Page 30 of All's Well that Friends Well
“Excellent,” I say, hopping off the bed. “Thanks.”
“As for pants,” Aurora says as she heads to the chest of drawers by her desk, “I like the black ones there”—she points to a hanging pair of pants—“and the gray ones next to them.”
“Are they stretchy?” I say, pulling them out.
“They’re stretchy and not too tight.”
“I don’t mind fitted,” I say absently, checking the tags to see where the pants are from. “I wonder if these come in white. Or pink,” I add.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Aurora says.
I’m not.
“Okay, thanks, Ror,” I say, hanging her clothes back up. I pause and then go on, “And you’ll let us know if we need to egg Bart’s house?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes.” Her jaw ticks, and then she sighs again. “He’s just so cocky. And I don’t think I need him to tell me how to do my job.”
“Ew.No,” I say. “You’re amazing at your job.”
“Also when I saw him today he kept standing up super straight, and I think it’s because he was embarrassed that I’m taller than him in my heels?—”
“Ew,” I say again, louder this time. “No. Dump him, Aurora.”
“We’re not even really dating,” she says. She waves one hand vaguely. “Just sort of…”
“Sucking face?” I say with more attitude than I would usually employ, and Aurora’s nose wrinkles at the admittedly gross term. I put my hands on my hips. “I guarantee he’s not a good-enough kisser to warrant putting up with all that idiocy.”
“He’s not,” she says. She sits on the edge of her bed and pulls her hair out of its ponytail, running her fingers through a few times before replacing it with a new, less-perfect ponytail. “But he’s funny, and he was having an off day.”
When I give her a skeptical look, she rolls her eyes again.
“I know how to spot red flags, Jules,” she says. “I’m not going to waste time on someone lame. But things are casual enough right now that I’m not too worried. If he ends up acting like this all the time, I don’t have a problem breaking things off.” When I don’t answer, her expression softens. “Really,” she says. “I promise.”
And it’s the softening that convinces me. Aurora is not asoftwoman—she’s not gentle or sweet by nature. But with us she lets her guard down, and that’s how I know she’s serious.
“Boo,” I say. “Fine.” I hesitate, letting my arms fall back to my sides. “But I still think you should kick him to the curb.”
Her expression unfolds into one of brisk amusement. “Duly noted. Thank you for your input.”
I sniff. “You’re welcome.” I turn and leave Aurora to whatever she’s going to do, heading back to my room. I want to take the career assessment, and doing it now while Poppyis here will be perfect; she and India will be together downstairs, so I can have some privacy.
I don’t need a lot of privacy. But sometimes just a little bit is nice.
I’m halfway down the hall, though, when my phone pings with an incoming text. I pull it out to check, stopping dead in my tracks as I read.
It’s from Luca.
Luca
Miss Marigold—when you get a moment this evening, please come to your parents’ house.
I stare at the text, blinking a few times to make sure I’m not misreading anything.
What kind of text is that? What does it mean?
Oh, no, I think as a tremor of fear runs through me, a desperate despair that shakes my bones.
Am I gettingfired?
