Free Size 12 and Ready to Rock by Meg Cabot

Christopher says quickly.
    Stephanie glances at him, horrified. “He’s talking about you? My God, I thought he meant some deep dark secret from the Cartwright family that could hurt the show. But he means you? What did you do?”
    “Nothing,” Christopher says, taking her arm and steering her away from us. “It was stupid.”
    “But—”
    “Just drop it.”
    “So,” I say to Cooper as they walk away, arguing in whispers. “That went well.”
    Cooper smiles, then glances at his watch. “I think the ball game is probably still on. If we walk fast, I can catch the last inning.”
    “By all means, then,” I say. “Let us walk fast.”
    On our walk home—after making sure everyone involved with CRT is signed out of the building—I can’t help dragging my feet a little, thinking back to the way Jordan kept staring down at his shoes. There was something he’d wanted to say, I’m sure of it. He’d either lacked the mental capacity or been too frightened to utter whatever it was out loud.
    It’s possible I’m projecting, though. We learned about projecting last week in my Psych 101 class. Projecting is when a person ascribes feelings or emotions that she herself is experiencing onto others as a psychological defense mechanism.
    God knows I have reason to be frightened of the Allingtons’ terrace, so I could be imagining the fear. Whatever it was Jordan had to say, it must not have been that important. Because if it was, wouldn’t he have figured out how to say it?
    Assuming this turns out to be my first mistake. Well, maybe my second. My first mistake was coming over to the building that night to begin with.
    “You know,” I say as Cooper and I are walking up the steps to the front door of what he now insists I call “our” brownstone, “for a guy who isn’t that close with his little brother, you sure raced into the Allingtons’ apartment pretty fast when you heard his voice. You practically ran Christopher Allington over.”
    Cooper is digging around in his pocket for his keys. “Yeah?” His tone is uninterested. “Well, Christopher Allington has a history of being a douchebag. I tend to use extra caution when dealing with known douchebags.”
    “That’s probably wise,” I say. “Is that why you were asking so many questions?”
    “Heather, need I remind you that a man got shot?” He’s found his key chain and hits the clicker on it that remotely deactivates the brownstone’s alarm system. I hear the control panel inside the door beep, giving us the all clear. Only then does Cooper begin undoing the lock. “I might even stop by the hospital when Mr. Bear is feeling better and ask him a few questions. But that doesn’t mean I’m getting involved in the mess that is my brother Jordan’s life.”
    “What does it mean then?” I ask. “Because it sounds like you are getting involved. And you told me I have to stay out of the amateur sleuthing business.”
    “It means I’m allowed to get involved if I want to because I have a license to practice private investigation,” he says. “Issued to me by the state of New York. Am I going to have to show it to you?”
    “I think you are,” I say gravely. “And possibly your wrist restraints too.”
    He grins as he kicks open the door. “Get inside and I will.”

Chapter 6
A Fine Line
He said he liked my lips
He said he liked my eyes
But I had to realize
I was big in the thighs
He said my mind was fine
My voice was sweet like wine
But I was the wrong size
And I’d have to realize
There’s a fine fine line
Between good and great
A fine fine line
Between chance and fate
And to be with him,
I’d have to lose some weight
Because winners win
and losers don’t wait
I said to him
As I sipped my wine
That I understood, and it was time
To say good-bye, ’cause my size is fine
There’s a fine fine line
Between good and great
A fine fine line
Between chance and fate
A fine fine line
Between slide and skate
And winners may win
But losers don’t