Any Other Girl (7 page)

chapter 8

D
uring the week that had passed since the near-accident with Emmett in the woods, I was still too traumatized to get back on the ATV. But when Saturday morning dawned so clear and so beautiful, I could no longer fight the urge to suit up and ride.
This time,
I thought as I started the engine,
I'll pay better attention to my surroundings and keep my eyes peeled.

As it turned out, the extra vigilance was unnecessary. I didn't spot anything in the woods aside from a few squirrels and a garter snake. The only time I paused was when I came across a small blue tent set up near the narrow brook that ran deep in the woods. People sometimes camped there so its presence wasn't unusual, but I slowed down a fraction in case someone suddenly popped out of it and stepped in my path. Luckily, no one did.

When I got back to the cottage, Harper was seated at my kitchen table, keeping Dad company while he drank his coffee and read the morning paper. He'd arrived yesterday evening, exhausted from a long week of work.

“How was your ride?” he asked, looking up from his newspaper.

“Peaceful.” As I kicked off my boots, I noticed the gym bag by Harper's feet. “Did Erwin open up a health club over the winter or something?”

“No. I start practice with the soccer team this morning, remember?”

“Oh, right.” To keep her skills up over the summer, Harper had joined a local women's soccer league. She'd badgered me to join, too, but I'd declined. Not only was I rusty and out of shape, but I saw summer as a time for relaxing, not adhering to a grueling practice schedule.

“I came over to see if you wanted to go with me,” she said.

I filled a glass with water at the kitchen sink. “Sorry, but all I want to do right now is stand in a freezing cold shower.”

“You're coming to our first game though, right? It's Monday evening.”
You owe me,
her eyes said.

It was true. I owed her that and more after Tuesday night's disastrous “double date” at Goody's. Well, the night hadn't been a
total
loss. Harper's irritation with me all but disappeared when Emmett paid for our food and then offered to walk us back to our cottages. At that point, Nate was still in the bathroom, likely puking up everything he'd ingested in the last several hours. The decision to leave him behind was unanimous. The jerk deserved to be ditched.

As the three of us strolled down the gravel road to the cottages, Emmett must've been swept up in a sense of camaraderie because he was no longer the quiet, reticent boy we'd seen at the bonfire and during dinner. In fact, we'd been able to coax quite a bit of info out of him. I let my mind drift back to our walk home.

 

Like me,
I thought. Harper and I exchanged a surprised look. There was something in his demeanor—a hardened maturity—that made him seem older, like he'd been through a lot. Or seen too much.

Brother?
As far as I knew, it was just him and his parents at the Canting cottage.

He shot me a quick glance, eyebrows raised, as if to say
What do you think
? I dropped my gaze, feeling a little stupid. Clearly, the new peaceful backdrop wasn't helping at all.

 

I shook my head to clear it. Maybe they
both
needed pushes.

“Of course I'll be at your first game,” I told Harper as I refilled my water glass. “Though I'm sure the Erwiners are going to stare at us like we're circus freaks.”

Harper grabbed her bag and stood up. “Great. I need my own cheering section.”

“I'll bring my pom-poms,” I promised.

She laughed like I'd made a joke and then waved at us on her way out the door. “Say good morning to Uncle Bryce for me.”

When she was gone, I took her spot next to Dad at the table. “Where's Pop?”

“Sleeping in.” Dad put down his paper and looked at me. “How many hours did he spend writing this week, Katrina?”

A wave of guilt hit me and I dropped my gaze to the placemat. Whenever Dad was gone, he relied on me to make sure Pop didn't waste away in front of his laptop. I'd been so preoccupied with my matchmaking scheme and hanging out with Harper that I hadn't done a very good job of monitoring Pop's well-being. I knew for a fact he'd skipped several meals and at least one shower in order to pound out a few extra thousand words. He always got like this near the end of a book. The story consumed him and he could think of little else until he finished it.

