Page 6 of The Good Girl's Guide to Being Bad

“You’re about the least edgy person I know.” I started to argue, but Colton held up a finger. “You wear the clothes of a prissy librarian.” Another finger. “You don’t hook up.” A third. “Shit, you don’t even swear.” A fourth. “You don’t drink.” A fifth. “I haven’t seen you at a party… well ever.”

I tried to think of a cutting retort, something to really knock him down a peg.

“You…you’re…such ajerk,” I said in my most menacing voice. It wasn’t good enough. That was clear by the answering grin on Colton’s face. I was just starting to realize, that when you didn’t swear, your options in the insult department were severely limited.

“Face it, Sadie,” Colton said. “You’re a classic good girl. If those idiots want edgy, you ain’t it.”

It was so close to what Kyle had said I had to grit my teeth. While I silently fumed, setting his brother on fire with my eyes—seriously, would a good girl do that? Ha!—Kyle tried to change the subject.

“So Sadie,” Kyle said, “you coming over to study tonight? And by the way, who the hell puts a Physics test on a Monday? So wrong.”

“No, I can’t tonight,” I said, still staring straight at Colton. “As a matter of fact, I have a party to go to.”

Colton laughed. “Oh really? You can’t be talking about Eric Greene’s kegger.”

“It’s a different party.” Lifting my chin, in my coolest, ice-queen voice I said, “The guest list is pretty exclusive. I guess you didn’t make the cut.”

And with that, I made my grand exit, Colton’s laughter and words echoing in my ears.

The stereo was blasting Elvis Presley, the room was packed with people…and I was the youngest person in attendance by at least 50 years.

I hadn’t lied.

This probably wasn’t Colton’s idea of a party. Actually, strike that, itdefinitelywasn’t Colton’s idea of a party. 1) There wasn’t a keg in sight. 2) All the women were completely covered up, most of them wearing slippers. 3) It was 7:00 pm, and the party would end at 8:30 pm (bedtime for most of the residents). 4) The only fight that usually went down in this crowd was over who won at Bingo. But who the heck cared what Colton thought, anyway? Certainly not me.

“Sadie, would you be a dear and get me a slice of cake? I think Edith’s already on her fourth piece—the wretch—and I’d like at least a taste ofmybirthday cake.”

“Sure,” I said and got up to cut my oldest friend a slice.

Birthdays were a big thing here at Shady Grove Assisted Living. On the main table—where Edith was, in fact, sitting, licking the icing off her fork—was a pound cake with a replica of The King (courtesy of yours truly), and it was going fast. Streamers hung from the ceiling, balloons blanketing the floors, and a banner on the wall read: HAPPY 79TH BIRTHDAY MISS BETTY. The residents were migrating around the room, catching up and sharing gossip. As usual, the TV in the corner was turned to the Game Show Network, volume loud enough to compete with the music. The place still smelled like a weird mix of Lysol and baby wipes, but everyone looked happy enough.

When I came back and handed her the plate, Betty smiled. Her teeth were all crowns, she’d once told me, but they gleamed better than the real things ever could.

“Thank you, dear.”

“Welcome,” I said. As she closed her eyes to savor that first bite, I gave myself a mental pat on the back. I knew I’d found the perfect cake. It was blueberry pound cake, Betty’s favorite, infused with real blueberries and vanilla frosting, a blueberry glaze drizzled over top.

“This is divine,” she breathed. “Just divine.”

“I had to go all out,” I said. “It’s not every day you turn 79.”

Betty shot me a look. “You getting fresh with me?”

“No way.” I held up my hands.

“Better not be,” she said, pointing with her fork. “I have it on good authority I don’t look a day over 60. It’s my mama’s classic bone structure.” She gestured to her face. “We Lockhart women always look at least ten years younger than we actually are.”

I eyed her perfectly rounded cheeks, smooth skin enhanced by foundation, eyes brightened by too-much-for-daytime mascara and perfectly applied eye shadow. Her lips were ruby red. Betty never left her room without her face on.

“You do look rather fabulous,” I agreed.

She smiled again at that. “As do you…but you could use some lip gloss.”

I rolled my eyes at that. It was an old argument, but Betty wasn’t done.

“And mascara! What’s the point in having those amazing blue eyes if you don’t showcase them? You’ve got to use what the Good Lord gave you, Sadie. And he certainly gave us more than most.” She took a breath then jumped right to it. “Did you know that Old John tried to kiss Edith? That old bat wouldn’t even know what to do with a man like him.”

“Oh, and you do, do you?”

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