floors like Morse code as they exited the room and moved into the hallway without so much as a backward glance.
Phoebe tried to fight the tears that were welling up in her blue eyes. She felt small, like her whole life had been shrunk down to fit perfectly in a tiny Kate Spade clutch, her dreams squashed to fit her parents’ unrealistic expectations. She felt like things were moving too fast lately, getting more complicated when all she wanted was for things to be simple—they way they used to be before she fell for Jared, before her family began to fall apart. As much as she wanted her life to slow down and just stop , it seemed to be speeding up faster and faster—whether she liked it or not.
And Phoebe knew that if she wasn’t very careful, it wouldn’t be long before her entire life became someone else’s, and her future spun completely out of her grasp.
secrets revealed
Casey plopped down on Sophie’s bed, kicking off her scuffed, cream-colored Old Navy ballet flats, and grabbed one of Sophie’s oversized down pillows, hugging it to her chest like a teddy bear. “So, what’s up?” she asked, momentarily resting her cheek against the cloudlike surface. God, Sophie’s pillows and sheets were so supremely soft that she wouldn’t have been surprised if Sophie had informed her they were fashioned from the tender skin of newborn babies. Maybe that’s why high thread counts were so ridiculously expensive . . .
“Okay, before I start, you have to promise that you won’t say anything—to anyone .” Sophie sat down on the bed next to Casey cross-legged, leaning her elbows on her knees. Sophie wore a pair of butter-soft cashmere sweatpants in bright orange, and a plain white wifebeater with a rip in one shoulder strap. Even in her casual clothes, Casey couldn’t help noticing that Sophie was still stupidly pretty—which would’ve usually intimidated Casey to the point where she froze up and became unable to put words together like a normal human being. But despite her good looks, Sophie was the one member of The Bram Clan around whom Casey felt almost comfortable. There was something about Sophie’s wide-eyed grin and easy playfulness that made Casey feel like she wasn’t existing perennially on the very fringes of coolness, ready to topple into the abyss of loserville at any second. Around Mad or Phoebe, Casey felt like she always had something stuck in her teeth, or that her hair was threatening to branch out and take over the planet. With Sophie, she felt like it might just be okay to simply kick back and be herself.
“Sure.” Casey threw the pillow to the floor and crossed her legs, mirroring Sophie’s pose exactly. “Who would I tell, anyway?”
Sophie stared at Casey like she’d eaten a brain tumor for breakfast and rolled her green eyes, giggles sprinkling her words like nuts on a sundae. “You never know what might, ahem, ‘slip out’ in the heat of passion . . .”
Casey picked the pillow up off the floor and threw it at Sophie, who ducked it cleanly, smiling wickedly. Nothing was in danger of “slipping out,” though she’d rather bury herself in the noxious, gray cement they were using to repave Fifth Avenue than admit that to Sophie, but it was true—things between her and Drew were definitely not at the slipping out—or in—level yet. They were definitely getting there with every lingering, delicious kiss—but it wasn’t like they spent hours ripping off each other’s clothes every day after school or anything. Unfortunately for you , her inner dating Nazi snapped.
“I mean it,” Sophie went on, her face solemn. “You really can’t tell anyone— especially not Mad.”
Now Casey was really intrigued. Why would Sophie rather confide something so obviously important in her, and not the girls she’d known for her entire life? With uncanny accuracy, Sophie read the confused expression that must’ve been all over Casey’s face, and continued before Casey could even
Phoebe tried to fight the tears that were welling up in her blue eyes. She felt small, like her whole life had been shrunk down to fit perfectly in a tiny Kate Spade clutch, her dreams squashed to fit her parents’ unrealistic expectations. She felt like things were moving too fast lately, getting more complicated when all she wanted was for things to be simple—they way they used to be before she fell for Jared, before her family began to fall apart. As much as she wanted her life to slow down and just stop , it seemed to be speeding up faster and faster—whether she liked it or not.
And Phoebe knew that if she wasn’t very careful, it wouldn’t be long before her entire life became someone else’s, and her future spun completely out of her grasp.
secrets revealed
Casey plopped down on Sophie’s bed, kicking off her scuffed, cream-colored Old Navy ballet flats, and grabbed one of Sophie’s oversized down pillows, hugging it to her chest like a teddy bear. “So, what’s up?” she asked, momentarily resting her cheek against the cloudlike surface. God, Sophie’s pillows and sheets were so supremely soft that she wouldn’t have been surprised if Sophie had informed her they were fashioned from the tender skin of newborn babies. Maybe that’s why high thread counts were so ridiculously expensive . . .
“Okay, before I start, you have to promise that you won’t say anything—to anyone .” Sophie sat down on the bed next to Casey cross-legged, leaning her elbows on her knees. Sophie wore a pair of butter-soft cashmere sweatpants in bright orange, and a plain white wifebeater with a rip in one shoulder strap. Even in her casual clothes, Casey couldn’t help noticing that Sophie was still stupidly pretty—which would’ve usually intimidated Casey to the point where she froze up and became unable to put words together like a normal human being. But despite her good looks, Sophie was the one member of The Bram Clan around whom Casey felt almost comfortable. There was something about Sophie’s wide-eyed grin and easy playfulness that made Casey feel like she wasn’t existing perennially on the very fringes of coolness, ready to topple into the abyss of loserville at any second. Around Mad or Phoebe, Casey felt like she always had something stuck in her teeth, or that her hair was threatening to branch out and take over the planet. With Sophie, she felt like it might just be okay to simply kick back and be herself.
“Sure.” Casey threw the pillow to the floor and crossed her legs, mirroring Sophie’s pose exactly. “Who would I tell, anyway?”
Sophie stared at Casey like she’d eaten a brain tumor for breakfast and rolled her green eyes, giggles sprinkling her words like nuts on a sundae. “You never know what might, ahem, ‘slip out’ in the heat of passion . . .”
Casey picked the pillow up off the floor and threw it at Sophie, who ducked it cleanly, smiling wickedly. Nothing was in danger of “slipping out,” though she’d rather bury herself in the noxious, gray cement they were using to repave Fifth Avenue than admit that to Sophie, but it was true—things between her and Drew were definitely not at the slipping out—or in—level yet. They were definitely getting there with every lingering, delicious kiss—but it wasn’t like they spent hours ripping off each other’s clothes every day after school or anything. Unfortunately for you , her inner dating Nazi snapped.
“I mean it,” Sophie went on, her face solemn. “You really can’t tell anyone— especially not Mad.”
Now Casey was really intrigued. Why would Sophie rather confide something so obviously important in her, and not the girls she’d known for her entire life? With uncanny accuracy, Sophie read the confused expression that must’ve been all over Casey’s face, and continued before Casey could even
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