Play Nice (Make the Play Book 3) (6 page)

“Ashley?”

Double crap.

“Ashley? Are you okay?”

Attempting to brush away the last traces of moisture, I lift my head and run a finger through my hair. Keeping my voice even, I say, “I’m fine, Emmy.”

“You sure?” Emmy’s eyes are narrowed in concern. Taylor stands next to her, appearing more perplexed than worried.

“Yes,” I snap. “Just my damn allergies kicking up.”

“Oh.” Emmy bites her lip. “Cause you seem upset.”

“The only thing I’m upset about is the fact that you won’t leave me alone,” I hiss. “Why can’t you mind your own business?”

Emmy’s lips press into a hard line. Gone is the concerned look. Now it’s replaced by anger. “Well, don’t worry, Ash. I won’t make that mistake again.” She grabs Taylor by the arm, and they both glare as they slip past me.

Listening to their footsteps behind my back, I shake my head. Why did I have to be so rude to her when she was trying to be nice? Peering over my shoulder, I watch them enter the coffee shop together, arm in arm. What I wouldn’t give to be with them. To have a friend to hold me up, to defend me, to care about me.

But it’s my fault. Clearly, I don’t know how to be nice.

Henry was wrong. I’m not kind.

And my grandpa would not be proud if he could see me now.

“How did it go?” I ask when Mom and Grandpa get back from picking up coffee. The question is mostly directed toward Mom. I know how hard it can be taking Grandpa out lately. Especially for Mom, since she’s a worrier. She always freaks out thinking he’s going to fall and hurt himself.

“I met a girl,” Grandpa responds after getting settled in his recliner.

“Go Gramps,” I say with a slight chuckle.

Wearing a smirk, Mom shakes her head. “Here you go.” She shoves a paper coffee cup into my hand.

“Thanks,” I say, lowering myself down on the couch. Mom sits down next to me, holding her own cup of coffee.

“Wait until you hear who the girl is,” Mom says, nodding in Grandpa’s direction. “Tell him, Dad.”

“She was a sweet girl. Goes to school with you,” Grandpa says.

“Wow. Robbing the cradle,” I tease, lifting the coffee to my lips and taking a sip.

“Her name’s Ashley,” he says.

Coffee spews out of my mouth. “Ashley?” Raising my brows, I look to Mom for help.

She shrugs.

“Ashley McIntosh?”

“The one and only,” Mom replies.

“And you described her as a ‘sweet girl’?” I ask Grandpa.

“She was. I almost fell over, and she came over to help me. Then she sat down and talked to me for a bit.”

None of this sounds like Ashley at all. “You’re sure it was Ashley McIntosh?”

“I saw her too,” Mom confirms.

“I mean, I knew Ashley was into older guys, but I never thought…” my words trail off as I break into laughter.

“Oh, it wasn’t like that.” Grandpa waves away my words. “I reminded her of her grandpa.”

I freeze, the laughter dying on my lips. “She told you that?” In all the years I’ve known Ashley, she’s never shared anything about her family. And from what I understand, she doesn’t readily offer information about her family to anyone else. But in their short interaction she spilled her guts to my grandpa?

“Yeah.” He smiles. “We had a nice conversation.”

“Really?” I’m dumbfounded.

“She did seem…different,” Mom adds.

“Your mom told me that Ashley hasn’t always been very nice to you,” Grandpa says.

I snort. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“She’s not the monster you think she is, Big Guy,” he says, causing me to wince. Man, I really hope he didn’t call me that in front of Ashley. “The girl I met today was sad, not mean.”

His words pierce my heart. So Grandpa had seen it too. The sadness that lived in Ashley’s eyes. She tried to mask it, but it was still there. Even her tough exterior and bitchy attitude couldn’t squash it completely. “She’s had kind of a rough time lately,” I explain. “Her boyfriend was the guy who kissed Talia.” I’d finally told my mom about my break up with Talia last night, so now we could talk about it freely in front of her.

“I see.” Grandpa nods, touching his index finger to his chin.

