Secrets & Surrender

by L. G. Castillo

  “Bianca?”

  “What? Oh my God. Don’t tell me we’re lost. Don’t make me go into that shed over there and ask for directions.” She eyed the building warily.

  “No. I think this is the place.” I jumped out of the car, walking over to a dust-covered sign.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” She slammed the car door shut.

  I wiped the dust off the sign, revealing the words. “Dixie Bar & Grille: Home of the Best Fried Pickles in Texas.”

  “Nope, this is the place.” I wiped my hands on my slacks.

  “Fried pickles? Eww. I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go.”

  “No way. You begged Father to make me bring you here. So now we’re here. We’re going in.”

  I opened the door, and a cowbell rang as we walked in.

  “Why does everyone have big hair?” Bianca yelled over the blaring country music.

  There were several girls in a corner. They giggled as Bianca and I walked to the bar, where a person was serving sodas.

  I rolled my eyes. Bianca asked the strangest questions. It’s not like I knew anything about Texas fashion. “I think it’s for the same reason almost every guy here is wearing a cowboy hat.”

  Bianca and I were the only ones not wearing blue jeans, and everyone seemed to notice, not that all the staring bothered me. But being the new kid in town was hard enough without sticking out like a sore thumb. I should’ve been used to it by now. Even in New York, we stood out because of our family name. In New York, the Marcellis were known in social circles for their political ambition as well as some of the family’s shady past in bad business dealings. Some of those dealing walked a fine line between legal and not so legal. Somehow, my father managed to separate himself from the negative publicity of the Marcelli name and become the president of a major university. Though, it was controversial on how he’d gotten the position, especially since he’d never been a faculty member or worked his way up the ranks, like most university administrators. That had pissed off a lot of people at Texas University. But the Marcelli name carried a lot of weight in Texas, something to do with our family’s close ties with heads of oil companies and some politicians. Needless to say, a lot of strings were pulled.

  We stood in the corner drinking something called “Big Red.” It was pretty good. I noticed a couple of the guys from the football team. They studied me, not saying a word. I gave them a nod. It wasn’t going to be easy winning them over. Everyone seemed to know everyone else. People were in their cliques, and Bianca and I seemed to be the odd men out.

  Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, a harmonica shrieked from the speakers and some guy started singing about being born on the bayou near the Texas border and being born to boogie. It must’ve been a really popular song because girls squealed and dragged some of the guys toward the dance floor. I was about to make a bolt for the door when some dude wearing a black cowboy hat asked Bianca to dance. I was surprised when she actually said, “yes.” The guy resembled a younger version of John Travolta in Urban Cowboy and Bianca’s crush on the movie star helped his case, despite the odd looking clothing.

  I searched the room, hoping for something harder than the red soda I was drinking. I was in serious need of alcohol. That’s when I saw her.

  In between a blur of cowboy hats and blue jeans was a girl who seemed to be dancing in a world all her own. Dark curls cascaded onto a bare shoulder. Large hoop earrings tapped against flawless tan skin. Shapely legs spun on three-inch heels, and even with the extra height of her shoes, her head barely reached the tip of her dance partner’s chin.

  I placed the bottle on the bar counter and walked toward her. She was different from the other girls in the room, not because of the hot pink mini skirt or the lace gloves or the dozen necklaces around her neck. It was something in her eyes. Those dark eyes sparkled whenever she tossed her head back and laughed. I loved the way she moved her hips to the beat, not dancing like the others and not caring who saw her.

  I brushed my hands over my hair and nervously pushed up the sleeves of my jacket. The lights danced on my white blazer, reflecting the colors of the rainbow as I moved toward the dark haired beauty. I wasn’t sure why my stomach was suddenly tied in knots. I’d never had them before and always thought it was a chick thing. She wasn’t the first girl I’d asked to dance. And based on all the gawking the girls were doing as I walked to the center of the dance floor, Texas girls seemed to like what they saw just as much as the girls in New York.

