by Reid, Penny
My stomach sunk, but only for half a second. Squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin, I immediately demanded that my stomach turn itself around and return to my middle. I did not have time for sinking stomachs, not over something so silly.
Lunch would be over in forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes is no big deal. I’ll figure it out. Pretending to fiddle with the front pocket of my bag, just in case a teacher happened by, I debated my options.
The lunchroom was not a possibility. Two choices awaited me within: Try to sit with the other Iron Wraiths kids, or try to sit with anyone else, because there would be no empty tables. Green Valley was bursting at the seams, too many students and too few seats.
I couldn’t sit with the Iron Wraiths kids. They’d most likely let me, seeing as how my father was the club president, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Prince King would probably try something horrible to get my attention or make me angry, and then Carla Creavers would do something to get Cletus’s attention—who never seemed to sit at the same table twice—maybe flirt with Prince King. Prince King looked like Jared Leto, but he was a complete jerk.
Anyway, Prince King would then get overaggressive with Carla, and then Cletus would intervene—even though it wouldn’t be about Carla, it would be about Prince being “ungentlemanly”—and then there would be a fight and we’d all get detention.
But I couldn’t sit with anyone else. No one wanted to be my partner for class projects—ever—and I honestly didn’t blame them. Who would want their kids hanging out with one of the Wraiths kids? And the president’s daughter? No. Plus, I was under no delusions about the state of my clothes and appearance. Clothes and appearance in high school are everything, and my nickname since seventh grade had vacillated between Smelly Scarlet or Sweaty Scarlet.
“But, you know, their loss,” I mumbled, shrugging.
Another option was the hallway just off the cafeteria, but I quickly dismissed this possibility. Principal Sylvester had forbidden students from the corridor during lunch since last month, after Cletus Winston and Prince King had gotten into a fistfight. Now it was off-limits and heavily patrolled.
A noise snagged my attention, the sound of a toilet flushing, and I turned my head toward it. A few seconds later, two girls exited the bathroom, deep in conversation. I lowered my eyes to my backpack and redoubled my pretend fiddling while they walked past, paying me no mind. As soon as their voices faded, I returned my attention to the girls’ bathroom door and EUREKA!
Of course!
With my lunch tucked safely in my backpack—and the tricky zipper closed—I brought the bag to my shoulder and stood; my decision made easy by the obvious choice.
“What did one toilet say to the other?” I muttered to myself, walking toward the bathroom and answering in my head, You look flushed.
My lips curved at the joke, and I chuckled. “You look flushed. That’s funny. Or maybe it could be, you look pooped. Or how about, why are you so pissed?” The last punchline had me laughing and shaking my head at myself again, muttering, “Good one, Scarlet. You should write that—”
I was so lost in my self-congratulations for the superior punchline, I almost collided with the boys’ bathroom door as it unexpectedly opened, missing a door handle to the groin by jumping backward and to the side. But my quick thinking meant that my shoulder and chest collided with the boy who was exiting the bathroom, which meant that I fell backward on my ass.
For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. As previously noted, this law applies to life, hopes, dreams, expectations, and masses traveling at varying velocities, especially when one of those masses is a huge boy and the other mass is me.
“Are you—” the boy started, taking a hasty step in my direction that made his sneakers squeak on the linoleum, but then he stopped speaking and moving just as suddenly.
I froze, a colossal spike of renewed dismay chasing the air from my lungs. I fought to keep the grimace from my face, and not just because my tailbone was going to be sore for several days as a result of my graceless fall. I didn’t need to look up to know this boy who’d accidentally knocked me down was none other than high school junior, current star quarterback of the Green Valley football team, every girl’s fantasy boyfriend, and my childhood nemesis, Billy Winston.
Nowadays, I avoided him and he ignored me. Actually, in the scheme of things, it was probably more accurate to say I was beneath his notice. So . . .
“Scarlet,” he said, like the word was a dirty one, and then released a quiet, drawn-out, annoyed huff. “Are you okay?”
