The Backup Girlfriend (Grove Valley High #2) - Emma Doherty Page 0,103
done to help me recently.”
For the first time, he actually looks sorry, and I notice that the voices in the room have fallen and there are quite a few eyes on us. “Abigail—”
I step away. “No, screw you for saying that.”
I step past him, ready to head outside and join my friends, then I see Sasha through the window, talking quietly with Aaron.
Sasha…she’s the one he’s wanted all along.
I turn back to Brett. “I get that this was just a transaction for you. You were paid to help me pass, and I know I haven’t delivered everything I promised. I’ll settle that right now, but do me a favor and don’t patronize me ever again.”
Then I turn on my heel and storm away from Brett Sanderson and his stuck-up opinions of me, and I march straight up to Sasha.
“Hey!”
Both she and Aaron startle out of their conversation and look up at me.
“Hey.” Sasha pauses as she takes in my expression. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Can I talk to you for a second?”
Aaron looks between us and wisely decides to make a hasty exit.
“Uh, Abigail? Is everything alright? And why is Brett glaring at us from the across your yard?”
I turn back and see that she’s right: Brett is standing there glowering at us from the back door. I half-expect him to come over here and tell me this isn’t the way he wants Sasha to agree to date him since he’s so good at telling me what to do, but he just stands there.
“So when Brett agreed to tutor me, he had a condition I never told you about.”
She pulls a face. “Okay?”
“He wanted me to get him a date with you.”
Her mouth falls open.
“I told him you’d date him.”
“Uh…Abigail…”
“I mean you’re single, right? Have been for a while, and I know you like Brett so I figured you wouldn’t care.”
“Abig—”
“I need you to do it.” I pause, my jaw tense. “Please.”
She blinks rapidly in astonishment. “Abigail, I don’t think—”
“He can be a complete ass,” I interject, my anger not slipping, “and a know-it-all who thinks he can read people’s minds.” She doesn’t say anything else, her eyes flitting between me and where Brett’s standing across the way. “And he thinks he’s so freaking clever.”
She laughs at that. “Well he kinda is clever.”
I scowl at her.
“You’re not exactly selling him here.”
“Fine. He’s funny,” I admit grudgingly. “He’s smart and he’s kind and he remembers stuff about you and he pays attention and he’s encouraging and he’ll believe in you when you don’t believe in yourself,” I say in a hurry. “And when he’s not being so damn smug, he’s actually really nice. And good-looking. Just because he’s not a jock doesn’t mean he’s not hot.”
She smiles. “I know that.”
“So will you do it?”
She doesn’t say anything.
“You’ll have a good time,” I tell her. And she will. She’ll have such a good time without even realizing it.
“Abigail,” she says gently, reaching out her hand to rest on my arm. “I don’t think it’s me Brett wants to date.”
“Of course it is,” I tell her impatiently. “He’s mentioned it a bunch of times.”
“Recently?”
Recently? No, I guess not. It’s been me, if anyone, who’s brought it up.
I look back at him, and he’s still watching us, only this time he’s not glaring. This time he’s wearing an expression on his face that I don’t understand.
“Abi—”
“Just agree,” I plead, feeling dangerously close to tears. I just want it done. I just want it over and done with so I know and then can go lick my wounds in private.
Poor Sasha doesn’t have a clue what the right thing to say in this situation is, and I take the decision out of her hands, reaching down to grip her hand then dragging her out of her seat and across the yard to Brett until we’re standing across from each other.
“Sasha, you know Brett,” I say, not taking my eyes off him. “Here she is,” I tell him. “I delivered. Go ahead and plan your date.”
Then I brush past them both, heading inside and straight upstairs to my room, because I know if I stay in front of everyone else for another second, they’ll see me burst into tears.
I haven’t even been in my bedroom for five minutes when there’s a knock on my door.
“Go away!” I call, not looking away from the ceiling. I’m sprawled out on my back, listening to the noise of the party with no intention of moving for the next thirty