  The knots were forgotten the moment her dark eyes locked with mine. I smiled confidently as I tapped her dance partner’s back without even giving a second thought that this huge guy could probably beat me to a pulp in two seconds flat.

  “Excuse me. I was hoping to dance with the most beautiful girl in Koppe, and you happen to be dancing with her. Mind if I cut in?”

  The guy blinked, surprised at my interruption. He eyed me curiously. “Uh, I don’t know, Mandi?”

  Mandi. I smiled at the sound of her name.

  She stared at me for a moment with that deer-in-the-headlights look. I grinned. Now that was something I was used to seeing. I relaxed knowing that, at least in Texas, some things hadn’t changed.

  Then she blinked as she looked from her dance partner and back to me, her eyes narrowing.

  “I don’t think so. Come on, Buster,” she said, dragging her friend away.

  That was not what I had expected. I stood alone, surrounded by couples stepping or two stepping or whatever the hell they were doing while Mandi kept dancing with this Buster dude. I was confused. If she didn’t want to dance with me, why did she keep peeking around Buster’s shoulder to look back at me?

  Taking a breath, I went up to them again. “I’m sorry. Maybe I said it wrong. I’m new here. My name’s Nic Marcelli.”

  “Hey, you’re the guy who replaced Dillon on the team. Sweet.” Buster held out his fist, waiting for a fist bump. “I’m Buster Mills.”

  “Yeah, that would be me.” I gazed at Mandi, giving her my best grin. “I’ll be starting quarterback for the season. I was wondering if—”

  “Yeah, whatevers.” Mandi twirled around, doing a fancy dance move and lead Buster away.

  She brushed me off…again! I was flabbergasted. What was I doing wrong?

  I scanned the dance floor and marched over to Bianca when I spotted her still dancing with Urban Cowboy. “Come on. I need your help. Sorry, dude.”

  “Hey! I was dancing with Barry,” she squealed when I ripped her from Urban Cowboy’s arms.

  “You need to dance with that guy. His name’s Buster.” I pointed out Mandi’s dance partner.

  “Why?”

  “Never mind why. Just do it. You owe me.”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Bianca.” She waited, tapping her foot. She was so stubborn sometimes. She definitely got that trait from Father. “Fine. I want to dance with the girl he’s dancing with.”

  She turned and checked out Mandi, who looked like she was having way too much fun with Buster. “Ooh, I love her outfit. She’s pretty too. Why don’t you just ask her to dance?”

  I cleared my throat. “I did. Twice.”

  “Shut up! The Great Nic Marcelli was turned down? I gotta call Blair and Kristie when we get home. They’re totally gonna flip out.”

  Great, all the phone lines in New York were going to be tied up tonight once Bianca and her friends got going. What was it with this small town? Everything seemed to be going wrong since we’d moved here. I’d never let Bianca get the upper hand like that. I threw a glance at Mandi. No one ever turned me down like Mandi had either.

  “Knock it off, Bianca. Are you going to help me or not?”

  “Okay, fifty bucks.”

  “No way!”

  “Way. I’ve got a rep to protect. I can’t just dance with anyone.”

  “We just moved here. You don’t have a rep.”

  “Even more of a
reason to not start off on the wrong foot. How do I know if he’s one of the cool kids?”

  “Fine,” I growled. “Ten.”

  “Forty.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Thirty.”

  “Twenty.”

  “Deal.” She gave my hand a firm shake. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” I yelled after when she dashed toward the DJ.

  A couple of seconds later she was back and grabbed my hand. We danced in Mandi and Buster’s direction. “Watch and learn, brother dear.”

  Just as the song was ending, she suddenly bumped into Buster and “accidentally” tripped in front of him. He stopped, helping her up.

  “Oh, thank you.” She batted her lashes. “I’m feeling a little bit woozy.”

  “Are you okay?” Buster asked.

  “I, uh, I think I might . . .” She paused as if waiting for something. When the song stopped, she smiled. “I could use a cold drink.” She fluttered her lashes again.