“He was working on an epic battle scene,” I said defensively. “I didn't have the heart to interrupt him.”

“His agent wants the book by September and he's feeling all this pressure from his readers . . .” Dad sighed and ran a hand over his face. “God, I think I liked it better when he wrote user manuals for a living.”

“But he hated being a technical writer,” I reminded him. “Writing this series makes him happy.”

The corners of Dad's eyes crinkled as he smiled at me. “True. Now go take a shower before you scare someone with that helmet hair.”

 

A couple hours later I was stretched out on my stomach on the dock, soaking up UV rays and reading a dog-eared romance paperback I'd left at the cottage years ago. It was my favorite time of day—the sun had finished burning off the morning fog, leaving behind a clear, brilliant blue sky. The lake was a sheet of glass, its stillness interrupted only by an occasional breeze or fallen leaf. Or in the case of that particular morning, the motor of a small aluminum fishing boat.

“Hey, Hurricane!”

I shut my eyes and muttered a four-letter word. I'd been hoping it would be Dr. McCurdy passing by in their boat on his way to catch some rainbow trout. No such luck. When I glanced up from my book, Nate was steering himself toward me. I watched as he killed the engine and floated the rest of the way, reaching an arm out to grab the ladder that hung off the end of our dock. The front of the boat bumped against the corner, shaking the boards beneath me. His father would kill him if he knew how his son treated his beloved boat.

“What do you want?” I asked, returning my gaze to the book. Harper and I had been avoiding him—or maybe he'd been avoiding us—since we'd ditched him in the washroom at Goody's.

“Look, Hurricane—”

“Kat.”

“Look, Kat, I know you guys are pissed at me for the other night and I wanted to come over and tell you that I'm sorry.”

I peered up at him through my big sunglasses. He sat on the boat's bench seat, shirtless and disheveled, his body swaying slightly from the small waves the motor had produced. For once, he wore an expression of what appeared to be genuine remorse, usually a foreign emotion for Nate.

“You acted like a complete dick,” I told him, not quite ready to fall for his apology. “I asked you to go out to dinner with us so Harper and Emmett would feel less awkward, but you made everything even
more
awkward. All you had to do was sit there and behave like a normal human being, and you couldn't even get
that
right.”

“I know,” he said, hanging his head. “I shouldn't have gotten drunk beforehand, or brought that vodka with me. It was a stupid thing to do.”

Okay, he was starting to freak me out. Nate
thrived
on doing stupid things. The summer we were thirteen, he'd tried to jump his bike over a huge patch of thorny bushes (he made it about halfway). The summer we were fourteen, he threw a water bottle filled with gasoline into a fire and almost burned the forest down. When we were fifteen, he convinced Keaton to eat some suspicious mushrooms he'd found in the woods, which luckily turned out to be just plain mushrooms and not the poisonous kind. Last summer, he “borrowed” his father's Lexus and backed it into a tree. His idiocy knew no bounds. My dads blamed it on “a lack of discipline and structure in the home.” I blamed it on the fact that he was a boy.

“How about I make it up to you?” Nate asked, giving me a winning smile. “I'm having another bonfire tonight. You guys should come.”

“No,” I said, turning a page in my paperback.

“My mom bought the stuff for s'mores,” he sang.

My mouth watered at the promise of warm, gooey chocolate. Then I thought about Shay and all those texts I'd sent, begging for her forgiveness. Everyone deserved a second chance at redemption, even McTurdy. “Okay, maybe. On three conditions.”

“Shoot.”

I put my book down and looked him square in the eye. “One—stop staring at my ass.”

He tore his gaze away from my bikini-clad behind. “I wasn't,” he lied.

“Two—apologize to Emmett for the way you acted on Tuesday night.”

“Already did. I ran into him yesterday and invited him to come over tonight. He said he would.”

Perfect,
I thought.
Condition two might help facilitate condition three.
“And three—apologize to Harper and convince her to go tonight . . . all by yourself.”

