Any Other Girl (8 page)

chapter 10

T
o make up for neglecting Pop last week as he wrote himself into a stupor, I made it my personal mission to ensure he got plenty of fresh air and sunshine. The mission began at precisely six-thirty on Monday evening, when I sat down across from him at the kitchen table as he tapped away on his laptop and ignored the grilled cheese sandwich I'd made for him.

“Time to go, Pop,” I said, rapping my knuckles against the table top.

“Hmm?” He glanced up at me without really seeing me. “Go where?”

“Harper's first game? Soccer? The Erwin Eagles?” I pressed my finger against his laptop screen and slowly began to push it closed. “Ring a bell?”

“Oh, right.” He scooted his laptop closer to him and opened it back up. “Okay, just let me finish this one—”

“No. I haven't bugged you all day, so you owe me at least a couple hours of father-daughter bonding.”

He stopped typing and looked at me for real, his forehead smoothing. “That I do,” he said, smiling as he hit SAVE and shut the laptop. He stood up, grabbed his car keys and the cold grilled cheese, and ushered me out the door.

As we crawled down the gravel road in Pop's Volvo, I spotted Emmett up ahead of us, alone and walking toward town. “Stop for a second,” I told Pop, and then I leaned out the passenger side window and called Emmett's name.

He spun around, startled, as if bracing for yet another collision. That first run in the woods had traumatized him, obviously, and he didn't even know about my involvement in his near-death.

“Hey,” he said, his face relaxing when he realized it was me. He walked over to my side of the car.

“Where you headed?” I asked him.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked behind him. “Just taking a walk,” he said, his eyes back on me.
They're at it again over there
, they told me.

“Well, why don't you come with us instead? We're on our way to Harper's game at the soccer field.”

“Oh, no, that's okay.”

“Come on. It'll be fun.” I glanced over at Pop, who was scratching his stubbly jaw like he did whenever he was trying to work out a scene in his head. No help there. “We're not from here, so Harper needs her own cheering section.”

Emmett deliberated for another few seconds before opening the door and climbing into the backseat. The station wagon was always a mess, so he had to move aside a pile of papers and junk before he could sit down. “Cool,” he said, picking up the object on top—one of the bookmarks Pop's publicist had made for his last book launch. “You're a K. B. Marks fan, too? The Core Earth series is awesome. Can't wait for Book Six to come out.”

I had to turn away and press my fist to my mouth to keep from laughing. K. B. Marks was Pop's pen name, a combination of my first initial, his first initial, and Dad's first name. Not many people knew the man behind the name. His paperbacks had no photo at the back, so he wasn't often recognized.

“Me either,” Pop said with a completely straight face. He loved it when he came across a fan who unwittingly discussed his own books with him. Usually, he didn't bother to set them straight.

If Emmett only knew that Book Six was currently under construction just a few cottages away from his.

 

The Erwin Eagles played their home games on the town's one and only soccer field, which was located behind the town's one and only high school. When we got there, we found Aunt Carrie seated on the rickety-looking bleachers along with about a dozen other spectators, most of whom were fanning themselves with books or magazines or whatever else was handy. On the field, the Eagles were alternating between warming up and eyeing the visiting team for potential weaknesses as they kicked the ball around.

Pop, Emmett, and I made our way up the bleachers to join her. After introductions had been made, Pop sat next to his sister while Emmett and I settled on the bench below them, the distance between us much greater than it had been on the log Saturday night. Shortly after we sat down, I spotted Harper, number fifty-eight. She looked tough and strong in her black Eagles jersey. From the looks of things, she was probably the youngest on the team. I hoped the Erwiners were treating her well.

“So you like to read sci-fi, do you?” I asked Emmett while we waited for the game to start.

“Yeah,” he said, squinting against the glare of the sun. “It's another escape thing, I guess. Why? Do you?”

“Nah,” I said, glancing back at my dad, who was deep in conversation with Aunt Carrie. “I find it kind of boring.”

“You'd probably like the Core Earth series, though. It's anything but boring.”

I placed my finger on my lips, feigning interest. “Really.”

