Page 9 of Spring Break with a Bass Player
“Lettie, this is Saige and her niece, Haven. Ladies, this is my sister, Lettie.”
“She’s so pretty,” Haven stage-whispers to her aunt who, begrudgingly it seems, cracks a smile.
“She is,” Saige confirms, “but so are you.” She boops the girl on the nose, and Lettie shoots me a glance, her eyebrows in her hairline before smiling brightly and reaching out a hand.
“It’s really nice to meet you,” my sister says, as Saige returns the shake, the two women engaged in some kind of silent throwdown that’s starting to make me sweat.
“You too, and I’m sure your brother has told you only thebestthings about living next to me,” Saige says with a faux sweetness that makes my sister snort.
“Only that you’re?—”
“Oh my gosh, B, hi!” Amber says as she cuts my sister off and wraps me in a hug as I awkwardly pat her back. I’ve seen her around, usually with Landon or Declan, but not enough for hugging.
Or nicknames.
“Hey, Amber, yeah,” I start as I try to extract myself from her grip. “It’s nice to see you.”
“The girls and I justlovedseein’ you play. Your band isso good,”she purrs, and I watch as Saige’s expression turns cold while my sister’s scrunches up in disgust.
Please let me make it out alive.
“Well, we won’t keep you. Lettie, it was nice to meet you,” Saige says as she takes Haven’s hand to leave.
“Bye!” The young girl smiles and waves.
“We’ll catch up,” I say, but Saige’s back is already to me. I can feel my sister’s irritation, and Amber cannot take a hint.
“Amber, it was really nice to see you. Enjoy your weekend.” She pouts as I grab Lettie’s elbow and steer her farther down thesidewalk. “Thanks for the help,” I hiss, releasing her as my eyes scan the crowd for Saige.
“Seriously? You didn’t want that.”
“Pretty sure I did. Did you see how pissed Saige was?”
“I did.” I glare at my sister. “But I would have said something likeback off, hoto your friend Amber, and I know that’s frowned upon with your elite social status.”
“She’s not my friend and what,” I growl, grabbing her elbow and guiding us out of the line of traffic, “elite social status?Really?”
“Sorry, I might be projecting, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are a celebrity in your own right. And me calling that girl a ho is probably not what you need.”
“You owe me a slushie.”
“Fine.”
“And tacos.”
“Why?” She grins but it’s a formality—she knows why.
“Because you let Saige walk away and now she’s pissed again.”
“Is she evernotpissed at you?”
“It’s debatable, but I really felt like I was making progress before that”—I hitch my thumb over my shoulder—“happened.”
“Guess you’ll just have to try harder.”
Story of my damn life.
5
