Any Other Girl (22 page)

chapter 29

I
stood at my locker after the last bell of the day, trying in vain to ignore the nervous rumbling in my stomach. The hallway behind me was emptying quickly; I'd probably be late if I didn't get going soon.

My phone chimed with an incoming text. Welcoming the disruption, I dug it out of my backpack and checked the screen, smiling when I saw the message from Emmett.

 

 

I texted back a quick thanks, but that was all the conversation I had time for. I'd see him tomorrow, anyway, when he arrived for our first Saturday visit. We were both looking forward to it, even though at first, he'd been reluctant to leave home. His mom had filed for divorce earlier in the week, a move he feared might send his dad into another rage, but he calmed down when my dads suggested that his mom spend the day in Weldon, too, a solution that pleased us all. Mrs. Reese would hang out with my dads while I escorted Emmett around the city, showing him all my favorite spots.

Planning our first post-summer day together had been a great distraction during those first three weeks of school, when loneliness almost crushed me. My old friends weren't acting hostile toward me, but they weren't exactly friendly, either. Evidently, school hadn't been in session long enough for them to recognize the changes in me that I'd struggled so hard to make.

Oh well
, I thought as I shut my locker and headed toward the stairs.
Rise above
.

Outside, the soccer field was overflowing with girls of various shapes and sizes, all wearing shorts and T-shirts. They gathered in clusters beneath the still-hot sun, stretching stiff muscles and waiting patiently for Mrs. Hyland, the coach. I took a deep breath and then joined them, staking out a vacant spot in which to loosen my own sluggish muscles.

“Kat?” said a familiar voice from behind me, jolting me out of my warm-up. “What are you doing here?”

I turned around and waited patiently while her dark brown eyes took me in from my tied-back hair right down to my brand new soccer cleats—pink ones, of course. Then I said, “Hi, Shay.”

“
You're
trying out for the soccer team?” Her tone sounded more surprised than snotty, so I let myself relax a bit. Shay was aware of my athletic past and the reasons I'd quit sports, but like me, she'd assumed my resignation was permanent. Also like me, she was shocked to discover that it clearly wasn't.

“Yeah,” I replied, and then went back to stretching my hamstrings.

I expected her to walk away then, return to wherever she'd been before she spotted me and settle right back into ignoring my existence. But instead, she fell in beside me on the grass and wordlessly copied my movements. When I glanced over at her, she looked back at me with the tiniest shadow of a smile. I responded with a bigger one of my own.

Mrs. Hyland showed up then with her clipboard and immediately started organizing the first warm-up drill, which involved directing a moving ball between two cones. “Okay, girls,” she bellowed after she'd set up the goal and had us form a line. “Let's see what you can do.”

My nervousness had all but disappeared by the time I reached the front of the line. My turn. I tightened my ponytail and sprinted onto the field, my new cleats digging into the soft earth. Just like with boxing, my body seemed to fall back into the right rhythms all on its own. When the ball rolled in my direction, I didn't even have to think. I just ran forward and kicked.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Kat's story never would have made it off my computer without the help and support of a lot of people. I would like to thank:

Carly Watters, for your tireless support, gentle pushes, and thoughtful edit notes that always make me see my manuscripts in a whole new way. Your hard work and determination helped get me to this point, and I'm so grateful to you.

Alicia Condon, my editor, for your enthusiasm and for patiently answering every question I threw at you. And to the rest of the wonderful team at Kensington, for bringing my books to life in a way that exceeded my wildest expectations.

Shannon Steele, my friend, faithful first reader, and unofficial President of my nonexistent fan club. You kept me on point as I sent you the first draft, chapter by chapter, and you were
never
demanding or impatient when I failed to write fast enough (I actually typed that with a straight face). Thank you for the seedling of an idea that blossomed into this book, and for your help with the last line.

Cara Bertrand, my talented author friend, critique partner, and the first person I turn to for writing advice. Your helpful insights and spot-on suggestions are invaluable to me. ABNA may have connected us, but it's our shared love of words that makes us friends. Thank you for always reminding me to keep the drama on the page.

The readers, reviewers, and bloggers who do so much to support authors and spread the word. Your passion and dedication amaze me.

My parents, family, and extended family, for being so endlessly supportive and proud. Enroll a little girl in a mail order book club and this is what happens; she falls in love with words and makes a career out of it. Thank you, Mom and Dad, for surrounding me with books all my life.

My children, for willingly sharing my attention with a laptop and for understanding how important books and writing are to Mom. I love you both.

And lastly, a million thanks to my amazingly generous husband. Creating a happy marriage for the parents in this book was easy because I live one every day with you (and your many, many kitchen appliances). Thank you for holding down the fort all those Sundays while I shut myself up in our bedroom to write. Without you, we all may have starved. Without you, this book would not exist. I love you.

