“I could speak to your mom . . .”
Biting her lip, Courtney hesitates. “Uh, she’s asleep. Her bedtime is, like, nine.”
I crawl out of the back seat and slam my door shut. “I don’t care who you talk to, but can we at least make it to the front door?” I pout. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Courtney gives me a death glare but shoves her key in the front door. She looks like she wants to object, but Charlotte would overhear.
Under her breath she seethes, “Only if you don’t take more than ten steps into the house. I don’t want to tell Daddy we have to have the place exterminated.”
I salute her as they knock on the door of what must be her dad’s office.
The downstairs bathroom is easily the size of my apartment and has a bidet, which throws me off for a second. When I exit, I can see Charlotte shaking his hand.
He’s not at all what I expect. I pictured Courtney’s dad as some old, decrepit, bald, Daddy Warbucks type.
Instead, he looks like a green-eyed version of Gregory Peck, and not just because he’s wearing tortoiseshell glasses or recalls Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird. We recently watched that in our American literature class when we studied Harper Lee.
Courtney’s nowhere in sight, and I figure she went to bed.
Good. The less of her, the better.
I decide to avoid the adults and go back outside to the Jeep.
I’m trying to quietly shut the front door when I feel something brush past me.
Courtney.
“I thought you were inside.”
“Obviously not,” she says scornfully. “I forgot my purse in the Jeep, and I didn’t want to leave my Fendi for you to steal.” Resting a hand delicately on my shoulder, she adds, “But this doesn’t mean I won’t steal your boyfriend. Might be a fair trade.”
I flick a piece of her hair. “Looks fake, am I right?”
Before she can tell me off, Charlotte appears.
“Courtney, your dad is brilliant. You should’ve told me he was a lauded criminal defense attorney.”
“I wouldn’t know.” She peers at his now-closed door. “He’d have to be available, and that usually involves an appointment.” Looking between the two of us, she rolls her eyes. “Come on, guys, I’m joking. He’s the best daddy in the world.” She touches my wrist. “It’s wonderful to have a daddy, isn’t it, Elizabeth?” Faking a gasp, she lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was . . . I better get some sleep.” Embracing Charlotte in a warm hug, she thanks her. “I really appreciate the ride home. Thanks for saving me from that annoying guy. You’re a sweetheart.”
She winks at me over Charlotte’s shoulder as I flip her off.
We avoid saying goodbye to each other, and after Charlotte and I exit, the door slams behind us, the lock clicking shut.
“What was that?” I huff, sliding into the passenger seat, which now smells like Courtney’s overabundance of perfume.
“What?”
“Why did we give the world’s biggest bitch a ride home?”
“She was trying to get away from the guy at the diner—he was being too aggressive with her. Plus, you guys know each other from school. I thought it’d be a nice gesture.”
“I don’t think anyone is too aggressive for Courtney,” I mutter.
“If the roles were reversed, I would hope someone would give you a ride if you needed it. In fact,” she says, tapping a finger to her mouth, “I believe I did.”
After I fume under my breath, “Such a Good Samaritan,” she ignores my comment. Irritated, I want nothing more than to get away from her, away from everyone, and sleep. I can barely keep my lethargic eyes open.
“So which is it?” Charlotte tilts her head to the side. “Is it Elle or Elizabeth?”
Indifferent, I say, “Elizabeth is my given name, and Elle is a nickname.”
“If Elle is a nickname, why doesn’t Courtney use it?”
“Because until recently, I’ve always gone by Elizabeth. Someone called me Elle once, and it kind of stuck with actual friends.”
We’re quiet until Charlotte turns into the gated subdivision, pressing a button on her visor to enter. “Which street are you staying on?”
“Grover.” I point down a long cul-de-sac. “Turn on Forrester and then hang a left. Third one to the right.” Slowly, Charlotte drives down the empty street, the only glow emitted by streetlamps.
The house I’m pet sitting at is a large two-story with a balcony off the second-floor master bedroom that overlooks the front yard. Though, after being at Courtney’s palatial estate, it appears small. Rosebushes line every inch of the walk, and flower beds take up a majority of the lawn.
“Whose house is this?” Charlotte asks, pulling into the driveway.
“The Lamberts’,” I say. “Todd and Marjorie.”
“I don’t know them, but it’s not surprising. There have to be at least a couple hundred houses in this development.”
“It’s one of the biggest subdivisions I’ve seen.” I remind her to renew her tags when she gets home.
“As if I could forget.” She puts a hand over her face. “Noah’s going to be so annoyed with me.” Pointing to the front door, she says, “I’ll wait until you get inside to leave. Make sure you lock the door behind you.”
“Of course.” I start up the sidewalk, pausing when I hear Charlotte say my name.
“And Elle,” Charlotte calls after me. “It’s always better to have someone owe you a favor, especially when it’s an enemy.”
Unsure how to respond, and a little perturbed, I pause, nodding back at her.
True to her word, she idles in the drive until I close the door behind me.
But she doesn’t immediately leave, and I watch her from the second-floor window, her eyes fixated on the house.
CHAPTER 14
Charlotte
Even after I observe Elle safe and sound in the house, my eyes stay glued to the two-story house, watching a light from a second-floor window twinkle on. Something about Elle’s mannerisms is familiar, but I can’t put a finger on exactly what it is.
It might be the way she holds herself—prickly yet stoic. There’s something familiar about how she picks at her cuticles and bites her fingernails, a bored but timid look in her eyes.
Those eyes speak volumes.
With my hands tense on the wheel, I’m drawn to the sheer curtains in the upstairs window as I fervently try to jog my memory. An emphatic barking jolts me from my rumination, followed by the shrill response of another yap, and reluctantly I back out, concentration lost, heading the short distance to my own home, where I mostly feel trapped.
What an odd turn of events.
A runaway dog.
A classmate of Elle’s who calls her by an entirely different name.
Expired tags.
The glove box.
I’m going to have to be more careful. I’m not used to driving with anybody else in my vehicle. We usually take Noah’s car if we go somewhere. I should’ve been more cognizant of the unlocked glove box.
That was a close call.
It would’ve been impossible to explain to the two girls why I have it. I would’ve had to explain my past, the restraining order, the tumultuousness of my former relationship.