Free Brooke's Not-So-Perfect Plan by Jo Whittemore Page B

.”
    â€œI’m going to work on an answer for Gabby,” Heather informed us, putting pencil to notebook.
    Vanessa started dividing up the advice requests, and I flipped each one over, inspecting both sides.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she asked.
    â€œNothing,” I said, dropping the piece I was holding. But I continued to eye each slip of paper as she moved it across the table.
    â€œShe’s looking for something,” said Tim, regarding me with the same intensity I’d been using for the advice requests. Then, his expression cleared and he grinned. “Oh, I know what it is.”
    â€œWhat?” Vanessa asked.
    â€œI’m betting a certain secret admirer didn’t leave her a note this morning,” he said with a smirk.
    â€œA www!” Heather looked up from her writing. “He didn’t?”
    Three sets of eyes were on me. I squirmed and made a face. “Pfft. I don’t know. I didn’t check. I don’t care. Whatever.”
    I knew. I’d checked. And as much as I hated to admit it, I cared.
    My secret admirer hadn’t left me a note.
    â€œMaybe he found out about you and Jefferson,” said Tim, clapping a hand to his cheek in mock surprise. “Scandalous!”
    I glowered at him. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
    â€œWell, if he’s the kind of guy who listens to gossip, Brooke doesn’t need him, anyway,” said Heather, giving me a reassuring smile. “Now, tell me what you guys think of this response. ‘Dear Betrayed in Berryville, I’m sorry for what happened. Really, truly. I can’t apologize enough for what—”
    â€œUm . . .” I put a hand on Heather’s arm. “We chased off her date; we didn’t kill him.”
    Heather gave me puppy dog eyes. “But I’m really sorry for what happened!”
    â€œI am too,” I said. “But these are supposed to be anonymous, and Gabby can’t know that we know.”
    She sniffled. “You’re right. Plus, it’s probably better if we apologize in person.”
    â€œOkay, so skip the ‘I’m sorry’ part,” Tim suggested. “And get to the advice.”
    Heather nodded. “Let’s see . . .” She ran her finger down the page before flipping it over.
    â€œWow,” said Vanessa. “You were insanely sorry.”
    Heather stuck her tongue out at her. “Here we go. ‘If they’re good friends, they probably had the best intentions, but sometimes even those can go wrong. Try talking to them to get the whole story. I’m sure you’re only hearing half of it, maybe less. And don’t worry, if this guy is really worth it, he’ll give you a second chance. Everyone makes mistakes. Confidentially yours, Heather.’”
    Tim, Vanessa, and I applauded, and Heather beamed.
    â€œWho’s next?” she asked.
    â€œHere’s a good one for Brooke.” Vanessa waved a slip at me. “Some kid sprained his ankle so he can’t play sports until it heals.”
    â€œWhich is why sports video games were invented,” said Tim.
    She smirked. “Anyway, he’s asking if there are any sports that don’t require him to be on his feet.”
    â€œSure,” I said with a shrug. “People in wheelchairs play soccer, basketball—”
    â€œEven rugby,” added Tim. “Although, that might result in more injuries. That sport’s brutal!”
    I started crafting my response but paused. “Do you really think my secret admirer stopped writing because of Jefferson?”
    My friends all groaned.
    â€œWhat brought that up?” asked Vanessa.
    â€œSports, guys, my secret admirer’s a guy, I wonder if he likes sports, I wonder if he likesme,” I said, laying out my thought process.
    â€œMakes sense,” said Heather.
    â€œDoes it really matter?” asked Tim. “You don’t even know who this guy