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“I told you I had something after school this morning,” I reply. “I thought you were taking the bus.”
“It left early.”
“Right,” I drawl. “And youneverrun late.”
“Whatever. Can we go?”
“I’m volunteering today. You’ll have to come with me. I don’t have time to go home first.”
Maggie rolls her eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. Let’s go, unless you want to walk.”
“I can drive you,” Holden offers. “I’m headed straight home.”
Maggie’s expression instantly transforms from annoyed to elated. Mine creases with an irritation I refuse to name.
He’s doing me and Maggie a favor. I won’t have to deal with Maggie asking if we can leave yet every few minutes throughout my whole shift. But I’m not relieved by the offer; I’m bothered. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no big deal,” Holden replies. “You guys literally live across the street.” He glances at Maggie. “Come on, my truck’s this way.”
“Okay!” Maggie straightens and grabs her backpack off the front of my car. “Bye, Cassia.”
“Bye.” My voice sounds flat, even to my own ears.
“You’re welcome.”
I glance at Holden, who’s still standing next to me. “You think I owe you a thank you?”
“You’re usually pretty polite.”
Anger courses through me. He’s right; I’m usually amenable. It’s just simpler to be easy-going.
The ugliness heating my blood is jealousy. I’m jealous of my little sister because he’s offering her more than he’s offered me in years.
“I don’t need you to do me any favors.” I stalk toward my car, tossing my backpack in the passenger seat before starting the engine.
I pull out of the lot without once looking back in the rearview mirror.
CHAPTER FOUR
HOLDEN
Wind rips through the hoodie I’m wearing, chilling my skin as I cross the quiet street. No one else is out running fool’s errands.
I hesitate, glance at the bold B- on the top of the paper Mrs. Golden handed back last period, and then continue up the Nolans’ front path for the first time in…years.
I ring the doorbell and wait, listening to the commotion inside. Shouting, banging, followed by what sounds like a war cry.
The red door swings open a minute later, revealing Mrs. Nolan. She looks a lot like Cassia. Same curly brown hair. Same friendly smile.
There’s a little kid hugging her legs. The last time I was over here, she was hugely pregnant.
It’s a pointed reminder of how long it’s been since I last stood on this stoop.
I submitted a new paper and aced it, bringing the average of the two up to a B-. My history grade is passing—no longer in jeopardy. There’s no real reason for me to be here.
I doubt Cassia actually cares how I did on the re-do, based on how she handed me her suggestions for improvements forthe essay without so much as a smile. But here I am anyway—because otherwise there’s no guarantee I’ll see her anytime soon. I’m not sure she’ll be standing in the kitchen when I get home tonight.
