Spellbound - Cara Lynn Shultz [17]
“Come on, this would look so pretty with your eyes!” she pleaded, holding up a shirt with a bright green design on the front. “It brings out the hazel, really!” she trilled in her high little voice.
“No thanks, kid. I like black.”
We walked back to my aunt’s house slowly, strolling down Madison Avenue and looking in the windows at all the high-end boutiques. For some reason, I thought about Brendan, and wondered what he did on Friday nights. He probably had a girlfriend. Or girlfriends. Ashley had said he was a deejay on the side. I’d bet he spent his nights spinning in the VIP section of some club so exclusive, there wasn’t even a sign on the door, and model-like girls fell over each other to fawn all over him. I couldn’t blame them if they did.
I hated this. It wasn’t a crush so much; I didn’t daydream about him asking me out, or think about twisting my fingers into his messy hair—not that much. I was just so curious about him. I wanted to know him. What bands he liked. What movies he liked. If his mind ever wandered to me, as mine often did to him—like now, since I’d been thinking about Brendan and ignoring my cousin.
I tuned in to Ashley, who was squealing about something. “He winked at me. Winked!” she shrieked, going on about some upperclassman who shared a free period with her. “And on Facebook, he keeps sending me kisses and stuff. I mean, who does that? It’s so…cute.”
By the time we were getting into the elevator in Aunt Christine’s lobby, I had the full story. Her paramour was Blondo—and Ashley thought Anthony Caruso was the best thing since push-up bras.
“Ash, I don’t mean to make you feel bad, but only yesterday, he hit on—” I paused. No sense in making her feel like she’s in my shadow, right? “He hit on a girl in our class. I think he’s trouble. He got really nasty with her when she turned him down.”
“Oh, he’s just a harmless flirt,” she said dreamily, twirling as she stepped out of the elevator.
“I don’t think so,” I said, warily. “He’s pretty shady.”
Ashley turned and regarded me with serious, almost cold eyes. “I like him, okay? Just let me like him. Jeez, Emma, it’s not the end of the world.”
I knew that tone—that stubborn, “you can’t change my mind” attitude. I had inherited it from my mom, and she had inherited it from her dad—my mom’s brother, Dan. I sighed as I put the key in Aunt Christine’s front door, resigned to be on the lookout for trouble between Ashley and Blondo.
“Ash, I just think you should be care—” I never got to finish my sentence. Ashley squealed, spying something. She pushed past me and ran to the kitchen table.
“Finally!” she yelled, picking up a small object next to the Waterford salt and pepper shakers.
“A cell phone?” I squeaked, running over. I picked up the small yellow note that had been slid underneath the salt shaker.
I figured you should have one. The guy at the store set it up. Just please don’t call China on it. Have fun tonight. Love, Aunt Christine.
“Aw, she’s the best,” I murmured, stroking the shiny case of the phone.
“About time you had a phone!” Ashley exclaimed, grabbing the owner’s manual and flipping through it. “Quick, call me so I have your number. And then you can text me tonight and let me know if anything happens with Cisco!” I started to explain for the thousandth time that it wasn’t a date, but she pushed me toward my bedroom door. “Go, start getting ready!”
Two hours later, I had finished blowing my hair dry, flat-ironing it until it hung long and straight. My bangs, once merely in need of a trim, were now just long layers, hanging halfway down my face. At least it pulled my cowlick straight. I parted my hair on the left and tried to brush my bangs to the side. No wonder Ashley thought it was a date. I was acting like it was. I didn’t know why; I just felt like I had to look nice tonight. I was probably