“I own all the books. You can borrow them if you want.”

I held back another giggle and wondered how long I could keep up the charade. “No need . . . we have them all at home.”

He nodded, oblivious, and then turned his attention toward the field as a whistle sounded. The game was about to begin.

Harper was playing midfield, which used to be my position back when I played. But unlike me, she never hogged the ball or tried to be a hero. Her passes were smooth and precise, almost always reaching their target. When she helped her team score a goal in the first half, I reached into my bag and pulled out the pom-poms I'd made out of old magazines and tape that morning. I could feel Emmett staring at me as I jumped up and waved them around, yelling “Go, Harper, go!” at the top of my lungs. Actually, everyone was staring at me, even some of the players.

“You really do like to stand out, don't you?” Emmett said after I sat down again. He touched the magazine pages I'd spent two hours cutting into thin strips and shook his head at me, his expression one part amused and two parts embarrassed. He'd obviously had no idea what he was getting into, appearing in public with me.

Pop and Aunt Carrie were so used to my nuttiness, they'd barely reacted to my cheerleading routine.

Shortly before halftime, I started yelling for a different reason . . . at the ref. “Is he blind?” I grumbled to myself when the ref ignored me. “Number sixteen was clearly offside.”

“Do you play, too?” Emmett asked, sounding shocked that I knew my way around the game.

“I used to. Years ago.”

“Wow, I never would've guessed. I mean, you're so . . .” He gestured to my light pink maxi dress, neatly curled hair, and glossy pink lipstick, struggling for an adjective that wouldn't offend me.

“Girly? Dainty? Out of shape?”

“The first two.” He appraised me again with renewed interest. “Why did you stop? Playing, I mean.”

I shrugged and looked away, the universal signal for
Not even worth discussing
. I didn't like to admit it, to myself especially, that I'd stopped playing because of some stupid, ignorant comments made by a couple of gossipy soccer moms who didn't even know me. I'd not only quit sports, but changed my entire image on top of it, all because I wanted people to stop assuming I was somehow maladjusted and in need of female guidance. And that I was as much of a sell-out as Sherry, who had altered everything real and raw and special about Goody's just to appeal to the general masses. No, I'd much rather Emmett get to know me as I really was—someone who'd been raised by two men but was just like any other girl. Only with a different type of family from most people.

By the end of the first half, the Eagles were ahead three goals and I was worn out from cheering. Harper and her teammates spent halftime downing water and strategizing, but I did manage to catch her eye once. She waved, her gaze flickering to Emmett next to me. She hadn't said very much about their private walk to her cottage on Saturday night, and I wondered if anything had happened between them. And if she would've told me if something had. Until this summer, she'd never had anything like that to tell.

“Hey,” Emmett said beside me. “I'm actually getting a signal here.”

I waved back at my cousin, who watched us over the top of her water bottle as the coach lectured, and then I looked over at Emmett. He was holding his cell phone, scrolling through some texts he'd missed since moving out to the boonies. When he started typing a text of his own, I turned away and pulled out my own phone, hoping for a message from Shay, a change of heart. Nothing. I sighed and glanced over at Emmett again, who was still texting away.
Maybe he has a girlfriend back home,
I thought. That would explain his apparent lack of interest in the girls of Millard Lake.

“What's your cell number?” Emmett asked me once he'd finished texting whoever it was he'd been texting.

I told him without even thinking about it first. A moment later, a text appeared on my phone.

 

 

Smiling, I typed back.
Who's this?

He typed for a few seconds, his thumb flying across the letters, and soon my phone dinged again.

 

 

I snorted.

 

 

 

 

 

I grunted indignantly and elbowed him in the ribs. He ducked away, laughing, and I could feel the huge smile on my face even as I realized what I'd just done could be considered flirting.
Don't touch. Don't smile. Don't charm
. What was wrong with me? I couldn't act this way anymore, especially not with Emmett. If Harper ever looked at me the way Shay had, if her familiar blue eyes ever burned with disappointment and betrayal from something I'd done to her, it would destroy me.

