18
Emery
“Emery!” Kimber yelled.
“Just a second,” I called back. I was putting the finishing touches on my hair, trying to make it do what Heidi had gotten it to do and failing miserably. I put the curling wand down and shrugged. It was better to go as myself than to try to be someone I wasn’t. And a girl who fixed her hair on the regular was definitely not me.
“Emery, now!” Kimber screamed.
My eyebrows rose, and I hurried out of the bathroom. “What is it? What’s going on?”
I found Kimber curled in the fetal position on the floor of her bedroom. She was breathing deeply and winced in pain.
“Oh my God!” I cried. “Are you having contractions? Are you in labor?”
“I don’t”—she cried out and then clenched down, as if bracing herself—“know. It could just be Braxton Hicks contractions.”
