“Ew,” Em says, checking over my shoulder. I hate it when she does that. If I wanted her to see something, I’d show her.
But lately, I hate everything she does.
“They’re notew,” I say, mimicking her. “They’re gorgeous.”
Her chin juts out like she’s taking a blow. “Send them to me. I’ll get them spread around the school in a flash.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrow. “What d’you mean, no? You’re meant to be driving her out of school, not storing her on your phone like your favourite porn.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
She snorts at that, tossing her hair like she can’t be bothered. Judging from the way her fingernails dig into the bedspread, that position’s a lie.
“People’ll think you’re obsessed with her. They’ll talk.”
“Like I give a fuck what people think.”
She twists her lips and smirks. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t have the guts to follow through with your plan. Look at you, already regretting it.”
The thing I most regret is that I took her into my confidence. Em’s brain is full of gossip and clothing sizes, diet plans and stinging putdowns. Anything with the tiniest bit of nuance gets lost.
She’s pouting now, her lipstick glossy and perfect.
“How much does your makeup cost you?”
The change of tack catches her off guard and she cautiously answers, “A shit ton.”
“Right,” I say, pushing at her shoulder. “Thanks for being so specific. Here.” I pass her my phone, already open to a specialty store in the central city. “Order yourself a bundle of whatever you use on me.”
“Why?” Em says, taking me up on the offer more slowly than usual.
I shrug. “A girl told me it’s expensive. Guess I never thought about it before, but you always look so put together it must cost a bomb. Just my treat.”
This time, she accepts the offer at face value and gives a squeal of excitement as she settles back on the bed with my phone. While she’s doing that, I wander downstairs, checking in the fridge and pulling out some bagged lunches prepared by our housekeeper, Zeta.
She always makes at least three on the weekends, even if I don’t tell her I’m having friends over. Goodness knows what happens to the ones I don’t need—they disappear, and new ones appear every morning without fail.
They’re always good, and today is no exception. I take the banana cupcake with cream cheese icing from one and add it to mine, since Em won’t eat it, anyway.
“Hey, there,” my dad says from the lounge room door. “Didn’t realise you were home.”
“It’s Saturday. There’s no school.”
“Thought you’d be out with your mates.”
“I’m home with them instead.”
He nods, crossing over to lean against the island as I take cans of soda from the fridge. Diet for Em. “You serious about that girl?”
My face creases into a grim smile. “Her name’s Em.” We’ve been going out for four months. No, five. Six? A lot longer than most girls last, but she’s so amenable to my poor behaviour that it’s hard to toss her aside.
Inertia is real.
“No, I’m not serious. Why?”
“We don’t need to have a talk about protection, do we?”