His smile drooped. “How am I supposed to do that? She hates me. I'll apologize, but it's you who needs to convince her, Kat. She always listens to you.”

I picked up my book again. “Sorry. Those are the conditions.”

For a moment, the only sound between us was the rhythmic thump of the boat rocking against the side of the dock. Then Nate made a growling noise and said, “Fine. Is she at her cottage?”

“Yeah, she's probably back from soccer practice by now.”

He pushed against the ladder and reached behind him to the motor. “I've always kind of liked her, you know,” he said, his hand pausing on the switch.

“Harper?” I said, shocked. “You
like
her?” He had a funny way of showing it.

“Since that first summer.” He grinned slyly. “She was, like, this older woman.”

I laughed. “Yeah, a whole year older. Is that why you were acting like such a jerk the other night? Because you were jealous of Emmett?”

“Maybe,” he said as if the thought had never occurred to him.

“How come you've never seriously asked her out?”

“Like I said, she hates me.” Nate pulled a cord and the motor sputtered to life, effectively ending our conversation. “See you tonight!” he shouted over the racket, and then he pointed the boat in the direction of Harper's cottage.

Good luck
, I thought, watching him go. Trying to push Harper and Emmett together was challenging enough, and he was a guy she
liked
. Convincing her to see Nate in a different light would take nothing short of a miracle.

chapter 9

“R
emind me why we're doing this again?” Harper asked me as we picked our way along the shoreline.

“Because Nate promised to behave,” I said, hopping over a slimy rock. “
And
provide s'mores.”

“We could've made s'mores in the fire pit in your yard.”

“Right. You think Pop would let me have unlimited access to sugar like that?”

Harper shook her head. “I can't believe my mom and your dad came from the same parents.”

“I know.” We discussed this all the time, how different Pop and Aunt Carrie were in spite of being raised in the same household. Aunt Carrie was a lot more laid back and go-with-the-flow. She was a high school teacher and a big believer in picking your battles.

We were the last to show up in the bonfire clearing. Emmett had already arrived and was sitting by himself on one of the logs, head bent as he stabbed a stick into the coarse sand below him. Zoe and Gabriella paddled in the water nearby, giggling and dunking each other and essentially putting on a show for the guys. But only the twins were watching, their mouths hanging open in dual expressions of awe. Nate was busy getting the fire going, and Emmett kept on drawing patterns in the sand like it was the only thing preventing him from dying of boredom.

“Ladies,” Nate said when he saw us. His eyes literally twinkled in the glow of the fire as if he was silently congratulating himself on luring us there. I raised my eyebrows at him warily and went to join Emmett on the log. There was just enough space to the right of him for one person, and I immediately claimed that spot so Harper would have no choice but to sit on his other side.

“Hi, Emmett,” I said cheerfully. “You're here for the s'mores too, huh?”

He sat up straight and threw his stick into the crackling fire. “Obviously.”

Zoe or Gabriella let out another loud squeal from the water, and Harper rolled her eyes. To his credit, Emmett hadn't looked their way even once since we'd arrived. Either he had caught on to their utter shamelessness or he really
was
gay. I still hadn't decided.

With the fire suitably underway, Nate stood up and peered over at us. “Hey, Harper,” he said, brushing off his hands. “Want to help me bring down the s'mores supplies?”

“I'll help you, Nate!” Zoe called from the water.

Nate ignored her.

“Um,” Harper said, glancing at me.

Earlier, I'd told her what Nate had said that morning in his boat, how he'd liked her since that first summer. Her response had been to wrinkle her nose like she'd smelled decaying fish and make gagging noises, but she didn't seem
totally
against the idea.

“I guess so,” she decided after a long pause, and slowly stood up to join him. Together, they walked up the steps to Nate's cottage.

“Nate's mom always gets the good chocolate,” I said to Emmett. I felt slightly awkward, sitting so close to him without Harper. But getting up and moving to his other side would be weird, and it didn't seem like he was about to scoot over anytime soon. “Like this Swiss stuff that literally melts in your mouth,” I went on, trying to distract us both from the fact that our thighs were touching. “So yummy.”