Don't miss
Faking Perfect
by Rebecca Phillips,
available now in bookstores and online!

 

 

 

When Lexi Shaw seduced Oakfield High's resident bad
boy Tyler Flynn at the beginning of senior year, he
seemed perfectly okay with her rules:

 

1. Avoid her at school.
2. Keep his mouth shut about what they do together.
3. Never tease her about her friend
(and unrequited crush) Ben.

 

Because with his integrity and values and golden boy
looks, Ben can never find out about what she's been
doing behind closed doors with Tyler. Or that her
mom's too busy drinking and chasing losers to pay the
bills. Or that Lexi's dad hasn't been a part of her life for
the last thirteen years. But with Tyler suddenly
breaking the rules, Ben asking her out, and her dad
back in the picture, how long will she be able to go on
faking perfect?

 

 

W
hen I seduced Tyler Flynn at the beginning of senior year, I never imagined he'd still be sneaking in and out of my bedroom window six months later. Then again, nothing about our relationship had ever been conventional.

“Shh,” I said. “My mom's upstairs.”

“She never hears anything,” Tyler said with a frustrated grunt.

My window was stuck again. I lay on my stomach on the bed, my eyes on his slim silhouette as he banged his palm against the latch, trying to loosen it. A string of profanity followed each thump. Tyler had zero patience for things that didn't yield easily.

I rolled over and pulled the covers up to my chin. He was right—my mother never heard anything. Not even the strange noises coming from her daughter's basement bedroom in the middle of the night. Just like she never smelled my cigarette smoke or saw the roadmap of red lines that snaked through the whites of my eyes after a particularly wild party. She probably wasn't even aware that my bedroom window opened up to the side of the house where a person could slip in and out, undetected in the darkness.

After a few more minutes of abuse, the window finally creaked open. The faint, crisp scent of winter filtered through the stuffiness in the room. Tyler shoved his feet into his sneakers and turned to the window, bracing his arms on the sill and steeling his body in preparation to boost himself out. Then, changing his mind, he spun back around to face me.

“You really need a new window.” He raised his voice as if he was
trying
to alert my mother to his presence. He loved to goad me, see how far he could push me before I got mad and started locking him out. “I can't risk getting stuck in here for the night.”

My insides recoiled at the thought of spending the entire night with him. “I'll just grease the hinges again or something. Good night.”

“Anxious to get rid of me, Lexi?”

“You're letting all the heat out,” I replied.

He reached behind him to shut the window again and returned to the bed, where I was still snuggled up under the multicolored quilt my grandmother had made for me when I was a baby. I wondered what she'd think if she could see me now.

“What are you doing?” I asked when Tyler kicked off his shoes and crawled onto the bed.

He settled on his back on top of the quilt's patterned squares, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest. “I'm not ready to go yet.”

I squinted at his profile. Usually, he was out of here before his heart rate and breathing even had a chance to slow down. He never stayed with me, never lay next to me while my cheeks still burned from his prickly stubble and my own secret shame.

“We're going to get caught, Tyler.”

“We're not going to get caught,” he said with utmost confidence, like the petty criminal he was. “You said your mom never sets foot in your room.”

This was true. She'd avoided my room for years, and not because she respected my privacy. Six years ago, when I brought Trevor home from the pet store, I quickly realized that owning a corn snake came with some unexpected perks. For one, people thought I was weird, which I didn't mind much back in sixth grade. And two, my mother's deathly fear of snakes afforded me hours of uninterrupted alone time in my room, which I didn't mind either.

I wasn't sure why she was so afraid. Trevor (named after a boy I had a crush on at the time) lived in a tank on my dresser and rarely escaped anymore. He spent most of his time either hiding or eating the dead mice I stored in boxes behind a stack of ice trays in the freezer. Mom avoided the freezer too.

“So,” Tyler said, wrapping one of my strawberry-blond curls around his index finger. “You wanna do it again?”

“No.” I reached down to retrieve my T-shirt and slipped it on under the blankets. Once was enough. Once was always enough to release the pent-up frustration inside me, if only for a little while. Twice wouldn't happen unless I initiated it. I needed to be the one in control, which was why I'd chosen Tyler, Oakfield High's resident badass/burnout/man-whore. His type dodged commitment and never fell in love. He didn't care about being used, and he knew how to be discreet. And even though he was failing most of his classes, he wasn't stupid. He'd never risk the good thing he had going with me. Also, the sneaking around turned him on.

Tyler gave up on trying to tempt me with an encore and lit up a cigarette. He wedged a couple pillows behind his head and took long, lazy puffs as if relaxing in the park.

Annoyed, I sat up and flicked on the lamp.

“Hey,” he said, shutting his eyes against the light.

I looked over at him, noticing that his perpetually tousled dark hair was even messier than usual, likely because I'd been running my fingers through it earlier. His shirt was inside out, his zipper half down, his neck mottled with what looked like a bite mark. Was this what he looked like afterward? I'd never actually looked closely at him after the fact. Usually, all I saw was his back and then his legs as he shimmied out my window.

