Page 31 of All's Well that Friends Well

JULIET

“Well, just think about it.”Aurora’s voice is far too reasonable as we all crowd around the kitchen table, staring at my phone. “Did you do anything today that would get you fired?”

“I don’t know,” I say, searching my mind frantically. “I don’t think so? I was really nice and normal.”

“You wore pink tweed,” India points out.

“They can’t fire me for wearing pink tweed!” I say. Then my head whips toward Aurora and Poppy, my eyes widening. “Can they?”

“No,” Aurora says with a little frown, and Poppy shakes her head. “Just—calm down.”

“I’m trying,” I say, but tears are burning beneath my lids. “I’m trying!” I repeat, more loudly now at the skeptical looks on my sisters’ faces.

“There’s no use panicking over something when you don’t have all the information,” Aurora says, her voice gentlebut firm. “Let’s get our shoes on and go over to see what he wants. All right? Come on.”

A good idea—it’s a good idea. I nod absently as my mind spins through the contents of my day at work, still searching for what could have triggered this message. “Okay. Good. Yes.”

“Here,” India says from behind me, because somehow she’s already gone to the shoe rack and grabbed my shoes for me. “Put them on. Come on—put them on.”

I nod, slipping my feet into my white tennis shoes. I clench my jaw as tightly as possible, but it’s no use; my chin is still wobbling.

And I hate it—I hate this response my body has. I cry all the time, about everything, and I can’t seem to stop it. It makes me feel like a child.

I would really love to bake something right now. Chocolate chip cookies, maybe. Or banana bread. Or?—

“Chocolate chip banana bread,” I breathe.

“No,” India says, shaking her head. “No bread. Come on. We’re going to see Luca Slater.” At the look on my face, though, she sighs. “When we get home, if you still want to bake, you can. Okay?”

“Boo,” I say, but I know she’s right. I just need to go over there and figure out what Luca wants. Then I can panic if I feel like it.

What would I do without my people, reminding me how to be a functional human?

Although I doubt Luca meant for it to be a family affair, all four of us pile into my car, Aurora only grudgingly letting me behind the wheel. She thinks I’m a bad driver, which I resent, because I’m great. I failed the test a grand total of two times, and that was almost ten years ago.

Her concern is unfounded. That doesn’t stop her from gripping the overhead handle the whole drive like a drama queen, though.

“Oh, please,” I say when I come to a slightly abrupt stop and her hand flies to that handle again. “It’s not that bad. Not everyone drives three miles an hour like you, but that doesn’t mean we’re bad at it.”

India and Poppy are silent in the back seat, which is how I know they agree with me.

“I just think you’re a little—a little carefree,” Aurora says breathlessly, like she really is terrified to be in the car with me.

I whirl around, keeping the stoplight in my periphery as I look at Poppy and India. “Am I a bad driver?” I demand.

“Not at all,” Poppy says, her voice soothing, but India just shrugs.

“You’re the worst out of all of us,” she says, “but you’re notbad.”

I sniff and face forward again. It’s probably a good thing that we live so close to our parents’ house, because it prevents any further arguments—even though Aurora flings herself out of the car as though her seat is on fire. I roll my eyes and get out like a normal adult.

In the shadow of the home, I want to cower—mostly because I’m worried the man inside is going to fire me—but I don’t let myself shrink. I straighten up even though my back is still a little achy, and then I march up the front path and to the doorstep, my sisters and Poppy trailing behind me like a row of ducklings.

They don’t usually let me take the lead, but I appreciate their understanding this time.

When I step onto the front porch and then knock on thedoor, I adjust my features into a passive, pleasant expression. There’s no need to go into this meeting combatively—not yet, anyway. So I wait with my hands hanging awkwardly at my sides, letting the spring breeze kiss my skin and tug a few strands of hair in front of my face.

He can’t fire you for wearing pink tweed,I remind myself, because despite my hopefully calm exterior, I’m still sort of freaking out inside.And if it’s a problem, you can let go of your pride long enough to admit your outfit wasn’t the best choice.

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