Authors: Stephanie Hale
“Hey, beautiful, why don’t you get us some beers?” Billy Allen says, noticing me at the door.
I freeze and nearly whir around and race away from the door when I remember Erika’s bravery at the pool. I can do this. Leo is never going to notice me if I hide in a corner all night. I pull the doors apart and hold my breath.
“It’s about time, gorgeous,” Leo says, turning toward me. He pats the empty seat next to him.
Oh my God, he called me gorgeous. No one has ever called me that. I stride to the empty chair, attempting to look like I wear heels all the time.
“Laney?” Jeff Applebaum asks, his eyes bulging out. The other guys seem to notice me for the first time and I haven’t felt so uncomfortable since I went through the full body scanner at the airport last summer.
“Holy crap, girl. I was kidding about the beers,” Billy says, talking pretty much directly to my chest.
“Careful now, fellas. She’s taken,” Leo warns, draping his muscular arm over my shoulders. His arm is heavy but I don’t mind. “You don’t mind if we finish our game, do you?”
“No, of course not,” I manage to squeak out. I’d watch Leo trim his toenails if it meant spending more time with him.
I spend the next hour observing the guys play poker, very badly. The cigar smoke starts to get to me, and as much as I hate to leave Leo’s side, I have to get some fresh air.
“I’ll be back,” I tell him.
“Promise?” he asks, looking so adorable that a bead of sweat runs down my back.
“Yes, I promise.” I practically skip out of the room I’m so giddy. Leo likes me. He really likes me.
I walk around the house, grinning like a mad woman, for a little while. I chat up girls that suffered through P.E. with me last year, and I surprise myself by being kind of charming. Maybe it isn’t as hard to relate to other people as I thought.
All of this socializing has me starving, so I set off to find where people are getting the plates of food I’ve been seeing.
I wander into a gigantic marble and stainless steel kitchen. Two giant islands in the middle of the room are filled with trays of fruits, vegetables, and deli meats. Several slow cookers are filled with delicious smelling dips, meatballs, and cocktail wieners.
I grab a plate and start piling on everything that looks even remotely good. I was so nervous about my speech today that I didn’t eat anything. I want to hurry up and scarf this food down so Leo doesn’t see me eating enough for an army. In one corner of the kitchen is a custom-built booth like at a restaurant. I carry my overflowing plate over and slide it on the tabletop. I place my purse gently on the table and go back for a drink.
A huge crystal punch bowl filled with red liquid is in the middle of one of the islands. I ladle some into a plastic cup then sniff it. I don’t smell any alcohol so I take a tiny sip. It’s fruity and laced with bubbles, like Hawaiian Punch and ginger ale. Satisfied it is non-alcoholic, I chug it down, refill my glass, then return to the booth.
I slide in, careful not to dump any punch on my purse. I proceed to jam three napkins into the top of my dress so that hopefully it will emerge unscathed. I bang my ankle against something.
I reach down under the table and feel a smooth box. I lift it up to reveal a bin of Lego’s. They must belong to Josie’s little brother. I set the bin on the tabletop and pull the lid off. My entire body practically buzzes with excitement when I see hundreds of perfect primary-colored blocks.
I’m probably the only eighteen-year-old girl alive with a closet full of Lego’s and Tinker Toys. I seem to lose track of time when I build things, so I don’t allow myself to do it very often. I never wanted it to interfere with my studying. I push my plate aside, telling myself I’ll just build something really quick. I can only imagine what Leo would think if he caught me playing with Lego’s. I love to build things. I really considered majoring in Architecture, but the college near Dad doesn’t offer the major. I was bummed about it, but being near Dad will be worth the sacrifice.
Soon, I’ve got a pretty good mini replica of the Eiffel Tower built, but my food is getting cold. I just need a mini-Arc de Triomphe to match my Eiffel Tower. Maybe I’ll take a picture of them and send them to Dad asking him to send me pictures of the real thing. I’m about halfway done when I can’t wait any longer to find a bathroom.
