When she opens the door and sees me, though, a portion of that confidence goes up in smoke.
Her mouth twists slightly, and some might think it’s a smile, but I know better. Hollis doesn’t normally invite me inside his house, and I know it’s because of his mother. I’ve rung the doorbell before—back before we both got cell phones—and those few times she answered, she’d sneer at me just like she is now. Like there’s some inside joke I’m not aware of.
Mrs. Barnes looks past me, left then right, before settling her narrowed eyes on me. “Reckon you’re lost?”
I stiffen my spine and paste the politest smile I can muster on my face. “No, ma’am. I wanted to see if you might have some fabric scraps you don’t have a need for.” I brighten my smile. “I wanted to make somethin’ for Hollis.”
She stares at me for so long, I expect her to slam the door in my face without another word. I don’t understand her. I’ve never done a thing to this woman, yet she seems to hate me.
Then again, she seems that way toward Hollis, too, and I know my best friend. He couldn’t have possibly done anything to excuse the way she treats him.
“You wanna make somethin’ for him.” She doesn’t phrase this as a question but more like a statement. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear there was a hint of a challenge in her tone.
“Yes, ma’am.” I force myself not to look away, continuing to hold her gaze and stand up straight. I refuse to let her intimidate me.
Finally, after an awkward moment of her staring at me, she shrugs and opens the door wider to let me inside. “Sure. Why not.”
I step inside even though an uneasy feeling settles over me. She shoves the door closed and strides down the hall as I trail behind her. I look around, expecting to see photographs of Hollis on the walls or mantel or family photos placed around the home. Instead, it’s just as it was a few years ago.
Bare walls.
My chest pinches tightly. My family might drive me crazy, but at least they hang photos throughout the house. The photo they took of me with my trophy from the spelling bee in sixth grade still hangs in one of our hallways. You can walk into our house and know a family lives there. Maybe not in the foyer, where Mother insists it be decorated in a more sleek, modern way, but it’s obvious everywhere else.
Here, though, there’s no personality. It just feels…empty.
It’s a house, not a home.
Mrs. Barnes stops at a doorway. “This is the room.” She points inside to a plastic Rubbermaid bin nearly overflowing with fabric scraps. “Take whatever you want.”
Whatever I want? I can’t suppress my surprise at her generosity. Even if it is just fabric scraps. “Thank you so much.”
She waves me off and starts heading back down the hall. “Just don’t take too long.”
I stare after her for a moment before I rush inside the small room she uses for her sewing and lower myself to my knees beside the bin. Combing through the fabrics, I find a few that would be perfect and set them aside.
Once I’ve gathered what I need, I clutch them in my hands and stand, ready to rush out of here. Internally, it feels like there’s a ticking time bomb, and I’m in fear of staying too long.
Just as I turn, one of the fabrics slips from my grip and falls to the floor beside a stack of books—Couture Sewing, A Complete Guide to Fitting, and a few others. When I reach to pick up the fabric, my fingertips brush against a paper that sticks out of one of the books.
Something makes me nudge the book back just a fraction to expose a bit of the handwriting on the lined paper. I can only make out a few snippets.
Your boy is
never expected
always love
Sincerely yours,
“You done or what?”
I snap upward, startled by her sudden appearance in the doorway. “Yes, ma’am.” I rush toward where she’s standing and eyeing me suspiciously. “Thank you for these. I appreciate it.”
Slinking past her, I head down the hall, hurrying to the front door. Something urges me to move faster, and as soon as I pull the door closed behind me, I race back home without a backward glance.
I push all thoughts of that note to the back of my mind and get to work on my surprise for Hollis.
“GO HOLLIS!” I cheer as loud as I can.
I don’t care that the other girls nearby cover their ears or that the cheerleaders give me dirty looks. They—especially the cheerleaders, with their captain, Lora Ann—can just deal with it. I don’t care that my voice may be drowning out some of their cheering. There’s no way they can possibly understand how proud I am of my best friend tonight. He’s starting quarterback in this game and has already thrown two touchdown passes.
