by Kristi Cook
“Oh my God! You’re here! I can’t believe it. Go tell Mrs. Richmond. I told her you weren’t coming.” She pushes me toward the teacher standing at the edge of the stage, holding a clipboard. I guess she’s in charge of arranging us in order and getting us where we’re supposed to be at the right time or something.
“You’re here,” Mrs. Richmond says, her voice laced with surprise. She gestures for me to take my place in line in front of Morgan and Clint and then hurries up the stairs to whisper something in the principal’s ear.
No one misses a beat. The junior maid is announced, and the girl in front of me makes her way up onto the stage with her escort. It’s my turn next, and I realize then that I never turned in the name of my escort—because I hadn’t planned on being here. I glance around wildly for Ryder, but he’s nowhere to be seen, swallowed up by the sea of people in cocktail dresses and suits.
Crap. I thought he realized that escorting me on court was part of the deal, once I’d agreed to go. I guess he’d figured it’d be easier on me, what with the whole Patrick thing, if I was alone onstage. But I don’t want to be alone. I want Ryder with me. By my side, supporting me.
Always.
I finally spot him in the crowd—it’s not too hard, since he’s a head taller than pretty much everyone else—and our eyes meet. My stomach drops to my feet—you know, that feeling you get on a roller coaster right after you crest that first hill and start plummeting toward the ground.
Oh my God, this can’t be happening. I’ve fallen in love with Ryder Marsden, the boy I’m supposed to hate. And it has nothing to do with his confession, his declaration that he loves me. Sure, it might have forced me to examine my feelings faster than I would have on my own, but it was there all along, taking root, growing, blossoming.
Heck, it’s a full-blown garden at this point.
“Our senior maid is Miss Jemma Cafferty!” comes the principal’s voice. “Jemma is a varsity cheerleader, a member of the Wheelettes social sorority, the French Honor Club, the National Honor Society, and the Peer Mentors. She’s escorted tonight by . . . ahem, sorry. I’m afraid there’s no escort, so we’ll just—”
“Ryder Marsden,” I call out as I make my way across the stage. “I’m escorted by Ryder Marsden.”
The collective gasp that follows my announcement is like something out of the movies. I swear, it’s just like that scene in Gone with the Wind where Rhett offers one hundred and fifty dollars in gold to dance with Scarlett, and she walks through the scandalized bystanders to take her place beside Rhett for the Virginia reel.
Only it’s the reverse. I’m standing here doing the scandalizing, and Ryder’s doing the walking.
“Apparently, Jemma’s escort is Ryder Marsden,” the principal ad-libs into the microphone, looking a little frazzled. “Ryder is . . . um . . . the starting quarterback for the varsity football team, and, um . . . in the National Honor Society and . . .” She trails off helplessly.
“A Peer Mentor,” he adds helpfully as he steps up beside me and takes my hand. The smile he flashes in my direction as Mrs. Crawford places the tiara on my head is dazzling—way more so than the tiara itself. My knees go a little weak, and I clutch him tightly as I wobble on my four-inch heels.
But here’s the thing: If the crowd is whispering about me, I don’t hear it. I’m aware only of Ryder beside me, my hand resting in the crook of his arm as he leads me to our spot on the stage beside the junior maid and her escort, where we wait for Morgan to be crowned queen.
Oh, there’ll be hell to pay tomorrow. I have no idea what we’re going to tell our parents. Right now I don’t even care. Just like Scarlett O’Hara, I’m going to enjoy myself tonight and worry about the rest later.
After all, tomorrow is another . . . Well, you know how the saying goes.
ACT III
Scene 5
As soon as the crowning is over and Ryder and I make our way down from the stage, Lucy makes a beeline toward us, her brow knit over narrowed eyes.
“I’m going to go find the guys,” Ryder says, releasing my hand.
“I thought you weren’t coming,” she says as Ryder brushes past her, headed toward the long refreshment tables where Mason and Ben are standing with Jessica and one of the JV cheerleaders—I think her name is Kelsey. Or maybe it’s Kasey.
I force my gaze back to Lucy. “I wasn’t. My plans changed at the last minute.”
