“That’s great,” Carla said. “I called during lunch and talked to my Uncle Rick about using the church. He said we can have it on Thursdays and Saturdays during the duration of the program. So I was thinking maybe Thursday evenings and Saturday afternoons for the soup kitchen?”
“That works for me,” I said, trying to remember my work schedule for the week. “I can switch my shifts at the bakery if I need to. I want to be at the church if I can. Fletcher?”
“Thursday evenings might be rough with rehearsal,” he said. “But I’ll do my best. I can swing Saturdays for sure.”
“Great!” Carla said, and it was just then that Gabe slid into the chair next to mine and raised his brow.
“Yes?” I asked, looking at him from the corner of my eye. Although I felt awful about hitting him, and even worse about hearing the things that my sister and Jones had said at lunch, my remorse didn’t make me like Gabe any more than I had a few hours earlier. He stood out there on the steps and let me make a complete idiot of myself in front of both him and Lashell, and he could’ve stepped in anytime to tell me who he was.
I was torn between being aggravated and devastated by the whole mess.
When he didn’t say anything, I kept my head low and refused to look up.
“Can we help you with something?” I asked, still scrawling in a notebook. “We’re really busy here, and we’ve got a lot to plan before we nail down a schedule.”
“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” he asked below his breath. “Don’t you think it might be a good idea to at least try to play nice?”
I finally lifted my head and turned to give him an unimpressed look, but something stopped me, and my breathing cut short.
I met his pale eyes, and a heavy sigh fell through my lips. Though they were still the same, calming blue, shaded beneath his ball cap, and his clothes were still gross and dingy, there was something different about him. His tanned skin was cleaner, washed clean of any dirt or mud. It was something I hadn’t noticed before as he stood on stage with Lashell, but being close to him now, I could see how well he cleaned up.
He didn’t hold my stare long before turning away to face Carla.
“Gabe,” he introduced himself, and then reached his hand forward to shake both of theirs. Carla and Fletcher both introduced themselves, and then they turned to me. It took every ounce of willpower I had to not roll my eyes. When I didn’t bother reintroducing myself, Gabe sat straighter and continued, “You’ll probably see a lot of me around here over the next six weeks. I have staffers visiting each of the four schools, but Lashell and I are going to head up this team here in Sugar Creek. You guys are the smallest district, and you’re looking like the underdogs at this point. The other schools are working with groups of fifty plus, and I’m not sure it’d be such a bad idea to give you a little extra support however we can.”
“Wait a minute,” Carla said, holding up her hand. “Gabe?” she asked as if his introduction had taken a while to sink in. “As in Gabriel Raddick? Are you Gabriel Raddick?”
“I am,” he said, and it almost sounded humble. “Now, Lashell and I were talking—”
“Oh my God!” she squealed, cutting him off yet again, and then she leaned over to dig a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans.
She unfolded the creases and turned it around, revealing a photocopied newspaper article from the Sugar Creek Gazette. The headline read “Local solider wins national philanthropy award.”
“I’ve been reading all about you since I found out your program was coming to the school, but I had no idea that we’d actually get to meet you. This is amazing!”
Gabe licked his lower lip and maintained a blank expression.
“I’m such a huge fan of your program, Mr. Raddick,” she continued. “Is it really true that you’ve raised a million dollars for local charities since you’ve been home from war?”
He tilted his head for a moment and then nodded.
“Wow,” I said, and the word had slipped out before I’d even registered how impressive that really was. “A million dollars? Good for you.”
“Thanks,” he said, turning to me as if he couldn’t believe I was capable of giving a compliment. He looked at the others and then nodded as if he couldn’t be more eager to change the subject. “So what have you guys come up with for the program?”
Carla didn’t hesitate to give him a rundown on the short-term soup kitchen, and she even mentioned the possibility of receiving a cut of the theater admission proceeds.
“And Lashell mentioned that your little threesome here came up with the big, finale fundraiser for your district?”
“Oh, that was all Mandy,” Carla said, turning to me. “You wanna tell him?”
I stopped slouching in my chair and sat a little straighter. I looked around at all of the other groups as they huddled and talked, planned and divulged, and then I looked back to Gabe.
Okay, Mandy. Time to impress Mr. Big Shot. You’ve got this.
“I talked to the others right after lunch, and we all agreed that it would be fun to do a dance of some kind.”
“A dance?”
“Yeah,” I said. “To celebrate the end of the six weeks, we could throw a massive party to acknowledge all of the hard work and money we’ve raised.”
“But organizing a dance takes a lot of time, money, and resources,” Gabe argued. “It’s great to celebrate, don’t get me wrong, but that’s not really what we’re aiming for.”
“My sister’s the president of the dance committee,” I said, powering through. “And I sit on the board…at her insistence. We have an abundance of resources on our hands, and I assure you that Bailey can throw a party.”
“Again, we’re not here to throw parties. What’s the point? What about the money?” he pressed. “How will you fund it?”
“Donations.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just put those donations directly to charity?” he asked, furrowing his brow. He slowly raised his hands to his face, and his index fingers formed a steeple just below his lips. “Why a dance?”
“We’re not going to ask for monetary donations,” I said, feeling as though the idea was quickly being shot down. “My sister’s boyfriend plays drums in the best band in town, and they would play a free gig, for sure. I already know he’s pro-charity, so the music’s covered, and I can’t see the school turning us down for the space. The rest we’ll scrape up.”
“And how does this function as the finale fundraiser?” he asked, finally lowering his hands. “How do you intend to earn anything from it?”
“Charge for tickets,” I said. “And maybe even set up a donation box inside the dance. Simple as that. I think we’ll be golden.”
“And with Homecoming just around the same time,” he said, “won’t that conflict?”