I nodded wordlessly. He didn’t move.
When we were kids, I would’ve thrown some insult at him. I would’ve felt anger and irritation at being knocked down by Billy, even if it was an accident. I had a kind of fearless confidence when I was a kid, like I really mattered. All that changed in middle school; not because of any one big event or wound; more like thousands of tiny cuts (literally and figuratively). I’d grown tired of fighting the world because the world always won.
ANYWAY.
Presently, my eyes on his feet, I kept my mouth shut, waiting for him to leave.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, like he was about to leave. But he didn’t.
“Here.” His tone laced with impatience, he reached out a hand. “Let me help you up.”
Instinct had me flinching back and tucking my chin to my chest.
“What the hell, Scarlet? It’s not like I’m going to hit you,” he grumbled, sounding even more exasperated.
I sat frozen, heat climbing up my neck and cheeks. Just leave, I wanted to holler. Just freaking go! Little kid Scarlet would have.
A moment passed and his hand dropped. Another moment passed and I heard him exhale a sigh, louder this time. Without another word, he walked around me. I listened as his footsteps carried him away, until the sound was swallowed by the maniacally cheerful cafeteria chatter.
Then and only then did I allow myself to breathe. But I would not allow myself to think about what had just happened.
“No. Nothing happened,” I said. “Nothing happened. I tripped and I fell. He was never here. Nothing happened.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure something happened.”
My head snapped up and I found Ben McClure standing not more than fifteen feet away, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, his attention on the other end of the corridor where the cafeteria was, and where Billy Winston had just disappeared.
"Hey, Scarlet,” he said, sounding distracted.
"Oh. Hey, Ben,” I croaked. My cheeks probably matched the color of my hair by now.
If Billy Winston was Green Valley’s picture of the perfect high school boyfriend, Ben McClure was their image of an ideal man, full stop. Ben was about two years older than Billy, but they were both tall and big and square-jawed and deep-voiced. Until last year, when he graduated, Ben had been the starting quarterback of the football team. Billy had taken his place.
But that’s about where the resemblances ended.
Where Billy’s hair was dark brown, almost black, Ben’s was golden blond. Billy had icy blue eyes that felt sharp and piercing, like needles and knives every time he looked at you. Honestly, Billy’s looks were off-putting. He was just too handsome, movie-star handsome, looking at him directly hurt just a little. But Ben’s blues were warm and pretty, like bluebells in the summer. His handsomeness was softer, more approachable, boyish.
Both considered good mannered, but Billy’s idea of polite was coldly formal, whereas Ben treated everyone like his best friend.
Also, Billy never smiled. Even when he was a kid, he never smiled. Ben’s smile was near constant, just varying in size and intention based on the occasion. He had his smile of greeting, his smile of encouragement, his shy smile, his amused smile, his mischievous smile, his—
Ahhhh. Stop it, Scarlet. Stop torturing yourself.
In case you hadn’t guessed by my gushing, I had a bit of a crush on Ben McClur
e. But in my defense, I think everyone in town did too. Men, women, children, dogs. He was so darn friendly and good. He was the best at everything.
“Whatcha doing?” I felt his gaze come to rest on me where I still sat grimacing on the ground.
Swallowing around the unidentified oral object—an UOO, if you will—making my throat tight, I forced a chuckle. “Uh, well. That’s a valid question. When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
I snuck a peek at him as I found my feet, certain my grin was goofy rather than charming. But that didn’t matter. First off, we were friends . . . of a sort. Ben was nice to me and went out of his way to engage me in conversation whenever we happened upon each other. That didn’t make me special. Ben was friends or friendly with most everyone in town.
Regardless, it still meant something to me. One of my favorite things about Ben McClure was that he didn’t care about who anyone’s parents were, or where they were from, or how old their clothes were, or how old they were. He might’ve cared about how I smelled on summer days when showers were hard to come by, but he never said anything about it.
Point was, he was kind to everybody, all the time, no matter how much of a fool you made of yourself, no matter who you were.