“Okay, ’fess up. Is there something you’d like to share with me? Like, why you’re here tonight with your archenemy?”
“I needed a ride; that’s all,” I say with a shrug. “Ryder happened to stop by.” I glance back toward the refreshment table. I can’t help myself. It looks like Jessica and Mason are arguing. Jessica’s face is red, and she’s waving her hands around while she talks. In the meantime, Kelsey/Kasey is just standing there, looking up adoringly at Ryder.
Lucy snaps her fingers to get my attention. “Hey, earth to Jemma!”
“Sorry,” I say, giving her my full attention again.
“I can’t believe you asked Ryder to escort you. What, did Miss Shelby make you, or something?”
I almost laugh at that. It’s like the eighth-grade dance, in reverse. Only difference is, I’m not going to throw him under the bus. “No, trust me. Mama has no idea.” And that’s all I’m going to say about it right now. “C’mon, let’s go get something to drink. I’m dying here.”
I lead a bewildered Lucy across the room toward the punch table—and okay, toward the people who happen to be standing in front of it. What can I say? I have no shame. Not tonight.
“Hey!” Ben calls out as we approach. “You looked great up there, Jemma.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks flush hotly as Ryder flashes me a dazzling smile. “Where’d Jessica go?” I ask Mason. She and Kelsey/Kasey have disappeared into the crowd.
“Who knows?” Mason mutters. “She’s mad at me about something.” He eyes me up and down. “Isn’t that the same dress you wore to your mama’s party?”
“Yeah.” I self-consciously smooth down the tulle skirt. “And thanks for pointing that out, Mase. Appreciate it.”
Beside me, Lucy rolls her eyes. “Idiot.”
Mason shoves his hands into his pockets. “Hey, I’m just keeping it real. Oh, look, there’s Rosie. Better run and hide, Ryder.”
We all turn to look in unison. Rosie looks gorgeous in a scarlet-colored chiffon dress, her blond curls loose around her shoulders. Her head is held high, and she appears fiercely determined as she approaches our group.
“Hey, Ben,” she says, ignoring the rest of us. “You want to dance?”
Ben’s cheeks turn the same scarlet as Rosie’s dress. He and Ryder exchange a pointed look while Lucy and I just stand there gawking.
“Go on, man,” Ryder says, nudging him. “You look great, Rosie,” he adds. “Nice dress.”
She smiles up at him, her blue eyes seeming to glitter beneath the disco-ball lighting. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.” She glances from Ryder to me and back to Ryder again. “The two of you . . . You looked good together up there.”
“I know, right?” Lucy nods, and I shoot her a “what are you doing?” glare. She ignores it. “Maybe these two should stop the hating and listen to their parents.”
An awkward silence follows. Finally, Ben seems to remember why Rosie came over in the first place. “Um, you want to go dance?”
“Yeah. I love this song.”
Ben nods. “Okay. Catch you guys later.”
Rosie’s smile seems genuine as she follows Ben to the dance floor. I hope that means she’s finally figured out what a sweetheart he is.
As soon as they’re gone, Lucy lets out a low whistle. “Whoa, did that just happen?”
“I think it did,” I say, watching as Rosie wraps her arms around Ben’s neck. She must have said something funny, because he throws his head back and laughs.
Lucy shakes her head in amazement. “I swear, it’s like we’re in some k
ind of alternate universe tonight.”
“Well, in that case, how about you and me, Luce?” Mason says with a cocky grin. “Think you can handle me on the dance floor?”
“Oh, what the hell?” Lucy says with a shrug. “Why not!” She reaches for Mason’s hand and drags him toward the dance floor but stops a few feet away and turns back to face Ryder and me. “Hey, you two—behave!” In seconds, she and Mason are swallowed by the crowd.
“And then there were two,” Ryder says, reaching for my hand. He leans down, his lips near my ear. “Do you have any idea how badly I want to kiss you right now?” he whispers.
“Later,” I say with a shiver. It’s not an empty word. It’s a promise.
He gives my hand a squeeze. “So . . . until then, I guess we dance.”