When he jogs over to the sidelines, and the defense takes the field, he pulls off his helmet and quickly scans the stands. The instant he finds me, my smile widens, and I turn to show him the back of the shirt I made. Imitating the style of his football jersey, I sewed on a fabric cutout of his number and his last name on a shirt in his favorite color, blue.
His grin when I turn back around makes the sore pads of my fingertips where I accidentally poked myself with the needle worth it.
He turns back to the field, so he won’t get into trouble with his coach, and I cheer so loud for him the remainder of the game, my voice grows hoarse. He throws the winning touchdown, and I jump up and down, chanting his name. My cheeks are sore from smiling so hard.
Once the players head toward the locker room, he turns around and searches for me again. I wave and point at where I’ll be waiting for him once he’s showered and cleaned up. He nods and disappears inside.
I rest my hands on the cool metal railing of the stadium stands overlooking the field. Mr. Barnes sidles up beside me. “Our boy did great tonight, didn’t he?” The pride in his father’s voice mirrors exactly how I feel right now.
I nod. “He sure did.”
Hollis’ dad was late getting here. He had to work late more and more lately since they’ve been short-handed at the mill. I turn slightly to look at him while he gazes out over the field. He looks tired but happy.
“Well, I reckon I should head home.” His eyes find mine, his smile affectionate. “Y’all stay outta trouble, okay?”
I laugh with a, “Yes, sir,” because he knows Hollis and I never get into trouble.
He pats me on the shoulder before leaving, filing out with the others. I turn in the direction of the building housing the locker rooms and skip down the stairs before hurrying off to the doors.
A few cheerleaders gather around, giggling and talking in hushed voices while they eye me. Or, mainly, eye my shirt.
Lora Ann turns around, her loopy bow in our high school’s colors at the base of where her ponytail sprouts from her head, and her eyes survey me from head to toe. Her smile lacks warmth, and the way she lifts her chin, as if to look down on me, makes my spine stiffen.
“Nice shirt.” Her gaze flicks to the sewn-on number on my front, and she smirks. “Were you blindfolded when you sewed that?” When the other three girls with her snicker, it eggs Lora Ann on. “I mean, it was bad enough you had that big ole gap between your teeth, but now you’ve made a ratty excuse for a—”
“That’s enough.”
I pinch my eyes closed at the deep male voice. The tight, stern quality is something I’ve never heard before. While I love that he’s come to my defense, I hate that he stepped in when I should have. I really need to learn to stick up for myself. Sure, every time she—or even my own mother—says something about my appearance, it hurts. But I need to stand my ground and make them think their words don’t bother me.
Even though they do. They poke and prod through my skin and make a direct hit to my heart.
“Oh!” Lora Ann’s features brighten. “Great game tonight, Hollis,” she practically purrs.
Ignoring her, he steps up beside me and casually slings an arm around my shoulders. His dark eyes study me, silently asking if I’m okay.
<
br /> I force a smile. “Ready?”
He nods and winks. “Yes, ma’am.” Without another word, he guides me toward the parking lot and away from Lora Ann and her minions.
“Go ahead. Taste it.” Hollis carefully slides his glass my way.
I grimace. “I don’t know…” I’m not a huge fan of rich desserts, and he knows this.
“Trust me.” He leans his forearms on the table. “It’s a white chocolate shake with dark chocolate shavin’s. I think you’ll like it.”
Reluctantly, I lean in and close my mouth around the straw. The tiny sip of shake hits my taste buds, and I have to admit, it’s pretty good.
He grins. “Good, right?”
I shrug, but just as I part my lips to begrudgingly admit it’s not bad, someone steps up at the end of our booth.
Bryce rests a hand on opposite sides of our booth’s seat back. “Y’all comin’ to the bonfire tonight?”
Hollis hesitates, and his eyes flick to me. “What do you think?”