Basically, he was perfect.
Sigh.
Ben’s eyebrows pulled together as he crossed to me, his eyes traveling over my person, and his examination made me hotter under the collar.
“Are you all right? That was quite a fall.” He looked and sounded uncharacteristically irritated as he said this.
“Y—you saw that?” I asked haltingly, wrestling with both my mortification and my heart, which had suddenly gone squishy.
“Yeah, I saw it.” He gave me a small smile that seemed to be tempered with concern. “You keep running into doors like that, I'll have to follow you around to catch you. ”
“Oh. Ha. Hahahaha.” YES PLEASE.
He lifted his chin toward the cafeteria. “Was that William Winston? Knocking you down and not helping you up?”
Yikes.
I shook my head quickly. “It wasn't his fault. I wasn't looking where I was going, and he was just minding his own business, and there I was, flying down the hall, not paying attention. And he offered to help me up, I just—”
"Scarlet.” Ben lifted his hands, showing me his palms. “You don't need to be defending William to me. I know how he is.”
I repressed my urge to set Ben straight about defending William—Billy—Winston. I just didn’t want Ben going to Billy’s momma and repeating what he witnessed. Then Mrs. Winston would talk to her son and make him apologize or something. The last thing I needed was Billy’s ire. And besides, he did offer me a hand. I was the one who refused to take it.
“That looked like quite a fall.” Ben stepped forward, his pretty eyes losing any trace of frustration or resentment; the result caused a warming effect on my stomach.
Or maybe I was just hungry.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, looking concerned.
I made a clumsy little snorting sound, waving away his worry. “Oh me? Nah. I’m fine. It would take a lot more than that to hurt my backside. Have you seen how much padding I got back there? That thing is well protected.” Now I snorted conspiratorially, as much as one can snort conspiratorially . . .
Dear Lord in heaven, why am I such a dork?
Truth be told, concern made me uncomfortable and I wasn’t thinking about my words or my snort, I just wanted to change the subject. Growing up, folks never seemed to show me overt concern without an ulterior motive, and I'd known Mrs. McClure's son long enough to know he didn't ever have an ulterior motive. Therefore, Scarlet the Grand Dame of Dorkiness, always emerged when he showed concern. Somehow, I’d have to figure out how to subdue the Grand Dame before she reigned supreme.
Meanwhile, Ben straightened, shoving his hands back in his pockets, his eyes skipping over my shoulder to look down the hall. “I haven’t—I would never—” He shook his head, like he was clearing it of something. Then he laughed lightly. “Scarlet, if you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll let it drop.”
“I’m fine.” I grinned, dorkily, I’m sure showcasing a mouth full of crooked teeth. His teeth were straight as pine trees planted in a row. How I envied his teeth.
“Okay then.” Warm smile in place, his gaze once more traveling over my face, he took a small step to the side. “Have you seen my momma? I’m supposed to meet her for lunch.”
Ah! Of course. Ben often met his mom for lunch on Fridays since he’d graduated. He went to college in Nashville but drove home most weekends to help his parents. From my hiding place in the chorus room I refused to eavesdrop on their conversations, focusing my attention on books or whatnot. But I did hear their shared laughter—her light, musical chuckle and his deep, rolling belly laugh—from time to time. It always put me in such a good mood, and I’d catch myself smiling later when I remembered it.
Hearing other people laugh at something friendly, something good-natured, was one of my favorite sounds.
“I honestly don’t know where Mrs. McClure is. The chorus room is closed.” I pointed toward it. “Something about wet paint.”
“That’s right. She said to meet her in the courtyard.” Ben checked his watch, then glanced at me. “I think I’m late. Where’s your lunch? Isn't it lunchtime?”
"It's in my bag. I was going to eat in the—well, in my normal spot, but it's not open right now, so I thought I'd eat in the bathroom." I cringed, not meaning to confess so much, yet not terribly surprised I had. There was just something about Ben that made me always tell the truth. I couldn’t imagine lying to such a good, kind face. Or the person behind it.
