If I Was Your Girl Read Online Free Page A

by me in biology. I heard them talking about how you shot Grant down.”
    My cheeks burned as I remembered Grant’s easy smile. “It wasn’t like that.” I shook my head. I wondered, for a moment, what my response would have been if Grant had asked me out for himself.
    â€œQuit torturing her,” Anna said. She turned to me. “So how’s Lambertville been for you so far? Everyone been nice?”
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said. “I mean, I’ve only met five people so far, including you guys and Grant.”
    Anna smiled. “Who’s the fifth?”
    â€œHer name’s Bee. We have art together.”
    The girls exchanged a quick glance, their eyes meeting and then darting quickly away.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Bee?” I asked.
    â€œNothin’,” Chloe said.
    â€œShe’s fun in small doses,” Layla said. “Emphasis on the small.”
    I sucked at the dregs of my soda, unsure what to say.
    â€œGod, I’m a bitch,” Layla said after a moment. “Hang out with whoever you want. We just met! But you’re welcome with us anytime.”
    When the check came, they refused to let me pay. I fell into the Southern ritual I’d watched Mom play out for years without even thinking: Offer to pay once, they refuse, pull out your money and insist, they refuse again, and then concede. I wished all social interaction had such clear rules.
    *   *   *
    Twenty minutes later we pulled up outside my apartment building, an unimaginative tan brick box sitting beneath a tall ridge choked in kudzu vines.
    â€œSo you’re coming to the game then, right?” Anna asked.
    The cicadas buzzed persistently in the growing dusk. I had read once that they lived underground for most of their lives, only emerging as adults to live out their final days. Was that going to be me? Was I going to live underground for the better part of my life, never coming out into the world?
    They were all looking at me hopefully, the car’s engine running. Finally I said, “I’ll meet you guys there.”
    Layla honked the horn happily, and they drove off.
    After the car disappeared around the bend, I stood alone in the blistering parking lot. It was way past six, and Dad must have been home for a while, wondering where I was, with no way to reach me. I wanted to avoid whatever waited in the apartment, to wander around until midnight and sneak in once he fell asleep, but even at dusk the heat was still overpowering.
    I climbed the stairs, turned the key in the lock, and stepped inside. Dark filled the space like a living thing. A single sunbeam came in through the gap in the balcony blinds and cut across the living room, red dust motes floating in a golden sea.
    â€œWhere were you?” Dad walked into the light, a hard edge in his voice.
    â€œSorry,” I said quietly.
    â€œSorry isn’t a place.”
    â€œWith some friends,” I said, looking down. “I missed the bus.”
    â€œWhen I got home and you weren’t here I called over and over. I was worried sick.”
    I started to speak, choked, and took a deep breath. “You never worried before.” I remembered the days after I woke up in the hospital and realized I was still alive. I remembered having nobody to keep me company but nurses and Mom and the television—no friends, no family, no Dad. I remembered suspecting, for the first time in my life, that he might not actually care if I lived or died.
    I clenched my fists and looked up at him. “You never even sent a letter. I almost died and you were a ghost.”
    â€œWhat did you want me to say?”
    â€œAnything.”
    He sighed, letting out his breath long and slow.
    â€œI didn’t know what to do, okay?” he said, rubbing his brow. “You hold a baby when it takes its first breath, you sing it to sleep, you rock it when it cries, and then you look away for what feels like a