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Uncle Asher had Rory’s favorite meal catered in and a live band set to play, while Aunt Remy had a cake made for her that was three tiers high.
My dad’s brother and his wife had just retired the year before from their music band they’d played in together, and they were kind of mega-rich now, plus this was basically the first year they’d been trulyhomefor any of their kids’ birthdays, so they had gone all out.
There was supposed to be a wall full of carnival-type booths there too, and that was what I was most excited about.
Because that’s where I knewhe’dbe.
I wore my cutest pair of jeans with the bedazzled back pockets and my favorite top, then I caked on the makeup and did my hair just right. One good thing I could admit about myself was that I had awesome hair. It was pale, bouncy, glossy-soft, and easy to manipulate any way I wanted it to go.
Today, I put it up into a high ponytail and curled dozens of pieces into small ringlets that fell down my back.
I’d just coiled the last piece of hair around my curling iron and was humming under my breath as I waited for it to heat when a knock came from the bathroom entrance.
“How much longer are you going to take?” my little brother asked from the doorway where he leaned against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, impatiently waiting for me to finish. “Other people have to use this bathroom too, you know. And by other people, I mean me.I’motherpeople.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. “There are two other bathrooms in this house, you know.”
“But I have to take a shower,” he argued. “And all my soap and shampoos are inhere. So why don’tyougo to one of the other bathrooms? Hell, why do you need a bathroom for hair curling at all?”
“Oh my God,fine!” I muttered and jerked impatiently on the cord to unplug the iron from the wall. “I’ll go to my room.” Holding the cord in one hand and the iron still curled around a chunk of hair in the other, I spun toward Trick and glowered. “You want to get out of my way or not?”
Trick frowned at me but shifted to the side. “Who’re you getting all dressed up for, anyway? You got a crush on someone in the family or something?”
“No, dweeb,” I said as I stepped past him to start down the hall toward my room. “We’re going to a party. People dress up for parties.”
“Not you,” he called after me. “You dress up forboys. And from all the family gossip I heard, Caine Spinnaker was out, so someoneelsemust be in.”
Mouth dropping open, I jarred to a halt and spun to gape at him. “Family gossip? What family gossip?”
And how didhehear family gossip, anyway? He was a freaking seventh grader.
Trick shrugged, looking smug as he continued to lean against the doorframe. “Hey, I’m not deaf. I hear things.”
With a sigh, I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling and demanded, “Like what?” as I gently began to pull my hair free of the curling iron before I burned the locks clean off my head.
“Like the fact that Beau got his black eye from stepping in and defending you after a bunch of bullies called you fat.”
My mouth dropped open. “Who—?”
“So it’s Beau, isn’t it?” Trick guessed. “You’re all lovey-dovey for Beau now?”
I cringed. “What?No. Beau likes Bentley.”
Trick snorted. “Well,that’sobvious. But I thought you might try to steal him away from her since he’s your hero now.”
“Beau is not my hero,” I groused. “He’s…Beau. He would’ve stood up forGracenor any one of us if he’d heard someone bad-mouthing us. That doesn’t mean I have to form some huge, raging crush on him.”
Except that was exactly what I’d done. Just not for Beau.
My brother shrugged and sent me a look that told me just how much he didn’t believe me. “If you say so,” he murmured as he turned away and entered the bathroom, shutting himself inside. “But I know better.”
Unease cramped my stomach. “Hey! Don’t you go spreading around a lie like that.Trick!” I hurried back to the bathroom door and pounded on it. “Patrick Mason Ryan! Did you hear me? It’s not true. It’snot!”
“The whole house can hear you, baby girl,” my dad sang from way back in his and Mom’s bedroom.
Mom popped her head into the hallway, her eyes bright with curiosity. “And what’s not true, anyway?” she asked.
I groaned and dropped my hand from the bathroom door. “Nothing,” I mumbled. “Your youngest is just pathetically misinformed about his facts, that’s all.”