"Scarlet, what are you talking about? You can't eat in the bathroom. It's not sanitary." He gave me a funny look, like he was trying to scold me and not laugh at the same time. "Why not eat in the cafeteria?"
Every muscle in my body tensed at the suggestion, my eyes lowering to the floor, another UOO in my throat. "I'd prefer not." Not only that, but it wasn’t something I wished to discuss, not with beautiful Ben.
"I'll sit with you, if you like."
I shook my head, not even his sweet suggestion could lessen the finality of my decision. Plus, Scarlet St. Claire eating lunch in the cafeteria with Ben McClure wouldn’t go unnoticed. I moved my weight to the left, intending to walk around him. "I need to go to the bathroom anyway."
Ben leaned to the side, blocking my way. "Okay, you don’t want to eat in the cafeteria. How about this, you come with me and have lunch with my momma in the courtyard. Where’s your jacket?"
"In my backpack, but I'm not allowed in the—"
"It'll be fine." He slid his hand down my arm and entwined our fingers, sending racing goose bumps up my arm and in my brain.
ALERT!!!
We were touching. Oh my dear Lord, we were touching. Now I was sweating again. Something about being touched in a nice way, and apparently by anyone I had a crush on, made my glands activate and act a drama. I guess I knew what that something was, but still. The overreaction was frustrating.
"Come on, she'd love it.” Ben tugged. “You know you're one of her favorite students.”
Self-preservation made me drag my feet. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to have lunch with Ben and Mrs. McClure. Rather, going through the cafeteria in order to get to the courtyard was the problem. I didn't want to draw that kind of attention to myself.
Picture it: me, walking through the Green Valley High cafeteria, holding hands with Ben McClure. Yeah, that wouldn't go unnoticed, even if it didn't mean anything.
“Wait a minute, wait.”
"Scarlet, time is running out. If you want to eat, we should go meet my mom. And I'm not letting you eat in the bathroom. So, it's either you and I sit together in the cafeteria, or you come with me to the courtyard."
"Okay, okay. I'll come with." I gently withdrew my fingers from his, needing him not to touch me so my brain would work. "You, uh, you go on first and I
'll walk behind."
He inspected me, his eyebrows pulled together into a V, making him look both amused and confused. "You don't need to walk behind me, Scarlet. I'm not ashamed to be seen with you."
"I know that, Ben," I replied softly, my mind and my belly tripping all over themselves at his words.
Mrs. Winston was sweet to me, Mrs. McClure was too. But Ben's sweetness landed different. It felt like a light touch rather than a squeezing hug.
Reaching for my hand again, his mouth pulled to the side. I took a step back, evading him, and gripped the straps of my backpack with closed fists. "Go on. I'll follow."
He studied me again. "Hold up. Are you ashamed to be seen with me?"
I rushed forward unthinkingly, horrified that he'd even ask the question, and grabbed hold of his arm. "Oh no. Never. I'd never be embarrassed of you. You're just the nicest, most . . .” I licked my lips, knowing I shouldn’t continue that sentence, and added quietly, “I know how lucky I am, that we’re friends." I was. So lucky.
His fair treatment of me over the last few years meant that other people hadn’t been quite so harsh, and for that I was eternally grateful. Ben McClure was the reigning golden boy of Green Valley, since his birth. Everyone knew the story. His momma and daddy weren't able to have kids for the first twenty-five years of their marriage. Folks prayed and prayed for them. Then one day, miraculously, she got pregnant after they'd given up trying.
The entire town celebrated, or so that’s the way the town gossip Karen Smith told it. Mrs. McClure’s baby shower had been a sight, with people buying silver baby rattles and engraved cups and spoons. Everything he wore until he was three had been hand-monogrammed by someone’s grandmother. Everywhere he went, people were happy to see him. Big Ben, they called him when he was little. The name persisted even now that he really was big, and he bore it all with grace and patience.
