Any Other Girl Read Free

completely taken over when she thrust a finger in my face and started yelling at me in front of everyone.
    â€œNo big deal? Braden isn’t just some random guy at a party, Kat. He’s my boyfriend. My boyfriend .” She turned her face to the side and blinked a few times. She hated crying. “I can’t believe I was actually stupid enough to trust you.”
    â€œYou can trust me,” I said quickly. Pleadingly. “I’m your friend, Shay. You know I’d never—”
    â€œEven after hearing what everyone said about you, I gave you a chance.” Shay spoke over my words like I hadn’t even uttered them. “And this is how you pay me back for two years of friendship? By flirting with my boyfriend the minute I turn my back? Screw you, Kat.” She turned and stormed away, leaving me there on the grass, the center of everyone’s attention just like I always craved.
    Their gazes made me feel ashamed. Naked.
    â€œYou know,” Cassidy said as we both stared after Shay, who was disappearing quickly down the sidewalk, her black ponytail swinging behind her. “I’m glad you’re going to be at your cottage for the summer, Kat. I think we all need a break from you.” With that, she turned and went after Shay, catching up to her at the crosswalk.
    Together, they crossed the busy street and headed toward the Starbucks on the corner, arm in arm. I watched them go as the crowd milled around me, already back to whatever it was they’d been doing before the drama started. They gave me a wide berth as I stood there, half in shock and unable to move. Like I was some kind of disease. Like my very presence was stressful and exhausting, something people needed a vacation from.
    Summer couldn’t get here fast enough.

chapter 2
    T he only time my parents ever fought was when we were packing to go somewhere.
    â€œBryce, we don’t need the bread maker,” Dad said, trailing Pop into the kitchen, his face pink with exasperation. “It’s just two and half months. We’ll buy loaves of Wonder Bread at the corner store.”
    â€œWonder Bread?” Pop said, aghast, as if Dad had suggested we dine on rat poison all summer. “That stuff’s not even bread . It’s loaded with preservatives. Besides, Kat can’t go a day without my oatmeal bread. Right, Kat?”
    â€œSure.” I was sitting at the small table in our small kitchen, painting my nails Bubblegum Pink and trying to stay out of it. All I could think was, I’m getting too old for this.
    â€œBesides,” Pop said as he unplugged the bread maker and coiled the cord with uncharacteristic neatness and speed, “we also don’t need socks, and you packed ten pairs. It’s summer, Mark. Time to trade in the power suits for shorts and sandals.”
    Dad sighed and ran his hands through his perfectly groomed black hair. “Fine, bring the bread maker. Bring the food dehydrator too, while you’re at it. You never know when we might want a batch of preservative-free beef jerky.”
    â€œExactly,” Pop said, hugging the bread maker to his chest with the kind of affection he reserved for two things: me and his vast collection of kitchen appliances.
    Ignoring him, Dad turned to me. “All ready for tomorrow, Katrina?”
    I nodded and swiped another layer of Bubblegum over my pinky nail. When it came to packing for our annual summer-long stay at our cottage on Millard Lake, my technique lay somewhere in the middle of both my fathers’—economical and practical like Dad, bringing only what I needed and maybe a few “just in case” items, and excessive and sentimental like Pop, wanting to transfer all the bulky, unnecessary objects of daily life to our new location. And unlike both of them, my packing had been done two days ago. I may have been getting too old to spend summers in the middle of the woods with my family, two hours away from