“We dance,” I say as a slow song begins to play.
Talk about good timing.
* * *
We were able to successfully downplay the whole going-to-the-dance-together thing to our parents. I guess our history of acting like we despise each other worked in our favor, because they actually believed that I changed my mind at the last minute and called Ryder to take me—just because he lives down the street. And then, since I didn’t have an escort, Ryder offered to stand in.
Mama saw this as a perfect opportunity to remind me what a gentleman Ryder is—how selfless and generous and downright perfect he is. Only, this time, I agreed with her. Secretly, of course.
I have no idea how Ryder and I are going to manage this from here on out. We didn’t talk about it last night. We didn’t really talk, period. We danced. We laughed. We had fun with our friends.
We saved the kissing for later, when Ryder brought me home. He parked the Audi at the end of our road, far away from prying eyes. We leaned against the car under the bright moonlight and kissed until we were breathless, until my lips were swollen and my cheeks were flushed and I thought I was going to melt into a puddle of goo from the sheer rightness of it all.
And then we’d driven up to the house and he’d walked me to the front door. We were careful then, keeping our distance. I figured my mom had her nose pressed to the glass, waiting for us. She probably did, considering how quickly she’d burst into the living room when I walked in the front door, firing a barrage of questions at me before I’d even made it out of the mudroom.
And now I’m just lying in bed, purportedly napping since I’d gotten up early to go to church, but really texting with Ryder.
Did you finish editing your film? he asks.
I turn over onto my side, cradling the phone. Yeah. It looks pretty good. I’ll upload it to YouTube and send you the link, if you wanna see.
’Course I do. Do it now.
So I do. It takes a while for the video to load. Once it’s done, I type out an e-mail with the link and hit send. Then I slump back onto my bed and retrieve my phone. Okay, check your e-mail.
Minutes pass. I close my eyes, reliving my favorite moments from last night. Most include Ryder, but there’s also the moment when Morgan was crowned queen. I’ve never seen her look happier, and I have to admit, she and Clint made a really cute couple. Of course, Clint goes to State and Morgan’s planning on going to Ole Miss, so I’m not sure how that’s going to work out.
And that thought reminds me about my own situation with Ryder. Here we are, doing . . . something. Finally. But in less than a year’s time, we’re heading off to college. I have no idea where he’ll end up. He hasn’t given me any clues as to where he’s leaning toward right now. It could be Ole Miss, but it could just as easily be Alabama or LSU or even Tennessee.
And me . . . well, here I am, finishing up my application to NYU. I’ve got this one last piece to upload and then my portfolio is complete. I’ve already had my SAT scores sent, and truth be told, I’m pretty stoked about the possibility. The more I think about it, the more I want to go. It turns out NYU has a rifle team—yes, I’ve been doing my research. And okay, yeah, I prefer to shoot a pistol, but I’m pretty damn good with a rifle, too. Remember all those skeet tournament trophies I’ve won? Yep, with a rifle.
Turns out there’s even a pistol range in Manhattan, on Twentieth Street, which isn’t too far from NYU’s campus. Who knows? Maybe I can find an Olympic development team or something. That would make Daddy happy. And let’s face it—you can take the girl out of Mississippi, but you can’t take Mississippi out of the girl.
But I’m not getting my hopes up too high. I know I probably won’t get in. But if I do, well . . . I’m just going to have to make my parents understand. Only problem is, before, I’d factored in only the price of leaving all my friends behind. Which, trust me, seems overwhelmingly costly to begin with. But now I have to factor in leaving Ryder, too.
I don’t know what to do. Ryder’s being so supportive about the whole thing, so encouraging and helpful. What does that mean? That he wants me to go? To leave him? I’m so confused, so—
Wow, Jemma! This is awesome. Seriously. It’s perfect.
I read his text with a big, goofy grin on my face.
Did you upload it to admissions yet?
Not yet, I type.
Do it. Now, before you chicken out. The deadline’s just a couple days away.
My heart begins to pound, my palms damp as I type my response. But my parents, remember?
