Fortunately for the band, he didn’t find out until after it was already done.
“I can’t believe you’re going out with Zane Valen,” Cara squeals giddily.
“Do you even know who he is?” I laugh because I can’t picture her knowing what a football is much less watching it.
“I know he’s hot as hell. I’ve seen his picture a million times on magazines and commercials. And that other guy he’s always with. Oh my god I’d love to be the filling in that man sandwich.”
“Uh. First off, ew. Second, the other guy is very much in love with his girlfriend.”
“Didn’t know he had one. Last I read, some girl just up and left him after years together. That girl must be out of her mind.”
My spine straightens at the remarks. I’m suddenly very personally involved in the way the tabloids and media can twist things they know nothing about. “That’s not what happened, Cara. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear or see. Trust me. She didn’t just leave him like the media says. And they are very much in love.”
She looks at me through the mirror she’s standing in front of. Her blond brows shoot upward with curiosity. “Didn’t know you knew them so well.”
I toss one of her pink pillows at her. “I don’t know them well. Just enough to know the truth.”
I look around her room. The cream walls decorated with pictures of her and her friends. Her shelves lined with trophies from cheerleading. God knows Dane has probably spent a small fortune trying to make sure she is happy.
He can afford it. When his grandfather died, he left Dane a nice chunk of change that helped him get his tattoo shop going and helped him get custody of Cara.
“What are you going to wear to this date?” she asks with a bounce in her step.
“I don’t know, but if you don’t get out of that getup before Dane comes home you won’t have to worry about what you’re going to wear because you won’t be going anywhere.”
She rolls her brown eyes with a huff as she moves into her closet for more clothes. “I hate that he still treats me like a kid.”
“That’s because to him you are a kid. He isn’t much better with me, and he didn’t even meet me until I was your age.”
“At least you didn’t have to live with him,” she grumbles.
Again, I find myself feeling the need to correct her attitude. I know she’s just a teenager and a bit temperamental, but it’s not right. “Dane didn’t have to take you in, you know. He has sacrificed a lot to get you out of foster care. Do you know how much of a turn off it is to most girls to find out a guy is raising his teenage sister? Or how many times he’s had to cancel dates to make sure you could do what you wanted?”
She walks out of her closet wearing sweats. Dane would approve. She throws herself on the bed next to me with a huff. “Why do you always take his side?”
“Why are you acting like such a spoiled, entitled brat lately?” I counter her snarky attitude.
“I just want to be treated like an adult,” she whines.
Which I point out that adults try not to do. “You’ll get treated like an adult when you act like one, but Dane will always see you as his baby sister. And he’s not trying to be an asshole. He’s just trying to look out for us.”
“Did Pete give you a hard time about what you wore when you were my age?” she asks curiously as she props up on an elbow.
“God, did he. He hated the clothes I wore to the gym. It wasn’t any different than the other girls, but the other girls weren’t his daughter.”
Pete had me in the gym teaching me to fight since I was fourteen. I started out in sweatpants and t-shirts. As I got better, I learned I could move better with tighter fabric. When it was exceptionally hot, I would wear bike shorts and sports bras.
As I got older, guys started to notice me more. That’s when Pete started on me about what I wore, but his argument was moot. He knew exactly why I wore what I did.
“Speaking of the gym,” I turn to her, “I thought you wanted me to teach you.”
“When am I ever going to have time again?” she asks exasperated. “I don’t think I will be breathing again until summer unless I choose to take summer classes too. But back to what I was asking Ms. Avoid. What are you wearing tomorrow for your date?”
I give her a smile. I said I didn't know, but that wasn't true. Not even a little. I went shopping for the perfect outfit. I pull up the bag from my shopping trip this afternoon. I retrieve the high waisted polka dot skirt that will reach just at my knees and a red sweetheart neckline halter top that has a bit of black lace peeking at the top.
“Oh my god, it’s hot,” she gushes. “How do you get away with such an eclectic fashion sense? I never know from one day to the next what you’re going to look like.”
“Because I don’t have a sense of fashion. I wear what I like and what looks good on me.”