Emmett, whether he knew it or not, would be my practice subject. If I could stop myself from flirting with someone so irresistibly cute, I'd be well on my way to reformed.

Luckily, I was saved from further temptation by my father's hand on my shoulder. “Hey Noodle, you just missed Harper's amazing pass.”

My phone chimed again.

 

 

Instead of answering, I gave Emmett another indifferent shrug, turned off my phone, and shifted my full attention to the field and my cousin . . . where it belonged.

chapter 11

F
or the most part, Erwin was the kind of town you passed through without stopping, barely noteworthy enough to locate on a map. Only two things inspired visitors to actually go there on purpose—the lake and the town's annual summer carnival.

It wasn't some dinky little fair. Erwin went all out. Rides, games, cotton candy, go-carts, live music . . . it was always the most exciting thing to happen all summer. The carnival usually set up sometime in July and stuck around for about a week, long enough for Harper and me to overdose on sugar and win at least five stuffed animals apiece. We'd gone every year—first with our parents and then just the two of us—since we'd started spending summers at the lake. A few times, we'd gone with the McCurdy brothers, but that wouldn't be happening this year. Instead, we kidnapped Emmett.

Well, not literally. We didn't force him to come with us, but it may have happened against his will. Kind of. And it was Harper's idea, not mine, to drive up to his cottage on Thursday evening, the opening night of the carnival, and lure him into the backseat of her mother's Subaru.

“Maybe we should've called first,” I said as we idled in his driveway, staring at the dark cottage. Luckily, all was quiet in there. Probably because both his parents' vehicles were missing. “It doesn't look like anyone's home.”

“How are we supposed to call first? We don't have his number.”

All of a sudden, I felt acutely aware of my cell phone tucked into my purse and still bearing Emmett's name, phone number, and every single text he'd sent me at the soccer game the other day. I should've told Harper about them, even shown them to her just to prove how innocent our banter had been, but for some reason I hadn't.

“Right,” I said, swallowing around a lump of guilt. “Let's go up and knock on the door.”

Harper gripped the steering wheel like I was about to drag her outside bodily. “No! This is embarrassing. Let's just go.”

“Harper. He's probably in there wondering who's out here lurking in his driveway and if they're about to break in and murder him. The least we can do is let him know it's us.”

“You go, then. I'll stay here. If he sees he's outnumbered, he might call the cops. Or start shooting.”

“Good point.” I got out of the car and smoothed the skirt of my dress. In the spirit of the occasion, tonight's look had been modeled after Rachel McAdams in the carnival scene of
The Notebook
, one of my favorite movies. My red dress was somewhat different from hers, more summery, but I'd gotten the hair exactly right—loose and held back on one side. All I needed was my own Ryan Gosling.

I banged on Emmett's door for a good three minutes, the reverberation bouncing off the trees. Finally, just as I half-turned to yell to Harper that he wasn't home, the door flew open and there he stood. Wearing nothing but shorts. Again. And dripping. Again. But the beads of moisture falling from the ends of his hair and running down his chest were made up of water, not sweat. I knew because he smelled strongly of soap, like he'd just been in the shower.

“Oh,” he said, pushing the screen open. “Hey, Kat.”

Speak
, I ordered myself. I could hear the engine of my aunt Carrie's Subaru, purring impatiently behind me. I wondered if Harper was staring with her mouth hanging open like a dumbass, too. “Hi,” I said, rearranging my lips into a smile. “We've come to take you to the carnival.”

“The what?”

“The carnival.” I shook my head, at a loss to explain. “Just, um . . . dry off and meet us out here when you're ready.”

He gave me a weird look and then pulled back, letting the screen slam shut between us. He didn't close the heavy wood door, though, which I assumed meant he'd be back. It also meant I could see the way his shorts just barely clung to his hip bones as he walked away. Not that I was supposed to notice.

I got back into the car, hoping my face wasn't as flushed as it felt.

“Is he coming?” Harper asked, and then she raised her eyebrows at me. “And was he just, like, half-naked or was that my imagination?”

“He was in the shower,” I said, trying in vain to deflect my own imagination.