  There was a sudden shift in the music, and the upbeat of a pop song blared from the speakers.

  “I totally love this song,” Mandi squealed. “Come on, Buster.”

  Buster’s eyes bounced from Mandi to Bianca and then to me.

  Bianca’s elbow made contact with my ribs. “Me too. It’s one of my favorites. I’ll dance with you, Mandi.”

  Bianca and Mandi did a double take.

  What did I say? They’re staring at me like I’d grown a horn on my head or something.

  “Come on, Buster. Is that your name? That’s bitchin’. So are you on the football team? Do you know about the cheerleader tryouts? I was thinking about joining next week. Maybe you could introduce me.” She tucked her arm around a stunned Buster, babbling as she led him away, leaving me alone with Mandi.

  For a moment, Mandi just stood there, jaw dropped, appearing astonished that Bianca had swept her dance partner away. Then she shrugged and took my hand. “I guess it’s just you and me, Nic.”

  That touch, that one simple touch, was electrifying.

  I reached out to her, eager to place my hands on her curvy hips, when I froze. I finally recognized the singer. Rick Astley’s voice bounced off the walls.

  I balked. Did I just say I loved a Rick Astley song?

  I’d been so busy staring at Mandi, I hadn’t realized that the dance floor had pretty much cleared out. There were only two other brave couples left on the dance floor. I could feel dozens of eyes staring at us.

  Part of me wanted to run out of the room. No man in his right mind would dance to this kind of music. But I had asked her dance with me, and here she was, dancing. I swallowed my pride and squared my shoulders. Let’s do this, Marcelli.

  Slowly, I moved my feet from side to side.

  “You call that dancing?” She bumped my hip with hers. She was stunning. Waves of dark hair flew as she swung her head from side to side. Her large hoop earrings hit lightly against her flawless skin. She was in her own little world as her tiny body swung to the beat. I was so mesmerized that I forgot which foot was moving. Stumbling, I stood up straight, and tried not to squish her tiny feet with mine.

  She laughed as she watched me. I wasn’t much of dancer, and it was a miracle that I was moving at all. From the corner of my eye, I caught Bianca with Buster. Her jaw was hanging open as she watched my lame attempt at dancing. I was never going to hear the end of it when we got home. Maybe if I gave her an extra twenty, I could bribe her from telling her friends.

  “I could say the same about you.” I grinned. “What’s with all the jumping up and down?”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her hips as she moved them. Her dance moves were like a mix of some type of Latin and hip hop. I was spellbound.

  “Jealous much?”

  “Maybe.” I winked as I tried to mirror her moves. “So, Mandi, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the movies with me sometime.”

  “Nope.” She twirled around.

  “No?”

  “That’s right. I said ‘no.’”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t wanna.”

  Red stained lips curled into a sexy smile, making my heart slam into double time. Was she intentionally trying to torture me? Her hips swung back and forth as she waved her hands above her head. My hands itched to touch her, to grab ahold of those curves that were constantly moving.

  What the hell is wrong with you, Marcelli?

  I’d never had any problems getting a girl. It was like my brain had suddenly gone into bumbling nerd mode.

  I reached out, my feet moving carefully closer to the sexy girl bouncing in front of me. Then she started singing the chorus to “Never Gonna Give You Up,” her sweet voice drifting over the music.

  “Never gonna run around a dessert spoon.”

  I froze at the lyrics.

  “Why did you stop? Tired already?” She eyeballed my feet.

  “Uh, did you say something about a dessert spoon?”

  “Yeah, that’s the lyrics to the song. Duh. The guy’s saying that he’s never going to run around with a dessert spoon.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  She stopped, frowning. “Have you even listened to the song?”

  “I think the phrase is ‘desert you.’”

  She placed her hands on her curvy hips. “Now that doesn’t make sense. Why is he going to say that he’s never going to give up the girl he loves and then in the next sentence say he’s going to desert her.”