“Why are you still here, Tyler?” I asked, waving away his smoke. “It's one o'clock in the morning. I want to go to sleep.”

He smirked. “And have sweet dreams about Mr. Wonderful?”

“Don't push me,” I warned.

“Oh right. Sorry, I forgot. It's a Lexi Rule.”

I shot him a look. Okay, so I did have a few rules, but nothing unreasonable or difficult to follow. One, he had to avoid me at school. Two, he had to keep his mouth shut about what we did together. And three . . . under no circumstances was he ever allowed to tease me about my friend Ben, who I'd had an unrequited crush on for two years. Ben, with his integrity and values and golden boy looks, did not belong in this room with us. He wasn't like us.

Tyler finished his cigarette and dropped the butt into the half-empty can of 7-Up on my nightstand. As he did this, I heard a cough coming from upstairs and then footsteps plodding across the floor. My mother was walking from her bedroom, where she stayed up late every night watching the Game Show Network, to the kitchen, which was right above my room. Next, she would pour herself a glass of iced tea or white wine if there was any left over from the weekend, and then trudge back to her bedroom and shut the door.
Family Feud, Press Your Luck, Match Game, Password, The Price is Right
. . . she watched them all for hours on end, her expression never changing aside from a raised eyebrow now and again when a contestant was being particularly boneheaded. She gave me the same look sometimes.

“Okay, it's time to go now,” I said, elbowing Tyler in the ribs. It freaked me out that he was beside me and not evacuating the house like it was on fire, which had been the case most other nights. Having him here while my mother was awake went way beyond my comfort zone. “I have a math test first period tomorrow. Come
on
.” I poked him again, and he finally started to get up.

“Oh yeah, I guess I do, too.” He looked down at me and smirked again. “Thanks for helping me study again. I never knew vectors and shit could be so interesting.”

“You're welcome,” I said, even though we hadn't studied at all. The last time we really studied together was back in late September, when I used our upcoming math quiz as an excuse to get him into my room for the first time. He needed a tutor, I needed an outlet. It was all very practical and casual. Clinical, almost. Devoid of emotion.

Lately, though, I could feel something changing, the way animals can sense when a storm is near. A subtle shift in the air between us. A possessive look burning into my back as I passed him in the hall at school. A touch so gentle it made my breath hitch. And now this, sticking around as long as he dared, not quite ready to leave.

This was bad. It seemed Tyler was on the verge of breaking the one rule I'd left unspoken. Do not get attached.

I needed to squash this problem immediately.

“Let's not do this anymore,” I said to his bare back as he took off his shirt and turned it right side out. I kept my eyes on the tattoo on his left shoulder blade—the grim reaper in his black cloak, smiling and holding a scythe. The harvester of souls.

Tyler pulled on his shirt and glanced back at me with a flickering of a smile. I tried not to let it get to me. All my life, I'd suffered such a weakness for boys like him. In the first grade, I'd had a massive crush on Cody Hatcher, who pushed kids at recess and regularly spit on the teachers. By middle school, I felt myself drawn to the troubled boys with bad home lives who cut class and sneaked cigarettes behind the convenience store. Then, in the tenth grade, when I started cultivating my good girl image and making new friends, I gave up on the bad boys and set my sights on the nice, well-adjusted ones. Like Ben Dorsey, for instance, track star and honors student and way too good to be true. Too good for
me
, anyway, which was why I'd strayed back to the bad boys again.

But nobody could ever know about that.

“Do what?” Tyler said, even though he knew full well what I meant. He'd heard those words from me before.

“This.” I gestured to the tangled sheets and my half-nude body and then to him, the ultimate bad boy with his tattoo and cigarettes and close, personal acquaintance with the entire Oakfield police department.

“This,” he repeated, leaning over the bed toward me, his hands sinking into the mattress. I pulled away from him, but not before I caught the warm, smoky scent of his skin. He saw my reaction and laughed, which infuriated and excited me. “You really want to stop this. You want me to leave and never come back. Right?”

“Right.”

We stared each other down. From above, I could hear the faint applause of a live studio audience.

“Right,” Tyler said, lowering his face to mine. He kissed me and I let him, even though once had been enough and he was the one in control and my mother was upstairs and awake.

I knew I was supposed to refuse him, to squash this problem once and for all and become the girl most people saw each day—the smiling, confident girl who'd secured a place at the top of the high school food chain. But I could never truly be her, at least not permanently. So I turned off the lamp, wrapped my arms around Tyler's neck, and pulled him closer. I shut my mind to everything else, including the intrusive thoughts of Ben. Ben, who I possibly could have loved if only I was brave enough to love someone like him.

I didn't love Tyler Flynn. I didn't even like him.