“I think you should come, Hollis.” Lora Ann appears out of nowhere, and every muscle in my body tenses. Good Lord, the girl seems to have made it her life’s mission to get on my last nerve.
Bryce moves aside as she all but shoves herself in the space between where Hollis sits and Bryce stands.
“Excuse me.” I avert my eyes and duck out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.” I rush off toward the restrooms in the far back of the diner, weaving through the post-game crowd. Just earlier, I was telling myself I needed to stand up for myself, yet here I am, running away.
Right about now, I’m blessing my own heart.
Once I finish and wash up, I take a moment to look at my reflection in the mirror while the other three stalls are in use.
With my blond hair pulled back in a simple ponytail—and no fancy bow like Lora Ann’s—I’m dressed in a pair of designer jeans—the only ones my mother would let me buy. It’s super pretentious since they’re ripped in some places and well-worn, but my mother’s all about labels.
I let my gaze travel from my plain hair down to my homemade shirt that I’d been so excited about. Mother hadn’t been pleased with it, but that’s expected with anything Hollis-related. I know he liked it, judging by his initial reaction alone. But now… I grit my teeth together and bare them in the mirror, my metal mouth visible. Ugh.
Hollis always liked my gap.
I exhale slowly and watch as a wistful smile tugs at my lips.
A toilet flushes, jarring me from my inner thoughts, and I hurry out of the restroom to head back to the table. I slow when I spot Hollis sitting alone, toying with his straw. He swirls it around in his shake, looking lost in thought. I slide into the booth, reclaiming my seat.
His eyes lift to mine. “You okay?”
I nod.
He holds my gaze for a moment before he says, “Come here for a minute.”
I eye him, trying to figure out what he’s up to, but his expression gives nothing away. He merely slides over on his side of the bench seat and waits for me.
Slowly, cautiously, I move around and slide in beside him. My hand rests between us on the seat, and he covers it with his own. As soon as I feel the heat from his palm settle over top of mine, my stress over Lora Ann and my appearance all fades away. His eyes hold an odd intensity, and he leans in closer.
“Sure you’re okay, Shortcake?”
“I’m okay,” I murmur softly. My gaze travels along his features, over the scar bisecting his eyebrow, and down to his sharp jawline before dropping to his lips. For some reason, the curve of his bottom lip, the fullness of it, captures my attention.
“Ignore Lora Ann.” I jerk my eyes up to meet his. “She’s not happy unless she has someone to bitch about.”
My lips part, ready to reprimand him for his language, but his smirk stops me. It’s different somehow. Like it’s almost…sexy?
Wait, no. That’s not okay. This is my best friend.
“Shortcake?” His brows slant together in a fierce expression. “You’re perfect. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.” I find myself transfixed by him. By his straight nose, the slight indentation just above the center of his upper lip, and the way he—
Crash!
The sound of dishes shattering has us spinning around in our seats. A few booths away, Bryce and some of the other guys are now apologizing to Ms. Margie while picking up the shattered pieces from the floor. Those guys are always roughhousing, it seems.
I hurriedly scoot back around to take my seat. Grabbing my sweet tea, I suck it down, and it gives me a chance to compose myself and soothe my suddenly dry throat.
What the heck was that all about?
Whatever my strange reaction was to Hollis just a moment ago, it can’t happen again. Ever. I can’t bear to risk losing my best friend. Everyone goes on about teen hormones, so I’ll just chalk it up to that.
It has to be it.
“Morons,” Hollis mutters under his breath with a little laugh.
I muster a smile, working hard to get myself under control and shake off the odd mood.
“What do you think? Bonfire or no bonfire?”
If we head home, we’ll end up alone in the treehouse, probably talking or doing some model car kit. And, right now, with the odd way my hormones are acting, it’s safe to say the last thing I need is to be alone with Hollis.
“Bonfire,” I announce firmly.
He nods and pulls out his wallet, tossing down enough cash to cover our bill and tip. I know enough by now not to challenge him on this. He always insists on paying.
