendly. I guess it wasn't very different from what I'd witnessed so far in his son.

“What are you doing here?”

Startled, I spun around and caught sight of Emmett standing a few feet away from the house and watching me with a vaguely panicked look on his face. He wore gray shorts and black sneakers and was naked from the waist up, unless you counted the ear bud wires dangling down his bare chest. They didn't cover much at all, however.

“Um,” I said, looking everywhere but at him. “I was looking for you.”

“What for?”

Behind me, the screaming had started anew. Quickly, I distanced myself from the door and moved closer to Emmett, all the while keeping my gaze trained above his neck and not on his defined, glistening torso.
Why does it have to be so hot today?
I wondered.

“A few of us are going to Goody's for dinner tonight,” I said, finding my smile. “You should join us.”

“I should?” He was still panting slightly from his run, and something about it made the tips of my ears feel warm.

I cleared my throat. “Definitely. It'll be me and my cousin Harper and McTur . . . uh, Nate . . . and some others.” There
would
be others there, I was sure, but they wouldn't be sitting at our table. It would be just the four of us. But like Harper, Emmett didn't need to know
all
the details.

“I don't know,” he said, raking a hand through his damp hair. As he did, a particularly loud burst of yelling filtered outside, making him wince. His cheeks, flushed with exertion, turned even redder.

“Oh, come on.” My hand went up to poke him, but I caught myself and pretended to scratch an itch on my shoulder instead.
Don't touch. Don't charm. And most important, don't look down.

“What's Goody's?” he asked.

“Oh, it's this little diner across the road from the entrance to the cottages. You must see it when you drive by. Great burgers. Made totally from scratch, even the buns.”

It was weird, standing there talking about burgers while a brawl ensued in the background. The raised voices seemed wrong and out of place in such a quiet, peaceful setting. Like hearing someone curse in church.

“Look, Kat, you should probably go,” Emmett said, his gaze flicking toward the cottage.

“Is everything okay?” I asked carefully.

He sighed. “Yeah. My parents are . . . well, this is normal.”

Normal?
Screaming fights at eleven o'clock on a beautiful summer morning at the lake was normal? I couldn't think of anything helpful to say, so I settled on, “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. Just go, okay? As you can hear, it's not the best time for me to have guests.”

I nodded and turned to leave. As I reached the copse of trees, I glanced back at him again. He was still standing in the same spot, hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground. “So you'll come with us tonight?” I asked. “Seven o'clock?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” he said impatiently as his parents' voices splintered the air. “I'll meet you guys there. Okay?”

Success.
I nodded at him again and started picking through bushes and tree roots to get to the woods path.

“Careful going through the woods,” Emmett called from behind me. “During my run the other day, I almost got flattened by some moron on an ATV.”

I had to force myself to keep walking at an even, non-guilty pace. “Thanks for the warning!” I called back, grateful that he could no longer see my face.

 

I knew before the night even began that I'd made a huge mistake.

My first clue was when Nate showed up at Goody's smelling like he'd just bathed in a tub of beer. Apparently, he and his twin brothers had spent the afternoon out on the lake, pretending to fish while they polished off the rest of the cans from the bonfire the other night.
Idiots.

My next clue was Harper's face when she spotted Emmett standing outside the restaurant and realized he was waiting for
us
. All I'd told her was that we were going to Goody's for dinner and that Nate and some other people might stop by, too. I'd neglected to mention Emmett's role in the proceedings. She looked at me, her expression vacillating between terror, excitement, and confusion.

When I smiled encouragingly at her, her eyes narrowed into slits.
You did this
, they said.

Awkwardness abounded when Sherry pointed us to a table and Nate quickly claimed the chair to the left of Harper's, forcing me to sit next to Emmett. The tables were small and round, so personal space and elbow room were basically non-existent. Harper sat on my other side, simultaneously blushing and shooting me dirty looks. Nate was acting even douchier than usual due to his beer-guzzling party earlier, and Emmett seemed embarrassed to be seen with us.

All I could do was try to salvage the evening before it veered off the rails and took us all with it.

“So, Emmett,” I said, breaking several long moments of uneasy silence. “You live in Hyde Creek, right? What's that like?”

He looked at me the same way he had at the supermarket yesterday when I'd almost run him over with the cart—surprised and a bit bewildered. “It's okay. Where are you from?”

“Oh, my dads and I live in Weldon, right downtown.”