  “I don’t think that’s what the song means.”

  She folded her hand across her chest. “Oh, really. So Mr.-Know-it-all-I’m-Rick-Astley’s-number-one-fan what is the song about?”

  “Okay, look. I confess. I’m not really a Rick Astley fan.”

  Her jaw dropped then she shut it, those luscious lips turning into a thin line.

  Shit! Way to go, Marcelli. Now she was really pissed.

  “Then you obviously don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You can tell me about it...over dinner.” I leaned in close, my hand sweeping over her silky hair.

  Her breath hitched, her eyes growing wide.

  Yes!

  “I could pick you up tomorrow night at—”

  The song stopped and there was a chorus of groans as Boy George’s voice filtered through the air. Mandi shook her head as if coming out of a trance and gave out a high-pitched squeal, “Eep, Culture Club! That’s Buster’s favorite song. Buster!”

  “Wait. What about dinner?” I yelled after her. I watched helplessly as she bounced back to Buster, pulling him away from Bianca.

  Bianca shrugged. Then she rubbed her fingers together with a smirk, reminding me to pay up.

  Mandi placed her hands on Buster’s broad shoulders. He placed his thick hands around her tiny waist. Somehow, Buster was able to figure out how to turn the song into a two-step dance.

  My jaw tightened as I watched Mandi in his arms and, for the first time in my life, I was jealous. She didn’t care that I was the quarterback of the football team. She didn’t fall for any of my normal moves. She didn’t even look in my direction.

  “Hey, did you hear what I said?” Bianca poked my arm.

  “Did you say something?”

  A hand waved in front of my face. “Earth to Nic! I said, ‘let’s book.’ The music’s so lame. Seriously. Boy George?”

  “Yeah.”

  I glanced back at Mandi as she smiled up at Buster. People stared as she moved around the dance floor with him. She didn’t even notice them or care that they were watching. I placed my hand on the door handle, holding it open for Bianca as I watched them dance. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a few of the girls staring after me, pouting.

  “Mother was totally lying. She said it wouldn’t be so bad living in a small town. Man, going to school next week is going to be torture. I can feel it,” Bianca said as we walked out. “And don’t forget you owe me twenty.”

  I hadn’t w
anted to move either, not that we had a choice. This was just another one of our father’s strategic moves. His political ambitions always trumped family. I had hoped that maybe he’d be so busy that he wouldn’t care whether or not I was on the football team. I’d never been so relieved to miss football tryouts. I should’ve known that Father would pull some strings to get me on the team, even if it was at a small high school like Koppe. I guess a big fish in a small pond was good enough for him.

  I looked over to Mandi. There was just something about her that drew me to her. One way or another, I was going to get her to go out with me.

  “Wait in the car. I’ll be right there,” I called to Bianca when I spotted Tricia. “Hey, Tricia!”

  “Leaving already?”

  “Yeah, Bianca’s not feeling well.” I wasn’t about to tell one of the few nice girls I’d met in Koppe that my sister thought her party was lame.

  “Oh, tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

  “I was wondering something. Can we this conversation between the two of us?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are Mandi and Buster a couple?”

  “No, they’re just good friends. They have been since she moved from Los Angeles and—oh! You like her.”

  “Maybe.” I gritted my teeth. This was so embarrassing. I felt like I was in junior high or something.

  She giggled. “Okay, well, she doesn’t have a boyfriend, and I haven’t never seen her date anyone since she moved here. She’s really smart, you know. She’s taking all advanced classes. We’re taking AP calculus together this year.”

  I groaned. There was no way Mandi and I would be in any of the same classes. Maybe I could get the old man to pull some strings and get me into AP calculus. I sucked at math. I also sucked at chemistry. It would be be a minor miracle if I got into a decent college. As much as I hated to admit it, the Marcelli name opened doors, even Ivy League ones. I’ve always hated that. But for once, I hoped it would open the door to the AP calculus class at Koppe High.