It’s not D’s fault that I missed her for a year and now she’s?—
“It’s only for half a semester,” she continues, fingers nervously plucking at her skirt.
“When?” I look up and see she’s plunked on the coffee table, still worrying her bottom lip.
I get the impression she was dreading telling me.
“Beginning of next semester.” She sniffs. “I managed to get Dad to sign off on it by telling him how big soccer was going to be for the agency by 2035.”
My throat closes, but her dread? Not cool. “Great. I’m happy for you, D.” Lies, but I refuse to be the reason that unformed excitement in her expression disappears.
Six weeks. That’s nothing after a year. Right?
Her smile’s… hopeful. “Really?”
“Yeah. Really. You’ll enjoy it. You know where you’re going?”
“I asked for Madrid but I think it could be Barcelona.”
Across the world. A whole different time zone.
I’m not freaking out.
You are.
Then, something occurs to me and I jerk, showering the floor with a bunch of pillows.
“Zach! I only just finished tidying!”
“Wait, if you do get in, will you have to move?”
“Get in where?”
“Pi Beta Epsilon!”
She hoots. “As if they’ll accept me. Mom suggested I do two things, the study abroad program and then try out again. I’ll be able to give her the study abroad program, at least.”
Fucking Melanie.
Of course this’d be her idea.
Then, D does this shimmying thing with the dress from hell as she stands and my chubby is back in business.
What the fuck is with me today?
I find myself transfixed when she,gulps, props her foot on the edge of the coffee table. That tells me these gorgeous stilettos are brand new because she’d never do that otherwise. She fiddles with a strap that was sent to torture me, as are the cherry-red toenails, and the—sweet Lord, is that an anklet?
I don’t even care that she’s bitching about blisters and broken toes.
I just wonder if she knows she’s about to walk outside looking like a pinup.
“No sneakers?” My voice is back to being a croak but I’m here for it.
“Mom sent me these. I’m under orders to wear them. You have to take a picture as proof.”
Used to the freaky requests from Mel, I shrug.
But nothing about this situation is shruggable.