You can talk to Brad and Shelby about it once you get your acceptance letter. C’mon, do it. I’ll wait right here. Let me know when you’re done.
I take a deep breath and then nod to myself. I can do this. It’s just an application. I don’t have to make any decisions now. What the hell, right?
It takes me only a matter of minutes. Eight, to be exact.
I did it, I type.
I’m proud of you, Jem.
I swear, you’d almost think he wants to get rid of me.
There’s a knock on my door. “Jemma?”
I barely have time to type BRB and shove my cell under the pillow before Nan walks in. “You sleeping?”
“Nah, just lying here.” I sit up and stretch. “How’re you feeling?”
“Could be worse.” She sits on the edge of my bed with a sigh. “You’ve been avoiding me. What’s up?”
“I’m just a little . . . distracted lately, that’s all. All this . . . stuff . . . going on.”
“Stuff? Care to elaborate?”
“Hey, your eye looks better,” I say, hedging.
“I know, right? It’s about damn time. I was getting worried about going back to school looking like a freak.”
“You’ve got time,” I tell her. “January’s still two months away.”
She smiles mischievously. “Want to know a secret?” She doesn’t wait for my response before continuing on. “I don’t think I’m going back to Southern. I’m thinking about transferring to Ole Miss instead.”
“Seriously? Why would you do that?”
“I guess this tumor and the surgery and everything has given me a new perspective on things. And besides, Dean and I have been talking a lot lately.”
“Dean Somers?” I ask. Dean was her on-and-off high-school boyfriend. They’d broken up during her senior year, when he was a freshman at Ole Miss and cheated on her at a frat party.
“Yeah. Dean’s graduating in the spring and starting grad school, getting an apartment off campus. And, well, we were thinking . . . you know.” She shrugs.
I eye her suspiciously. “You were thinking what?”
“That maybe I’d move in with him.”
“You would do that?” I ask, unable to disguise the incredulity in my voice.
She chews on her lower lip before answering me. “Okay, maybe not now,” she says at last. “But I want to be there in Oxford with him. One thing I’ve learned from all of this is that life is fragile. I mean, when Patrick went out to make that beer run, do you think he was thinking, ‘This could be it for me’? I’m telling you, Jemma—you’ve got to decide what you want and go for it. You never know how much time you’ve
got left. It’s like that song—how does it go? ‘We might not get tomorrow’?”
“I didn’t know you listen to Pitbull,” I say with a smile.
“I didn’t know you did,” she shoots back.
“Hey, what can I say? He’s Mr. Worldwide.” Behind me, my phone buzzes with a new text.
Nan looks around me suspiciously. “Why are you hiding your cell phone under your pillow?”
Busted. “Because I thought you were Mama,” I answer truthfully.
“And you didn’t want her to know . . . what?”
I exhale slowly, trying to decide how much to reveal to her. I reach for my phone and drag it out. “You kind of caught me and Ryder texting.”
“You and Ryder? Why is that a secret? Wait—do you mean you two were sexting?”
“Oh my God! No. Eww!” That’s just so . . . tacky.
She shrugs. “Well, then, what’s the big deal?”
I realize there’s only one way to make her understand what a huge, enormous, monumental deal it is—I have to tell her the truth.
So I do.
When I’m finished, Nan just smiles and says, “It’s about damn time you put that boy out of his misery. He’s only been in love with you since . . . well, since forever.”
I roll my eyes. “No, you’ve got it backward. We’ve hated each other since forever.”
“Love, hate,” she says with a smile. “Such a fine line between the two, isn’t there?”
And you know what? I realize then that she’s right.
ACT III
Scene 6
Friday’s football game is the last of the regular season. Afterward, we all go out for pizza. Ryder and I don’t get a chance to be alone—not once. Which might be a good thing, since I’m still not sure what’s going on between us exactly. Lucy and Morgan are sleeping over, so we ride back to my house together, all piled into my little Fiat.
When we pull up, I’m surprised to see Laura Grace’s car there. It’s late, and Laura Grace is not a night person. Which can mean only one thing—something’s up. My stomach plummets as I consider the possibility that maybe they somehow know.
