Lila scrunches her eyebrows for a moment, then a wide grin splits her face. “Oh! Because I’m so pale, right?”
Stacey flinches. Audrey looks at me like she’s trying to see if I’m offended. Wallingford’s idea of political correctness is never to mention anything about race. Ever. Tan skin and dark hair are supposed to be as invisible as red hair or blond hair or skin so white its marbled with blue veins.
“No, it’s all good,” says Lila. “We’re stepcousins. My mother married his mother’s brother.”
My mother doesn’t even have a brother.
I don’t lift an eyebrow.
I don’t smile.
I don’t admit to myself that scamming the girl I might still be in love with is making my pulse race.
“Audrey,” I say, because I know this script pretty well, “can we talk for a minute?”
“Cassel,” says Lila. “I hav
