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“Emily, this is Melanie’s mother.” Frank shakes free of the woman and nods at me. “Melissa, have you met Libby’s—”
“Oh my gawd!” Melissa shouts, raking her gaze over me. “You musta been a baby when you had that girl.”
“Uh, I was a teenager whenmy parentshad her,” I correct.
“Oh, right, right.” She waves a hand in my face. “Forgot.”
Did this lady come to pick up her kid after guzzling a bottle of merlot?
I’m saved from any more of this conversation by the bus headlights sweeping over the parking lot. Some of the parents cheer the arrival. I use it as an opportunity to escape whatever weird thing Frank and Melissa have going on.
Libby’s one of two dozen weary teenagers who stumble off the bus. Each one of them trying to appear cool and not all that eager to hug their parents in front of all their peers.
I finally spot Libby and raise my hand. She says something to one of her friends who turns and waves at me. A few seconds later, Libby makes her way over to me. I hold out my hand for one of her bags.
“Thanks,” she huffs, and hitches her backpack on her shoulder.
I want to hug her and pepper her with a dozen questions. But I’m careful not to embarrass her in front of her friends. “Ready to head home?” I ask.
“God, yes. Get me outta here,” she mumbles.
Chuckling to myself, I lead her to the car.
“So, how was the trip?” I ask.
“Good,” she answers without much enthusiasm. “I’m beat though. We hardly slept.”
As I pull out of the school’s parking lot, she rummages through her purse. “Em? Oh, wait. Never mind. Phew. I thought I left my phone on the bus.”
“Speaking of forgetting things, you left your pills at home.”
“Aw, crap.” She smacks her forehead. “I totally forgot. I wondered why I felt all crampy this morning.”
“Eh, I’ve done it. It’s only a problem if—”
“I…I didn’t hook up with anyone,” Libby says in a mortified rush of words.
Once we leave the lit-up area around the school, I flick on the high-beams.
“I wasn’t saying you did,” I assure her. “I wouldn’t be upset if you had,” I lie, smooth as butter. “You can always come to me with anything that’s on your mind. Good or bad.”
“Trust me, if Ihadhooked up on the trip, I’d be begging you to drive me straight to Walmart to buy me some Plan B.” She sits forward and points at the windshield.
“And I’d be stepping on the gas,” I answer.
She chuckles, then sighs. “Caroline kept trying to hook up with Troy. It was so cringey to watch.”
“Is that the kid who’s helping you with math?”
“Yeah. We were trying to hang out when everyone went ice skating but she kept butting in and flapping her long, fluffy, fake eyelashes at him.” She huffs.
“That’s not nice,” I answer carefully. “If she knows you like him.”
“I don’tlikehim.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
Suuuure you don’t.“So, why’d it bother you that she was flirting with him?”
“Because it’srude,” she says with the sweet outrage only a teenager can express. “He and I were chilling and having fun. And she kept making it weird by pushing her boobs in his face and talking in this fake baby voice.”
