Free Just Flirt by Laura Bowers Page A

McDonald’s last week.”
    I’m sure she did.
    Torrance drops her hair, letting it fall down her back in a golden cloud. She tosses me a sweet, concerned look and then turns to Bridget. “Did I tell you? Sabrina doesn’t want to talk about how Blaine drooled over that girl, right, Sabrina?”
    Yeah, more tricks. Torrance may act concerned, but I know what she’s up to. She’s slamming the ball in my court, waiting to see if I can return it. Bridget might be satisfied with her lower ranking, but Torrance and I have been volleying for control ever since we met in sixth grade, and now that senior year will soon be starting— senior year , the most important year ever—I am not about to back down. So I swing my racket hard and say, “Who wouldn’t check her out, Torr? She was hot—a guy would be totally gay not to notice. Besides,” I add with a sly smile, “it’s not as though we ladies don’t do our share of scoping. We’re just not dumb enough to get caught.”
    Bridget laughs. “Yeah, she’s got you on that one, Torrance!”
    Ha. Serve returned, no point.
    Torrance yawns as though it doesn’t bother her. “Well, Danny would never do that,” she says, flouncing to my closet to rummage through my clothes.
    Bridget and I exchange knowing glances. Of course Danny Reynolds, Torrance’s boyfriend of only two weeks, wouldn’t check out another girl. He’s too focused on racing, and when he’s not hanging out with Blaine and Prescott, he’s at some track or in his garage. Torrance had asked Danny out because she thought it’d be glamorous to go to races and wave checkered flags like models sometimes do. But all she did last weekend was complain about the noise and dirt, so I can’t help but grin as she pulls out the brand-new Hollister skirt I got on eBay for the wonderfully low price of five dollars instead of the retail sixty.
    Winning that auction felt amazing.
    Almost as amazing as when I get a new client for my consignment business or if I score a big commission. And if there’s one thing Mom and I have in common, it’s our bargain-hunting skills, although she spends too much on bargains instead of important things like, oh, getting the air-conditioning fixed. At least it’s cooler tonight and Mom is on a date with an ex-military barber instead of trying to gossip with us. Or worse, telling my friends about our mutual eBay love. They would think it’s tacky, so I keep it to myself, not because I’m ashamed or that Torrance’s occasional jabs about our small house embarrass me. Shame and embarrassment are signs of weakness and weakness will get me nowhere.
    Neither will expressing any doubts over my boyfriend.
    Torrance tries on my skirt and does a few more poses, but a small photo album sticking out of my faux Kate Spade bag captures her attention. She opens it without asking and turns to a picture of a nine-year-old girl in a softball uniform with my father’s arm around her shoulder. “Sabrina, is this your stepsister, Angela? She’s adorable. And wow, it’s like she could pass for your father’s real daughter.”
    The ball lands once again in my court and hits me right in the gut.
    Hard.
    I look out the window to the faded shed where Dad used to park his Chevy Suburban. Because he didn’t see me last Friday and our next custody weekend is a week away, we made pre–Father’s Day plans to hang out in Harpers Ferry having lunch and biking the C&O Canal. But when I arrived at his house in West Virginia early this morning, Dad was loading that Suburban with ball bags, folding chairs, and coolers.
    “Honey, I’m so sorry, Angela has a makeup game today,” he said, after giving me a warm hug. “Is it okay if we go? You and I will have plenty of time to talk, but I’d understand if you’d rather skip it.”
    Had it not been for the fact that it rained yesterday, I would have believed Angela planned it deliberately, judging from the victorious glare she shot me from the backseat in her