“Bonfire it is.”
Saturday
MORNING OF THE SADIE HAWKINS DANCE
“What if he kisses me at the end of the night?” I knot my fingers, anxious at the prospect of messing it up if Dallas attempts anything.
Hollis shrugs, avoiding my eyes. “Kiss him back if you want. If not, then don’t.” Another shrug of his broad shoulders.
Geez, I swear, he just keeps getting bigger with more muscles every time I turn around.
We’re in his room, and he’s taking care of his laundry, putting his clean shirts on hangers. His mom isn’t home—I think she’s out getting fabric or something—and his dad’s at work. Suddenly, he stills and raises his eyes to meet mine.
“You know what to do if a guy tries somethin’ without your permission, right?” His tone is hushed, ever so serious, and it feels like everything stills.
“Um…” I nibble my bottom lip before answering with, “I think so?” It comes out sounding more like a question than an answer.
Hollis lets out a long sigh. His fingers release the shirt, letting it fall to the bed, before approaching me quickly. My eyes grow wide, unsure of what he’s about to do. His brows slant together, the crease between them more pronounced, and it draws my attention to that small scar.
“You do whatever it takes to get away from him. Use your elbow, stomp on his foot, jab your fingers in his eyes—anythin’. And as soon as you break free, you run.” He lowers his chin, eyes still locked with mine. A lock of his dark hair slides over his forehead. “Promise me you’ll be safe and do that”—his features turn anguished—“if somethin’ happens.”
“I promise.” My voice comes out in a soft wisp, and I reach up to slide his hair back from his forehead. As soon as my fingertips graze his skin, a jolt ricochets through me. I draw my hand back, unsettled, and he backs away.
He returns to his laundry. With his attention on the task, he continues, “I’ll meet y’all at six thirty since I have to work a short shift.”
Kelsey McCallister had asked Hollis to the dance, and when he suggested we could all head there together, I agreed. Having him close by makes me feel more at ease.
I nod even though he’s not looking. “Okay.”
He said his boss asked him to help out at the country club for a few hours tonight, and since Hollis has been saving up to fix a few things on his tru
ck, he agreed.
I step over to the shelf that holds his favorite books—including a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets—and I can’t suppress a tiny smile when I notice the dog-eared page that I know marks my favorite sonnet. I glance over the handful of model cars he’s put together—some with my help—but one book in particular snags my attention. Auto Body Repair & Technology.
Huh. I reckon I never realized he had such serious plans for his truck.
“I’m fixin’ to get a shower and head to work, so…” Hollis trails off, and I realize I’m lingering, holding him up.
I spin around. “I’m sorry. I guess the nervousness has frazzled my brain.” I pluck an invisible piece of lint from my skirt. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Hey.” I jerk my head up at the gentleness in his voice. His smile is the sweet, affectionate one I’m used to. “Get over here.” Arms extended, he gestures for me to come toward him. I take the few steps necessary and am instantly enfolded in his arms.
I hold him tight, exhaling a long breath. Just a simple hug from him makes me less nervous.
Hollis presses his lips to my hair, and his voice is hushed when he speaks. “You’ll be just fine tonight. Don’t stress over it.”
I nod, brushing my cheek against his cotton shirt. “Okay.”
When his arms drop from around me, internally, I pout, wanting to hug him a little while longer.
I force myself to step back. “Thanks, Hollis.”
His lips tilt up. “Yes, ma’am.” He winks. “Anytime.”
“Thanks for agreein’ to double with us.” I nudge Hollis’ shoulder as we walk to Dallas’ SUV parked in my driveway.
We’ve survived a million camera flashes from our parents, who are now waving goodbye to us.
“I’m so excited!” Kelsey, Hollis’ date, practically squeals. She loops her arm through his, and a sharp flash of unease ricochets through me. Probably because she’s not good enough for him. I mean, bless her heart, the poor girl practically sleeps with anything with a male appendage.
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