Mom rests her hand on my shoulder. “To be fair, she hasn’t just had it rough lately. She’s always had it rough.”

The rumors around town about Ashley’s family weren’t complimentary. But Mom had inside knowledge about Dr. McIntosh from her job at the hospital.

“A lot of people have difficult home lives. Look at Christian Alcott,” I point out. “Hell, our family has even been through the ringer, but Chris and I don’t go around treating people like crap.”

“No.” Mom slowly shakes her head. “Chris beats people up and you make jokes.”

I recoil from her statement. “What?”

Her face softens, and she touches my arm lightly. “Everyone copes with their problems differently. When your dad and I split up you started making jokes all the time, and you have ever since. You use humor as a way to deal. And we all know Chris has had his share of fights.” She shrugs. “Ashley has found her own way to cope.” Lowering her hand, she adds, “Trust me, I’ll take joking any day over Ashley’s rudeness or Christian’s anger problems. Try to see her side a little.”

“I see her side, Mom. I’m just not gonna let her walk all over me anymore.”

“And I’m not saying you should.” Mom stands. “I’d love to sit here and chat more about this, but I’ve got errands to run.” She glances down at me. “Can you hang with Grandpa for a bit?”

“No problem.” As she starts to leave, I reach for her hand. “What I said about our family going through the ringer, it’s not been that bad.”

She smiles. “It’s okay, Hayes. I know it was hard for you when your dad and I divorced. You don’t have to apologize for saying something about it.” But I do feel bad. None of it was Mom’s fault. She’s done her best to give me a good life. “You two have fun today,” Mom calls out as she leaves the room.

Grandpa and I both holler out goodbyes, and then I take another sip of hot coffee. The bitter flavor lingers on my tongue.

“What your mom said is true, you know,” Grandpa speaks into the silence, and my head bounces up. “That girl is clearly wrestling with her own demons, and I really think she could use a friend.”

I set my coffee down on the coffee table. “No way. I’m not letting Ashley reject me again.”

“I’m not asking you to date her. Just be a friend.”

I blow out a breath. Grandpa means well, but he doesn’t know Ashley. He doesn’t know what she’s capable of.

“I saw Talia and a friend pulling into the coffee shop when your mom and I were leaving,” Grandpa says.

“Was Ashley still there?”

A knowing expression passes over Grandpa’s face, and I inwardly groan. “For not being her friend, you seem to be worried about her.”

“I’m not. I was just curious.”

“Yeah. Ashley was still there,” he answers my initial question. “I take it she and Talia aren’t friends anymore?”

“No, they’re not.” I try to imagine how things went down between Talia and Ashley at the coffee shop, and it makes my stomach hurt. It’s crazy that Ashley can elicit so much sympathy from me when she’s treated me like crap for years. But ever since that party I’ve been confused about her. It’s like she’s a completely different person. And now that she’s been kind to Grandpa, I’m even more confused. I think about all the cruel stunts she’s played on her so called friends. Like how she manipulated and betrayed Emmy. How she pretended to be her friend just to get to Cal. And none of it resonates with the picture Grandpa’s painting. Or even of the girl who hides in her car during lunch. And then it hits me: Ashley’s playing a part. It’s what she does. She made Emmy believe they were best friends when they weren’t. How is that any different than her pretending to be sweet to my grandpa? Her meanness wasn’t paying off, so she’s switched tactics. I know my Grandpa means well, and I get how charming Ashley can be. But I’m not falling for her stupid game. Not now. Not ever.

I’ve never faked being sick to get out of going to school. I never had to. In middle school I learned to forge my mom’s signature. And when I skipped school it was to meet a boy or hang out with friends. Not stay home, hidden under the covers in my bed. However, that’s precisely what I’m doing today.

This morning I faked a cough and a sore throat, told my mom I wasn’t feeling well. She called the school office while I hurried back to my room feeling like a loser. But I couldn’t do it again. Couldn’t face everyone’s gloating stares in the hallway. Couldn’t hide in my car at lunch.