Emmett emerged from his cottage five minutes later, fully dressed and mostly dry, and climbed into the backseat. “Where exactly are you taking me?” he asked warily, like we really were there to abduct him.

“You'll see,” Harper said, backing out of the driveway and onto the road.

The sky was just beginning to get dark, which made the first glimpse of the lit-up Ferris wheel all the more thrilling. Harper and I grinned at each other as she turned into the large parking area next to the fairgrounds.

“I swear this wasn't here yesterday morning when my mom sent me to the store for ant traps,” Emmett said, gazing at the colorful rides the same way most people over the age of fourteen did—like he was suddenly a little kid again.

“It's a traveling carnival,” I explained as we parked and exited the car. “It just got here today.”

The midway was packed. It seemed like everyone in town had shown up, families and kids and teenagers and old people and tourists. At one point, as we shouldered our way to the ticket booth, I tripped over some woman's foot and fell backwards into Emmett, who was behind me. He caught and then righted me, his hands cupping my elbows. I glanced back to thank him, trying not to think about how warm and solid his chest had felt against my back.

“Where to first?” Harper asked once we all had our tickets.

“The Tilt-a-Whirl!” I suggested. It was my favorite.

“No way,” she said. “You know what spinny rides do to my stomach.”

Emmett caught my eye. “I'll go with—”

“Kat?”

I felt a hand on my forearm and spun around to see Sawyer Bray standing there, grinning and looking much taller and cuter than he had the last time I'd seen him. “Oh my God,” I said, reaching up to hug him.

He was a local boy I'd known for years. We'd sort of dated for a couple weeks near the end of last summer, but it was all very casual. When the end of August had rolled around, I went home, he'd stayed in Erwin, we'd both moved on with our lives, and that was the end of our little romance. I'd never felt anything for him beyond general fondness, so I wasn't exactly broken up about it. In fact, I'd forgotten all about him until I saw him.

“I thought I might see you here,” Sawyer said, hugging me tight. He smelled like aftershave and beer. “You look great.”

“You look
tall
. And where did these come from?” I squeezed his new, bulky bicep muscles and grinned up at him. He'd matured quite nicely over the winter. He'd always been suitably cute with his curly dark hair and deep-set brown eyes, but the filled-out body made him look much less boyish.

“Hey, Harper,” he said, nodding courteously to her.

Harper, never one for fake friendliness, nodded back and mumbled a grudging hello. The two of them had never gotten along; she thought he was conceited and annoying, and he thought she was an uptight stick-in-the-mud. The subtle hostility between them had only escalated when Sawyer and I started spending time together. He'd kept trying to pawn her off on his friends in a not-so-subtle attempt to get rid of her so he could spend some time alone with me, which my cousin did not appreciate.

But it was a brand new summer—Operation
Best
Summer, no less—so maybe we could all start fresh.

“Do you girls want to go throw some darts at balloons?” Sawyer asked. “I bet I can win you that giant stuffed dog wearing the sunglasses.”

“Oh, um . . .” I looked over at Emmett, who had backed up a couple paces and appeared to be studying with intense fascination the price list on the side of the ticket booth. “This is Emmett,” I told Sawyer. “He's new to Millard Lake this summer.”

“Hey,” Sawyer said.

Emmett nodded at him much the same way Harper had—tersely and with a hint of suspicion.

Sensing a kinship, she moved a few inches closer to Emmett. “Why don't you guys go ahead?” She shot me a significant look, one that said
I want to be alone with Emmett for a while.

Emmett was looking at me too, but his expression was closed off. Almost bored.

“Okay,” I said and let Sawyer pull me into the crowd.

We threw darts for a while, never quite busting enough balloons to score the big prizes. Then we moved on to the ring toss, which was obviously fixed but fun nonetheless, even if I didn't win a goldfish. Next, we headed to the Tilt-a-Whirl and stood in line for twenty minutes, catching each other up on our lives. Last summer, Sawyer had just graduated from high school and was working at his father's gas station a few miles out of town. Apparently, he'd really liked it because he'd chosen to keep working there instead of moving on to something bigger and better, like college or a more lucrative job elsewhere. Some people, Sawyer claimed, were never meant to leave Erwin.

