I want her to be mine so badly, but she’s impossible to read. And I value her as a friend so much, I don’t want to lose her. What if I tell her how I feel and I ruin everything?
“We should head back in.”
Footsteps are drawing dangerously close to the door.
I jerk my head back. Whatever happens, they can’t catch me here. I dash down the hall and duck into the bathroom just as the kitchen door flies open. I can barely make out their whispers, until Amelia lets out a yelp.
“You can’t do that!”
Now what are they talking about?!I flush the toilet and run the faucet for a few seconds, before slipping out of my hiding spot.
There’s a cake waiting for me in the middle of the dining table, a gift positioned neatly on the chair.
Mom cuts us slices, talking Carrie through everything she really shouldn’t know about me. I wolf down dessert. Every time I meet her eyes, she looks back down at her plate, and I’m so done here—I can’t wait to just get back to the guys.
“I’ll tidy up,” Mom announces. “You guys have a good night. You’ve spent enough time with us oldies!”
Dad frowns. “Speak for yourself.”
“Thanks for coming, Mom. This was nice.” I turn to check on Carrie. “Ready?”
“Let’s do it! You need to change, Amelia? Or you good?”
What?
My sister offers me a pained smile. “I’m good!”
“Oh, you’re going, too, honey?” My mom raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah, Carrie’s such a sweetheart. I couldn’t turn her down…”
Again—what?!
Carrie claps her hands. “Great! Thank you for having me! It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Don’t forget to try to get Don over to DC!”
“I’ll do my best, Mrs. Wolinski!”
I’m sitting there wondering what the hell is going on, as Amelia and her new BFF head for the front door.
Out on the front steps, I grab Carrie’s arm, watching as my sister slides into the back seat of my car. No point beating around the bush, I decide.
“I think I missed an episode. Care to fill me in?”
She jerks her head up and meets my eye. “Excuse me?”
“What’s the situation with Amelia?”
Carrie leans to the side, and squints. “It looks like she’s fastening her seat belt. Either that, or she’s knifing your leather seats.”
“What the hell is she doing in my car?”
“Like I said, she’s—”
“What did you say to force her to come?” I interrupt.
“Me? Nothing!”