He looked over at me, his lips turning up into a small smile. He didn't smile often, but when he did, it transformed his face and his demeanor. Smiling Emmett seemed lighter, more relaxed. And about ten times cuter.

“You know what?” he said, his gaze traveling over my hair, which was fashioned into a forties-inspired roll, and then down to my yellow, halter-style dress. “You look different every time I see you.”

I couldn't stop myself from smiling back at him. “I like to stand out.”

“Well, you definitely do,” he told me, and once again I felt the tips of my ears grow warm.

We fell silent, each of us mesmerized by the growing flames in front of us. The smoldering wood sizzled and spit, throwing sparks into the air above. I struggled to think of something to say, something random and safe, and settled on, “What happened to the sunflowers?”

Emmett glanced at me again. “What?”

“The sunflowers,” I repeated. “In front of your cottage. The ones Mrs. Canting planted. I noticed when I was over there the other day that they're gone. What happened to them?”

“Oh, those. My mom ripped them up. She thinks sunflowers are creepy.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning even wider. “She says they look like giant black eyes, watching her.”

I laughed. “I guess they kind of do.”

His smile disappeared and he shifted his position on the log. “Look, I've been meaning to talk to you about that day you came to see me. What you heard—”

I reached out to touch his arm, to stop him from talking, but retracted my hand at the last second.
No touching
. “You don't have to explain.”

“I know, but I want to.” He took a deep breath and exhaled it through his nose. “Like I told you, what you heard that morning was normal for them. My parents have been at each other's throats for as long as I can remember. I'm not sure when it started, or why, but it's always been this way. Sometimes they go months without fighting and everything's good, but then something will set one of them off and it'll start all over again.”

“What do they fight about?”

“Everything. Work, money, chores . . . me. Sometimes they try to get me to take sides, and when I do, one of them will accuse the other of trying to turn me against them. They used to do the same thing to my brother Wes. That's why he moved away right after graduation and has hardly been back since.” He stretched his legs out toward the fire. “I still have another year before I can escape, but I try to stay out of the house as much as I can. That's one of the reasons I joined the cross-country team, you know. When I'm running, all I can hear is my breathing. I don't have to think about anything other than where my foot is going next. It centers me. Quiets my mind.”

I placed my palm on his forearm and squeezed. I couldn't help it; I was a hugger, a toucher, especially when someone was so clearly in need of a dose of positive human contact. He didn't stiffen up or pull away, so I assumed he didn't mind the offer of comfort.

“I can't believe I just told you all that,” he said, sighing. “I don't usually talk about it, especially to someone I only met a week ago, but I figured I owed you an explanation after what happened. Thinking back on it, I was kind of rude to you that morning. Sorry.”

I waved my free hand, brushing away the unneeded apology. “What about divorce?” I asked him gently. “My aunt Carrie and her ex-husband fought a lot too, and everyone was much better off when they separated.” The mention of Harper's parents made me think of her, and I dropped my hand from Emmett's warm arm.

“They've tried separating twice already and got back together both times. I'm not sure why . . . it's like they hate each other.” His eyes met mine again. In the dark, the blue of his irises seemed black like Mrs. Canting's creepy sunflowers. “Do your parents get along?”

I nodded. “For the most part, yes. They've been together for twenty-three years, since they were seniors in college, and they're still in love. They rarely fight, and I absolutely hate it when they do. I can't imagine listening to it all the time.”

“You're lucky.”

“I know.” Even when Pop was being overprotective, or when Dad was away on a business trip instead of spending time with me, I never took for granted how fortunate I was to have them.

“Are you . . .” Emmett shifted again, running a hand through his hair in a gesture I'd come to recognize as nervousness. “Are you, um, adopted?”