I scoot out of the booth, my legs tingling. I shake them out and figure I must have been sitting there longer than I thought. I charge out of the kitchen hoping a bathroom is close. I make my way into a hallway and spot a half bath down a few doors. I duck in not a moment too soon.
I check my face in a hallway mirror on my way back to the kitchen. It’s still a shock seeing my reflection. My cheeks are rosier than I remember when I left the house and I don’t remember my eyes looking so crazy big but it must be all the eye makeup I have on.
I make my way back into the kitchen and around the island to the booth. I freeze when I see a guy with his back to me touching my tower.
“I’ll figure it out,” he says, his voice so familiar, but I can’t place it because of the sudden roaring in my ears. I can’t let this guy see me and realize I’m in here playing with toys. “Don’t worry, Mom.”
The voice registers in my memory. It belongs to my ex-chem partner Jack. The guy who thought it would be funny to make S’mores with our Bunsen burner and almost got me a detention. I refused to eat one, afraid our teacher might ask to smell my breath to determine my guilt or innocence. Jack shoved one in my mouth anyway. I nearly choked to death and I pretended it was from the size of the S’more and not from the reaction I had to Jack gently placing his hand against my jaw.
The jolt that ran through me that day reminded me of what happens when you dump a packet of Mentos into a two liter bottle of Diet Coke. A geyser of sticky fizz that is fun but also an unpredictable mess. Against my better judgment, I fell for Jack’s goofy charm. I really thought he liked me, too. Then he screwed up our grade and the rest is history.
He’s wearing a royal blue polo and jeans and I have to admit he fills them out good. I get a whiff of his citrusy scent and remember how I used to live for the time we spent together in lab. At least Jack never realized how I felt about him. That would have been the ultimate humiliation.
I attempt to back away slowly because I am not up for another confrontation. Then remember that I left my purse on the table. Jack turns away from the booth and I’m sure he’ll spot me, but he pours his beer into a small sink in the island then turns on the faucet and fills the bottle with water, not noticing me. Weird. I always assumed Jack would be the good time Charlie of the party, as my grandpa would say.
“It’s going to be okay, Mom,” Jack says, his voice full of emotion.
Guilt almost knocks me off my heels. No matter what I might feel toward Jack, I know that his family has gone through some really tough times lately. He would be mortified to know that I was eavesdropping on such a private conversation. I’ll sneak out and come get my purse later even though my heart races thinking about leaving it here unattended. I try backing up slowly and my heels start to wobble. I grip the side of the countertop to steady myself.
I watch Jack take a few swigs off his bottle then sit it down on a stool. Frustrated, he lifts his left arm and moves a hand through his product-tamed hair in frustration. I fantasized about running my fingers through that hair more times than I want to admit. Jack slams his fist down on the tabletop knocking my tower over. My pulse races worrying that he is going to spill his drink on my purse.
He doesn’t say anything into the phone for a minute. I’m still close enough to him that I can hear his mother’s voice from his cell phone, although I can’t tell what she is saying. His shoulders seem to relax so she must be trying to calm him down and, thankfully, it seems to be working. He mumbles something then snaps his phone shut. Crap. I’ve got to get out of here quick.
Satisfied I’ve got my land legs back, I ease a foot carefully and quietly back. Before I even know what is going to happen, I sneeze with the pressure of a gale force wind and blow myself forward crashing right into the back of Jack.
“Jesus, you scared me,” he says, spinning around, one hand clutching his chest.
“I--I’m sorry, Jack,” I stutter, trying to recover from the electricity that raced through me when I touched him. I try to resist being drawn into his eyes, which have always reminded me of the color of green pigment found in plants, but eventually I lose the battle.
“Dimples?” He asks, dumbfounded, at the exact moment that I notice my precious purse in a puddle.
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Stephanie Hale is the author of
Revenge of the Homecoming Queen, Twisted Sisters, Spring Breakup, The Alpha Bet
, &
High School Hangover.
You can find her on Facebook at:
www.facebook.com/booksbystephaniehale