Page 39 of Pretty Little Lies

bay

Ellie is wiggling her fingers,admiring the fresh coat of purple polish on her nails as we amble out of a local salon, owned by one of our neighbors down the street. I’m actually flattered that she wanted to go. Peter—her little love interest—asked her out to lunch, and instead, she came out with Mae and me for a manicure.

In need of some desperate girl time, my sisters are what’s driving me to realize how important the next few weeks are going to be. They’re going to shift the way everything we know has always been into something peaceful, and less unnerving for everyone and their mom in South Shore.

“Bay?” Ellie’s voice hits my back as I direct Mae by her shoulders toward my left to keep away from the two-lane road. “Can I go to a party this week?”

“When?” I glimpse over my shoulder, finding her smooth over her nails with her thumb nervously. Sign number one, I’m not going to like her answer.

And she’s hesitant for a few seconds to give it to me.

“Thursday.”

My brows pinch. “Why Thursday?”

Why ask stupid questions? These are dumbass kids.

You were a dumbass kid a few years ago, like hardcore. Your ex-boyfriend was part of a gang.

“JV softball game.” I inwardly groan, and probably from the expression on my face, she’s privy to my answer already because she’s quick to retort and run up to my side. “Bay, it’s a big one.”

“How? It’s high school.”

“It’s going to determine if we go into theplayoffs.” I hold back a snort. The coaching staff at Beachline Pier High School sucks balls. “And Peter is playing.”

“Can’t you just go to the game? You have school the next day.”

“School’s almost over for the summer. And Peterreallywants me to go.”

I’m sure he does.

High school party equals beer, drugs, and sex. All things I took part of myself as a teenager and would never wish for my little sister to even know about.

“You can go to the game, but Ellie?—”

“Bay,please.”

Fuck me, man.

“I’ll talk to Dad,” I offer up. I’m done with this whole sister-parenting thing already. It’s the back-and-forth for me. I hate repeating myself; it drives me nuts.

“He’s going to say no.”

Okay, well, there’s your answer.

“How long are we talkin’ you being out, dude?” I meet her somber blue eyes and lack of a response.

I’m not stupid.

The time isn’t going to be something that’s going to fly. I’ve done this rodeo a million times, got toldfuck no,and still went out. No wonder Dad suffered from a stroke. I gave him over a hundred mini ones over the last six years.

“Might want to revise that answer.”

Ellie looks heavenward, a whole fifteen-year-old’s exasperation playing out before me, but I’d rather deal with that than my life-drama bullshit.

“Bay, I’m hungry.” Another constant statement comes from the little eight-year-old garbage disposal on my other side.

Spotting a hot dog stand, I point at it. “How about some dogs?”

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