It was a question I received often, so I never took offense at the personal nature of it. “No,” I replied, and then went on to explain about Aunt Beth's egg donation, the surrogacy, and Dad's contribution to it all. “Most kids like me are either adopted or related to just one parent, but I'm biologically related to both my dads.”

“That's so cool,” he said. “I mean, that something like that is possible.”

“It wasn't easy, but it was important to them.”

“So how do you decide whose last name to use?”

That was another question I got often. My dads had been legally married for several years, but unlike most opposite-sex couples, they'd both kept their last names.

“That was the subject of one of their rare fights, so the story goes,” I said. “Since Dad is technically my
father
, my other dad—I call him Pop to avoid confusion—argued that I should get
his
last name. So I'm Kat Henley, which is fortunate because my other dad's last name is Colvin. Kat Colvin sounds too cutesy, even for me.”

Emmett smiled again. “At least your last name doesn't make people think of peanut butter cups.”

“Mmm,” I said, because I was thinking about chocolate again. Where were Harper and Nate? They'd been gone for at least fifteen minutes. Actually, where was
everyone
? Zoe and Gabriella and the twins had all disappeared, too. I'd been so preoccupied talking to Emmett, I hadn't even noticed their departure.

“Well,” I said, stretching out my legs next to his. “I guess we should—” But before I had a chance to finish my sentence, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs and Harper appeared, looking out of sorts.

“Harper, what's wrong?” I asked when I saw her face. She was frowning and looked close to tears.

“Nothing,” she said, eyeing the lack of space between Emmett and me.

Flustered, I stood up and moved toward her. Up close, her eyes were red and puffy.

“Are you ready to go? Let's go.”

“What happened?” I demanded. So help me, if Nate had done something to her, I'd make him wish he was never born.

“Nothing.” Her eyes flicked to Emmett, who was still sitting on the log a few feet away, watching us.

I grabbed her arm and led her away, closer to the water. “Tell me,” I whispered.

“It's nothing, Kat.”

I refused to let go of her arm or leave until she spilled. She must have seen it on my face because she caved pretty quickly.

“Nate tried to kiss me in the kitchen and I wouldn't let him, so he got pissed and said he wasn't desperate enough to make out with me anyway. Then he found Zoe and started making out with her. That's what happened, okay? Satisfied? Can we go now?”

White hot rage bubbled in my stomach. “That son of a bitch,” I snarled. “I'm gonna kick his ass.” I started toward the stairs, murder in my heart, but Harper pulled me back.

“Just forget it, Kat. It's not worth it. He was just being Nate.”

“No, he was just being a total shithead.”

“Same difference,” she said as Emmett came up behind us and asked if everything was okay. “We're fine,” she replied. “Just leaving.”

“I'll walk you guys home,” he said.

The three of us headed toward the dark road, not even bothering to stop by Nate's cottage as we passed to let him know we were leaving. That jerk had officially run out of chances and it was only the second week of summer.

“Why do you guys even hang out with him?” Emmett asked as we walked.

I was in the middle, with him on my left and Harper on my right. Going by the undercurrent of disgust in his voice, he'd overheard our conversation earlier. I'd forgotten how voices tended to carry near the lake.

“I don't know,” Harper said bitterly. “Habit?”

“He's always been kind of an asshat,” I put in. “But mostly a harmless kind of asshat, you know? I'm not sure what happened to him over the past year, but this summer it's like he's reached a whole new level of asshattery.”

“All I know is, that was my last bonfire at McTurdy's cottage,” Harper said.

“Mine too.”

“And mine,” Emmett said, and a moment later, I felt his broad shoulder brush against my bare one. It was really dark on the road, the gravel uneven in spots, so I was sure it had been an accident. But my skin tingled nonetheless.

Just like last Tuesday, the two of them dropped me at my cottage first and then continued on to Harper's. But unlike last Tuesday, I didn't go inside right away to assure them maximum privacy. Instead, I stood at the edge of my driveway, watching them until they reached a curve in the road and disappeared.