I watched Emmett's face carefully as the words registered. People's reactions to hearing “my dads” for the first time ranged anywhere from curiosity to awe to disgust. If Emmett was going to act weird or offended, the matchmaking scheme of mine would fizzle out before it even got off the ground. Harper would never want to hang out with someone who disapproved of her favorite uncles. Neither would I, for that matter.

But luckily, all he did was nod and say, “Cool.”

The waitress, a new girl named Cindy, arrived with our drinks and asked if we were all ready to order. Thankfully, we were.

The instant she was out of sight again, Nate reached into his shorts pocket and brought out a small bottle of vodka. “Anyone want to supplement their drinks?” he asked as he unscrewed the cap in full view of the entire restaurant. It was virtually empty, but still.

“Are you insane?” I whisper-shrieked at him.

He poured a large dollop into his Coke while Emmett watched in amazement, Harper buried her head in her hands, and I scanned the place for witnesses. Getting banned from Goody's was all we needed.

“Last chance,” Nate said, glancing around the table.

We each shook our heads no. I wasn't opposed to alcohol and even indulged now and again, but never when I had to go right home afterwards. My dads would smell it on me from miles away, even scentless vodka. Harper never drank, and as for Emmett, he didn't seem like the risk-taking type. Either that or he thought we were all crazy and wanted to stay sharp and sober in case he needed to escape quickly.

By the time our food arrived, Emmett and Harper were barely speaking at all and Nate was a few sips away from full-on drunk. The more he drank, the more combative he became.

“Hey Emmett,” he said in a stage whisper as he leaned toward him. “You know why these two refuse to go out with me?”

I leaned across the table to slide his vodka-and-Coke closer to me and out of his reach. “Eat your cheeseburger, Nate.”

“Um, isn't she . . .” Emmett said, confused as he gestured to me, “out with you?”

Nate laughed. “Yeah, right. Kat made it
very
clear this morning that this was not a date. You know why? She thinks she's too good for me.”

“Quit it,” Harper snapped at him. “You're being an ass.”

He ignored her. “Or . . . wait, I have another theory. Maybe a bit of all that gay rubbed off on her and she's not into guys at all. Is that the problem, Hurricane? Because I can think of a few ways to change your mind.”

I dropped my French fry and gaped at him. “Seriously?”

“I don't think that's how it works,” Emmett said wryly.

Okay, maybe he was decent after all. Or maybe . . . maybe
he
was gay. I'd never considered that possibility. Even though I'd been raised by same-sex parents, my gaydar was terrible. Case in point, I'd spent two months last year flirting with a cute guy who lived in my building, completely oblivious to the fact that he wasn't really responding to my advances. Finally, he just came right out and told me one day that he played for the other team. It was so humiliating.

“McTurdy, the reason Kat won't go out with you is because you're a jackass,” Harper said, sounding more animated than she'd been all evening.

I nodded in agreement. Even though Harper was probably furious with me for setting this up without her knowledge, she still had my back.

“Well, fine by me,” Nate said, lifting himself off the chair and reaching across the tablecloth for his glass. As he plopped back down again, his unfocused gaze skimmed over the pink crop top I wore with my floral lace skirt. “I prefer skinny girls anyway. Hey Harper, you up for it? Oh wait . . . I prefer really hot girls.”

Nate had always been insufferable, but never to the point of nastiness. I would've liked to blame the vodka, but sadly enough, he could be just as douchy while stone-cold sober. In his mind, since Harper and I refused to spend our summers making out with him, we had to be either stuck-up snobs or lesbians. He was just that full of himself. I didn't care what he said about me—I'd heard worse around school—but he wasn't allowed to antagonize Harper like that.

“You're an asshole,” I told him.

“Fair enough.” He drained his glass and stood up. “This asshole has to go take a piss. Try not to miss me too much while I'm gone.”

He staggered off to the washroom while Harper, Emmett, and I stayed put at the table and picked halfheartedly at our food. This had to be the most unsuccessful secret setup date ever attempted.

“This was a
great
idea, Kat,” Harper said around her milkshake straw. “So glad you thought of it.”

“Is he always like that?” Emmett asked.

She nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Harper agreed.

Wow indeed
, I thought. At least Nate's repulsive behavior had gotten them talking—sort of—which was more than I'd thought was going to happen between them tonight. Perhaps my epic fail of a plan hadn't been a total waste of time after all.