I know it’s not a permanent fix. It’s not like I can fake sickness every day for the rest of the year, no matter how tempting that is. Eventually I’ll have to face everything. But I don’t want that to be today.

It was bad enough going to the coffee shop on Saturday. Talia and Heather waltzed in there like they owned the place. Like they were better than everyone. Including me. It was sickening the way they behaved with no regard for how I was feeling. They knew I was standing right there in front of them. Even if they acted like they didn’t see me, I know they did. So much for friendship. I haven’t always been the nicest person, but Talia and I have been friends since we were kids. You’d think that would count for something.

That it would matter.

That she’d care about hurting my feelings.

In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve shared things with her. Not a lot. For the most part I like to keep things to myself. But I have shared some stuff, like how my dad spends most of his time away from the house, and mom spends all her time drinking. And she and I were friends when my grandpa died. She saw how tore up I was about losing him. That was the one time where I couldn’t mask how I felt. Sadness lingered over me like a storm cloud. There was no pretending.

How can she toss me aside like trash after knowing all that?

Rolling over, I groan, pressing my face into my pillow. On the wall directly in front of me is a corkboard covered in pictures and notes. I’ve already taken down the ones of Talia and that group, so there aren’t many left. Mostly selfies or pictures of my family. I really am lame.

I’m about to flop back to the other side of my bed when my gaze catches on the edge of a picture hidden behind another one. Slowly, I throw off my covers and slide off the bed. I know what the picture is before yanking it down. Yet for some reason, I still study it.

Emmy’s cheek is pressed to mine, a cheesy grin on her face. And, despite my best efforts, it causes the corners of my lips to curl upward as I stare down at it. My gaze darts from Emmy’s face to mine, and I’m surprised at how genuine and relaxed I appear in the picture. But I don’t know why I’m surprised. Emmy brought out that side of me. In the moments where I forgot my plan, where I let down my guard, our friendship was authentic and real. It was in those times where I felt comfortable. Still, I never allowed myself to get too close. I kept the lid on the real me and only shared the barest details of my life.

However, Emmy wasn’t so closed off. She shared all sorts of stuff with me – how she felt neglected and disliked by her mom, how she felt inferior to her brother.

The truth hits me like a ton of bricks, and I drop the picture. It flutters to the ground like a bird with clipped wings, landing face first in the carpet. What I’d done to Emmy was no different than what Talia did to me. I knew her secrets, her fears, her hurts, and that hadn’t stopped me from tossing her aside. It didn’t stop me from betraying and hurting her.

Actually, what I did was worse than what Talia did, because I had it planned all along. Remembering how young and impressionable Talia was when we first became friends, I’m sure she didn’t have this planned from day one. In fact, I doubt Talia ever had this planned. Most likely, she snapped. That’s more like her. I’m the one who manipulates and plans. Talia reacts.

I guess I should’ve seen this coming. Emmy softened me a little. Don’t get me wrong, I was still me, but not as hard edged. But when our friendship ended, it sharpened me back up. I didn’t realize how much I relied on my friendship with Emmy. It took losing her to show me that.

The longer I hung out with Talia and that group, it became apparent how good I had it with Emmy. With Talia, everything was a game. With Emmy, it was never like that.

The more exhausted I got with it, the more disgruntled I became. And I know I took that out on Talia. It made me ruder, bitchier, and more manipulative. In part because I wanted to prove to myself that I’d made the right choice. That power and popularity were worth the sacrifices I’d made. That when I reached the top, the people I’d stepped on wouldn’t matter.

Talia must have tired of it too, and that’s why she decided to pull the ladder out from under me. Now she was at the top, and I was battered and broken at the bottom.

It’s hard to feel sorry for myself when I know that I would’ve done the same thing in her shoes.

Feeling sick, I turn away from the corkboard and crawl back in my bed. I yank the covers up over my head and cocoon myself inside. Closing my eyes, I will sleep to come. Maybe then I can stop thinking. Maybe then I can shut off my mind.

Maybe then I can stop feeling so guilty.