Page 76 of Enemy Crush
“Hi,” Miller said with a wide grin.
“Did you hit the car?” I asked Mom, bending down to see what they were looking at.
“No,” Mom said, straightening up. “This is your new car and I only just noticed there’s a small scratch on the back. Humph, I should’ve checked.”
“I should be able to fix that,” Miller said.
“Did you saymy new car?” I stared at her, just the tiniest hitch in my chest as I cast an eye over the small car. It lacked the status of my Jeep, was certainly not new and would rank lowly in coolness—at least at Brizendine Prep.
Mom was nodding. “I know it’s small and it’s ten years old, but it’s economical and the dealer said it’s very reliable.”
“How did you buy this?” I asked. “We don’t have money for a car.”
Mom gestured to a silver SUV, a popular model but definitely not brand new. “I did a trade,” she said. “And managed to get two for the price of one. You really do need your own car.”
“You sold your Mercedes?”
Mom’s lips pressed tightly. “You were right,” she said. “I was so worried about what other people thought of me. Worried about my image, the car I drive, the clothes I wear, where I vacation, heck, even who my dentist is! But now that it’s out in the open, I’m quickly learning who my real friends are. Do you know Jacqueline Fairfax canceled my dinner party invitation. She said there was a mix up with reservations and they don’t have space for everyone anymore.” Mom rolled her eyes, but she didn’t look upset about it, if anything, relieved. “Quite frankly, if I’d had to listen to her husband Barry talk about their exclusive Hamptons getaway one more time, I would’ve screamed.”
I gasped, remembering a time when Mom used to be in awe of the Fairfaxes. Miller casually draped his arm around my shoulder.
But Mom was just getting started. “And as for Jacqueline, at least I won’t have to hear anymore about her interior designer and those dang hand-painted imported tiles from Italy. Orpretend to care about Genevieve St. John’s latest detox retreat. Heaven help me, if the woman didn’t eat three servings of lobster pasta, she wouldn’t need a green juice detox!”
Mom tapped her chin, looking a little sheepish at her outburst, especially in front of Miller. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, “but I just needed to get that off my chest.” Clearing her throat, she said, “Anyway, this car is super reliable and the mileage is good and I think it looks cute.”
“It’s definitely cute,” I said, peering in the window, but I turned back to my car and lovingly stroked the hood. “But this little one is cuter.” Yes, she was small, but she was a pretty shade of blue and I could already picture hanging Bluby the Blueberry Squishmallow on the mirror. She’d match the car perfectly.
“Well, here you go,” Mom said, holding up a key fob. “Just drive safe.”
With a squeal of delight, I took it and hugged her tightly, rocking side to side in her arms. “You’re the best, Mom. I love you.”
“And I love you too,” she said, patting my shoulder. “Okay, now take it for a spin, test it out. And I’ll see you at home later.” She drew back and paused. “Both of you. Go!”
Miller smiled and scooted around to the passenger door. I gave Mom another kiss on the cheek before jumping into my new car. I took a minute to adjust the seat and mirrors and familiarize myself with the dashboard before buckling my seatbelt.
“You ready?” I asked Miller.
“For the ride of my life,” he said, his hand covering mine as I started my new little old car.
Chapter 24
MILLER
Isent Mason over to Quinn’s house to do some, well, spying. There was no other way to describe it. I’d asked Quinn what color dress she was wearing to the Homecoming Dance in the pretence that I would color coordinate with some flowers.
But I had no intention of buying flowers. Mason had to go into her room and check out her Squishmallows. With her collection being in the hundreds, it wasn’t going to be easy to see what she didn’t have, but if he could take photos of blue Squishmallows it would help my selection. Quinn’s dress was royal blue. She said she’d only worn it once and that was to Celeste’s birthday party last year. I applauded myself for having the brains to search for Celeste’s social media accounts and google her birthday party. Sure enough, there were photos of Quinn wearing a short floaty dress with thin straps and a bow at the back.
Mason was asking if he could borrow some dragon books and to get into her room, he was to say he’d like to see her bookshelves. I’d been into the Devereaux house during the week but hadn’t made it up the stairs, not with Mrs. Devereaux’s eagle eyes on me.
Quinn said her mother liked me, but the evidence was thin. Every smile seemed wary, every greeting a little forced, and I wasn’t convinced that I was no longer the enemy neighbor. Quinn said that’s just how she was; that Botox treatments hadruined her smile and her skepticism was a hangover from her Country Club days.
Mason’s spy tactics were truly impressive. Up in her room, he scouted her books, then fell into a coughing fit. Knowing he was prone to asthma attacks, Quinn offered to get him a glass of water and as she dashed downstairs, he snapped photos of her Squishmallow collection, lined up on the shelves by colors. I’d never been more jealous of my brother in all my life.
One sip of water cured Mason’s cough and I waited an agonizing twenty minutes before he came home with the photos and two books. I scoured those photos like an expert detective looking for a clue and before I knew it, I’d gone down the rabbit hole that is Squishmallows. My first thought had been to get the Squishmallow with her name, but it was obvious she would already have Quinn (there were in fact two, Quinn the Fox and Quinn the Kangaroo.) Which is why I’d gone for one to match her dress. But learning that they all had stories, I now wanted to find the perfect one for her. Overambitious? Yes. Crazy? Definitely. With over three thousand Squishmallows, it wasn’t going to be easy, and even if I found the perfect one, would it arrive on time? Or would she already have it? It would have made more sense to go to the mall and look, but I was determined to torture myself by doom scrolling through pages and pages of Squishmallows.
Going by blueness and cuteness alone, I favored Ronello, Linnea and Lux the Manta Ray, but she had all those. And then my next choice, Eva the Bunny wouldn’t arrive in time if I ordered it online.
After midnight and with my wrists burning from pain—arghh, they were so sore—I resigned myself to do what I’d been hoping to avoid—going to the mall. My quest to find the perfect Squishmallow and impress Quinn looked to be fading.
