Page 3 of The Devil Wears Tartan

We locked eyes just like this. I thought she’d be smug. I thought she’d do that infuriating little chin tilt and lift of her eyebrows she’d always acknowledge her wins with.

She didn’t, though. She stared at me with a pale face and wide eyes. Her mouth dropped open like she wanted to say something, and I almost yelled for the medics to stop what they were doing just so I could hear what it was.

I’d never looked forward to anything Kenzie Andrianakis had to say, but in that moment, it was the only thing I wanted.

Then she did the chin-tilt-eyebrow-lift thing, and I let the searing pain in my ankle be my excuse for publicly flipping her off.

The thump of impact from Deanna throwing her arms around my waist is the only thing that drags my attention away from Kenzie. The din of the lobby fills my ears again, and I flash a thumbs-up sign to signal everyone in the lobby can go back to their lives as I tune into Deanna’s mumbled apologies.

“I didn’t mean to make you fall,” she says as she squeezes me. “I’m sorry, Miss Moira. I’m sorry. Are you mad at me?”

“No, Deanna,” I answer, fighting the pull to look at Kenzie again. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see she’s still standing in the doorway. “I’m not mad. I’m glad you’re okay, but maybe we can stop with the running thing now?”

She nods against my leg.

“Cool beans. Can I trust you to meet me in the dressing room? I promise we can talk before I do your hair.”

She nods again and then detaches herself from me before skipping off to the dressing room, her Crocs squeaking against the floor.

The ability of seven-year-olds to ricochet from one emotional extreme to the next will never cease to amaze me.

“So you’re back.”

I brace for my own emotional extreme as Kenzie takes a few steps closer. She’s wearing a full Stewie tracksuit, the navy blue fabric clinging to her body, which is still almost as willowy as it was when we were kids. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail so tight it makes the angles of her face look even more severe: pristine arched brows, high cheekbones, and almond eyes so deep brown they’re almost black. The only thing soft about her is the spray of freckles over her nose, and you have to be pretty close to see those.

About as close as I am now.

For a moment, my breath catches. I realize my throat has gone dry, and I fight the sudden urge to move even closer.

“Yeah, I am,” I answer after forcing myself to swallow. “Been waiting around for me? I heard you’ve never left the scene.”

I try not to cringe at myself for calling it the scene, like this is some sort of ex-drug-lord showdown.

She takes another step towards me, and I feel my pulse flare. “I heard you left the country and became a college dropout.”

My face heats, and I know the top of my chest is going to start turning red any second now. She’s always had an uncanny ability to say exactly what I don’t want to hear.

“Well, you heard wrong,” I say through a clenched jaw. “I’m at Ottawa U now.”

“What I heard was that you couldn’t make it in...was it Australia?”

“South Africa,” I blurt before I can stop myself.

It’s really none of her business.

“Yeah, that was it. I heard you ended up back home after only a few months, and that that’s the reason your mom gave you this teaching job.”

I give up on witty comebacks and ball my hands into fists as I let my knee-jerk response slip out. “You know what, Kenzie? I do not need your shit. Everyone knows you have as big a stick up your ass as Catherine Stewart does and that that’s the only reason you got your teaching job.”

She folds her arms over her chest and tilts her head to the side. “Is that so?”

The cool disinterest in her tone makes me fume even harder, but I do my best to keep my voice even.

“Yes, it is so. Just stay out of my way today, Kenzie. Like I said, I don’t need this.”

I turn around and start marching off after Deanna, bracing for a final remark, but all she does is let out a short huff of laughter.

Somehow, that one sound takes all the satisfaction out of getting the last word.

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