Free Stirring Up Trouble by Kimberly Kincaid

“Please. The first and pretty much only thing the kid said to me was that she didn’t need me.” She hesitated before admitting, “And I have to be honest. She’s basically right.”
    “I thought Gavin said she was having trouble in school,” Carly said, sounding confused.
    “Oh, she’s failing. Or she was.” Sloane sent another slosh of coffee down the hatch, cradling the mug in one hand while snapping up more clothing with the other. “But as soon as I started working with her, it became pretty clear she’s no slouch in the smarts department. She had an F because she didn’t do the assignments. Not because she couldn’t.”
    The bewilderment in Carly’s voice grew even thicker. “I don’t get it. Why would she intentionally flunk a class if she knows it’ll land her not just with a tutor, but in Gavin’s poor graces too? It doesn’t make any sense.”
    “It does if she’s trying to work him down to his very last nerve. Now that is something this kid excels at.” She threw back the last of her coffee and stuck the empty mug on her dresser next to two partially drained water bottles and a handful of Post-its bearing scribbled book notes. “Anyway, you’re right. The gig isn’t that bad. If I’m tough enough to stand up and give a toast at your wedding, then I am indeed tough enough to handle the next two weeks with a cranky eighth grader.”
    Carly’s voice sparked with excitement. “Hey, speaking of which, did you pick a dress yet?”
    Sloane shook her head even though Carly couldn’t see it and padded into her closet for a pair of jeans. “I still can’t believe you’re not picking the bridesmaids’ dresses yourself. Seriously, you’re the most laid-back bride on the planet.” At last count, Sloane had been in six weddings over the last ten years. She had the battle scars and the bad wardrobe to prove it.
    “Are you kidding? We’re lucky I picked a dress for me. No way am I picking yours too. Just wear black to go with the guys’ suits, and you’ll be fine.”
    Sloane turned, doing a ten-second run-through of the dresses in her closet that were fancy enough to pass muster. She stopped at a dark red garment bag, trying not to shudder as her fingers passed over the plastic. “Yeah, I’ll probably just go with that satin A-line dress my sister Rosie had us wear at her wedding.”
    “You hate that dress.”
    Sloane bit her lip to keep from agreeing, heading down the hall to the bathroom. “It’s not so bad.”
    A muffled snort filtered over the line. “You said it made all the bridesmaids look like statuary.”
    Sloane’s laugh shot out in a quick burst before she clamped her teeth over it. “I don’t suppose you’ll buy that I meant it as a compliment?”
    “Ho-hum and fading into the background isn’t a compliment,” Carly accused, albeit jokingly. “If you wear that dress, you’ll be miserable.”
    Sloane opened her mouth to argue, but she couldn’t. The dress was so freaking boring, it didn’t even put the fun in functional . But most of the gowns in her closet were total showstoppers. And while that was a perfect fit for her outgoing personality, her best friend’s wedding was a different story. The only head-turning gown at this blessed event should be on the bride, period. For once, Sloane was determined to blend in to the wallpaper.
    The leftover bridesmaid’s dress from her sister’s wedding should more than do the trick.
    Carly interrupted her thoughts. “Why don’t you wear that gorgeous dress you got in Madrid? It’s black, and it looks so pretty on you.”
    Sloane snorted and cranked the shower up as hot as the dial would allow. “I can’t wear my tango dress to your wedding.”
    “Why not? I love that dress.” Carly let out a breathy sigh, but Sloane was unconvinced.
    “I love it too, but come on. That dress is . . . well, it’s . . .”
    “It’s perfect,” Carly finished for her, her tone brooking zero argument.
    Okay, fine. So the delicately