After getting sufficiently scrambled on the Tilt-a-Whirl, we moved on to the more relaxing Ferris wheel. Once we'd reached the top, I scanned the ground for Harper and Emmett but couldn't spot them anywhere. They were probably at the bumper cars, Harper's favorite. She was vicious in one of those things.

“I think you've gotten even more beautiful since last summer,” Sawyer told me as the wheel began to revolve. My hair whipped across my face from the breeze and he reached up to brush it back, tucking it behind my ear. I promptly stopped caring about what Harper and Emmett were up to and focused on the goose bumps Sawyer's fingers had raised on my neck.

Back on solid ground again, we pushed our way through the mob to the concession area, where Sawyer bought a bag of fresh-popped popcorn for us to share. I felt dizzy . . . from the rides and the speed at which we'd reconnected. It was like fall, winter, and spring had never even happened.

“You want to get out of here?” he asked once we'd demolished the bag of popcorn.

I wiped my buttery fingers on a napkin and tossed it in a nearby trash can. “I can't just ditch my cousin and our friend.”

“Right.” He took my hand and looked at me with an intensity that made my stomach quiver. I knew exactly what he had in mind, and I couldn't really say I was opposed to the idea. That was why, I suppose, I let him lead me to a quieter, less populated spot near the equipment trailers. Next to a bundle of cords that I wasn't entirely sure wouldn't electrocute us if we stepped on them, he drew me toward him and pressed his lips to mine.

I looped my arms around his neck and thought about the last time I'd seen him, how he'd kissed me good-bye in my driveway when my dads weren't looking. He'd been kind of scrawny then, and just a few inches taller than my five-foot-five. Now he towered over me, his hands big and strong as they slid up the sides of my dress.

“Whoa,” I mumbled as he backed me up against the side of a trailer and started nibbling on my neck. I wondered how many beers he'd had and if he was too drunk to care that we were in a public place. I may have loved attention, but I wasn't an exhibitionist. “Not here,” I said, pushing him back.

“No one's watching,” he said, and then advanced on me again, his lips on my neck, his hands roaming freely.

I jumped when his fingers closed around my left breast. Sawyer and I had spent a lot of time together last summer, and we'd kissed a lot, but he'd never, ever tried groping me. He'd always been the sweet, conservative type. Apparently, those qualities had vanished right along with his scrawny frame.

“I said
not here
,” I snapped, shoving his hand away.

He just laughed. “What do you think I brought you over here for, Kat?”

Not this
, I thought when he came at me again, all hands and hot breath and unrelenting strength. Noah never did anything like that to Allie in
The Notebook
. The worst he'd done was hang off the Ferris wheel until she agreed to go out with him, and she'd never once regretted saying yes.

When you're in trouble, scream, even if you're not sure.
That was what my dads had taught me. But I couldn't muster the breath to speak, let alone scream, so I did the next best thing. I pushed him as hard as I could and then delivered a swift uppercut to his chin.

Sawyer reeled back, a loud snarl escaping through his clenched teeth. His hand came up to cradle his jaw and he glared at me like I'd punched him in the face for no reason at all. I just stood there, speechless, clenching and unclenching my fist. Even though I'd had three years of training in boxing and knew how to throw a punch, Sawyer's chin must have been made out of extra hard bone because my knuckles effing
hurt
.

“Jesus Christ, Kat,” he roared at me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the hell is wrong with
you
? If I'd known what a jerk you turned into, I never would've gone anywhere with you.”

He moved toward me then, fury in his eyes, and I figured he was either going to hit me back or attempt another grope. But I never found out which because just before he reached me, someone appeared in front of me and blocked his path. Someone with wavy brown hair who smelled like soap.

“Touch her and I'll bust the rest of your face,” Emmett said calmly.

“Dude, I wasn't gonna lay a finger on her,” Sawyer said, spitting a glob of blood on the grass. “I don't hit girls.”

“No, you just try to force yourself on them,” an infuriated voice chimed in on my right.