Page 122 of Mad Girl

Bree huffed. “And you didn’t think to let me know so I wouldn’t worry?”

I shrugged like I didn’t care. But Michael, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed, narrowed his eyes.

“I waited for over thirty minutes,” Bree said. “When I came home without you, my mom completely lost it. She yelled at me for not letting her know you’d stood me up.”

“Where’s Libby now?” I asked.

“She’s at your house, asking Casey if he’s seen or heard from you. Did you turn off your phone or something? It kept going to voicemail.”

“Sorry. I just didn’t want to be bothered.”

“Where were you?” Michael asked.

“Willoughby’s.”

Michael’s jaw ticked as he glanced away.

Bree pulled a face. “Doing what?”

I laughed. “What do you think, Bree?”

“You’re hooking up with him?”

“Why do you care?”

“I—I don’t,” she said. “I just don’t understand what you see in him. He’s a loser.”

“He’s cute. Also, he has a dick—and I happen to like that.”

Bree reared back with a grimace. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” I said, because when I stopped giving a shit, I turned into an even bigger bitch—and just so you know, this particular memory makes me cringe. My behavior wasn’t okay.

“Elliot,” Michael warned. “That’s enough.”

“Oh, come on, Michael. She’s⁠—”

“I said, enough,” Michael snapped, glaring so hard my gut clenched.

Bree grabbed her backpack and stormed off, her footsteps heavy on the stairs.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he asked. “You can’t talk to her like that.”

“I can talk to her however I want.”

Michael released a big sigh. “I’m starting to understand what he meant now.”

“What who meant?”

“Casey. He says you’ve been erratic lately. Acting out. Picking fights.”

“Wow. So you guys talk about me now?”

“He’s worried about you. He said Nic wants you to get help, but you refuse.”

I rounded the island, stopping in front of Michael, wringing my hands. “Take me upstairs.”

Michael straightened, pulling both hands from his pockets. “What?”