She reminds me a little of the Addison I saw climbing the steps of the church. Ready to take on anything. Anyone. Yes, I don’t know the real Birdie, yet, but she strikes me as someone who’s been through more than most adults and is stuck in the body of an eighteen-year-old.
“Are you trying to decide if I’m pretty enough to compete?”
“I most certainly am not.” I discreetly dab at the sweat on my forehead. “Incidentally, I think you’re beautiful. I’d trip a nun on Sunday for those cheekbones.”
Birdie’s stride hitches. “Yeah?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
We go back to running in silence for a few minutes. “I don’t care about things like cheekbones. I just want the best chance of winning for Nat’s sake.”
“Noted.” My lips wrestle with a smile. “You’ve got them all the same. A little contouring and you’ll be the envy of Florida!”
“Are you always this upbeat?”
I have to think about it. “I don’t know. When it comes to my mouth, yes. In my head, I’m a whole other story sometimes.” Birdie is about to respond when she catches sight of something in the distance, her eyes glazing with horror. Before I can ask what’s wrong, she snags my arm and drags me behind a palm tree. “What’s is it? What’s wrong?”
“Pastel hell in heels.” She peeks around the jagged trunk of the tree. “Just loitering in the sun with stupid gelato cones. Jesus, they’re like a fucking Aeropostale ad.”
I grab my own quick glance, deciding they look like a group of normal, everyday teenagers. A lot like my friends in high school. Is this the kind of reaction we inspired in everyone else? “Do you want to go talk to them?”
“I’d rather get Heimlich’d by someone holding scissors.”
“Are they mean or—”
“No.” Birdie seems annoyed by that fact. “They were just…they were friends with my sister. Some of them do pageants and Nat would go to cheer them on.” She falls back against the trunk and crosses her arms. “Every time I run into them at school, there’s this split second of disappointment on their faces.”
“Why would they ever be disappointed?”
“Because I’m not her.” She pushes off the tree. “We all used to be friendly, even though I didn’t really fit in with that circle. Now we’re just acquaintances. Natalie was the one who brought everyone together. With friends and family. Both. She’d put on a silly play or throw a board game on the floor and whine until everyone picked a talisman. She was the glue. Everything…everyone is apart now because there’s no glue.” She huffs a breath. “Anyway, if they knew I was doing this pageant shit for Nat, they would probably pity me, and I’d rather be set on fire.”
“You know…” I power walk to keep up with her, back in the direction we came. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t use the S-H word in reference to my life’s best work. Instead I’m going to make a suggestion, if you’re open to it.”
“We’re a mile from my house and I have nowhere to hide. Was that your plan all along?”
“I’m going to let you think so.” We fall into step together. “They’re going to find out sooner or later. Why not face it head on? Tell them what you’re doing. That way you can control the how and when.”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I was too busy mapping different routes for tomorrow’s jog.”
“Already planning our next run?” I take a mid-stride leap. “You’re having fun. I knew it.”
A corner of her mouth ticks up. “I’m going to let you think so.”
It takes us just under fifteen minutes to reach Birdie’s street. We’re both huffing and puffing a little as we turn onto Charlotte Place. Up ahead, I hear the drone of an engine and the scratchy bass of rock music. I want to say Metallica is playing, although I have no idea how or where I learned that information. Probably during one of my mother’s cautionary tales about what happens to good girls who let Satan infiltrate their minds. In this one instance, I have to admit she might be right. The music is loud enough to rattle my molars.
“Where is that noise coming from?”
Birdie laughs. “Jason is home.”
Don’t ask me why I skid to a halt on the sidewalk. It’s an involuntary reaction. I simply didn’t anticipate being seen while sweating. I would feel the same way no matter who I was approaching, man or woman. Yesterday morning, I was preparing to marry a man I’d spent years dating. I still plan on being loyal to Elijah, physically and mentally. Even if there was a moment in the kitchen last night, I swore Jason was thinking no-good man thoughts about me. And I am ashamed to admit that I spent an inordinate amount of time last night remembering the way he looked at me. I’m not sure a man has ever looked at me in such a manner. As if he wants to see me in my birthday suit—and was good and mad about it.