Carla’s grin widened into a smile, and she placed her hand on my arm to stop me. “May I?”
“Go for it,” I said, giving up. Gabe hated the idea—that much was apparent. If she thought she could change his mind, I wasn’t going to stop her.
Carla loosened her grip on me and reached forward to take Gabe’s hands. Her fingers squeezed his gently in a reassuring manner. He looked down at her grip, slowly pulled his hands away, and tucked them in his lap.
Seeming a little jilted by his refusal to hold hands, Carla still pressed forward.
“I know you’re skeptical, Mr. Raddick,” she said. “But we’re talking about something much larger than some, silly, high school dance.”
“Okay?”
“Like opening the doors and admission to the parents, the grandparents, even the rest of the public who might want to take their family out for a fun night of music and dancing.”
“A town dance?” Gabe asked, and he rubbed his scruffy beard. “Lashell approved this?”
“She was ready to go out and buy her dress the moment Mandy pitched the idea,” Carla said, and Fletcher snickered at the memory of Lashell’s dramatic excl
amation only an hour earlier—I love the idea!
“I don’t know, guys,” Gabe said, shaking his head. “I think we’re losing sight of what the program’s trying to accomplish.”
“How?” I argued. “Lashell said that one of the approaches of RI is to collaborate with people in an attempt to positively impact our community. How is something like this dance losing sight of our goals? This kind of event will bring people together, it will create a safe environment for students and parents to spend time together, and we’re raising money in the process. Please explain to me how this isn’t the best idea you’ve ever heard.”
Carla and Fletcher stared at me wide-eyed.
“Okay,” Gabe said. “Say we give the dance the green light. What’s your theme? What’s the focus?”
“Family, togetherness, charity,” I said. “Stop me when you’ve heard enough.”
“Mandy, maybe you should take a breath,” Carla suggested.
“Those things are great, I’m not disputing that,” Gabe said, ignoring Carla as much as I had. “But if you want a large turnout, you need to think of something that gets people worked up. Pull at their heartstrings. Give them a reason to show up and pay five bucks for a ticket.”
“So,” Fletcher said, deep in thought. “A theme. Something like… relief for hurricane disaster?”
“You’re on the right track,” Gabe said. “But think locally. What will resonate with Sugar Creek?”
“Texting and driving has been a serious issue around here lately,” Fletcher said. “Lots of accidents, especially close to the school. Maybe a charity dance to promote safe driving? And we could emphasize the danger of cell phones behind the wheel.”
Gabe’s grin widened into a full-blown smile, and his hand landed with a thud on Fletcher’s shoulder.
“Genius,” he said. “Bringing awareness and togetherness to the community. Perfect.” Dropping his hand from Fletcher, Gabe turned to me and thumped my arm. “Isn’t that a perfect idea, Mandy?”
Four
“Remember back at the diner when I defended Raddick?” I yelled, stomping through the front door that evening. I threw my purse in the corner and didn’t wait for a response. “Well, undo it! Call him whatever you’d like, Bailey. The guy’s a jerk. And not your everyday, pain-in-the-butt kind, either. He’s a full-fledged, colossal, jerk wad and the bane of my existence!” I kicked both of my shoes in the corner and muttered, “Should’ve just run the creep over when I had the chance.”
“What’s that, Mandy?” Dad asked, poking his head out of the kitchen.
“Oh,” I said, widening my stare. I looked down at my feet, trying to think of a way to take back what he’d just heard. “Nothing. Forget it.”
“Who’s the full-fledged, colossal, jerk wad?” he asked, stepping out. He leaned in the door frame between the kitchen and the living room, and he folded his thick arms at his chest.
“It’s nothing.”
“The scowl on your face says otherwise,” he said, studying me with a keen eye. “Did something happen at school?”
“Nope.” I tried to brush past him, but he grabbed my arm and stopped me. I dropped my shoulders. “What?”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I shook his hand off of my arm. “Let it go.”
I knew he wouldn’t understand even if I tried to explain.
Gabe and I had gotten off on the wrong foot, to say the least. Maybe if I hadn’t hit him with my car, threatened him off of school property, and treated him like complete dirt, things might go a little differently. But now, after only one day under my belt and six weeks to go until the end, I had a hard time believing things were going to get much better. If anything, the sharp pain in my gut had me feeling that things were only going to get much, much worse.
Dad tilted his chiseled chin upward and slanted a look down at me. I’d seen him look at so many people that way in the past, and I knew what he was trying to pull; it was his look of forced compassion, the one that was supposed to make everyone feel like he was on their side. He’d been working on that one ever since he decided to run for local office.
As much as I admired his enthusiasm, it was only fair to admit that Dad’s job as mayor was really something of a giant question mark. Bailey and I had always known that he was a bit of a fame whore and loved attention. He wasn’t the most political or decisive person, and he was just a little too aloof to be trusted with any kind of authority. That was only the tip of the iceberg. There were a dozen other reasons we questioned it, but none more bothersome than the fact that he’d never, ever showed any indication that he was headed for politics. In fact, he’d spent most of our childhood telling us elaborate (and probably exaggerated) stories of his days as a soap opera star, and there wasn’t a story he’d wrapped up without saying ‘and when I go back into television...’
It’d been two years since he’d first taken office, and he was killing it; the town loved him, the camera loved him, and we… well, Bailey and I tolerated him most of the time. But neither of us trusted him as much as the credulous townspeople of Sugar Creek. We stopped putting our faith into him a long time ago.
I moved down the hall, hoping to avoid another question about my first day at RI. I stopped off at Bailey’s door and knocked, but she didn’t answer.
“She’s out with Jones,” Dad called behind me, so I just kept moving.
“Perfect,” I muttered, and then I kept walking for my room. Once I closed the door, putting an extra barrier between me and my nosey father, I sat on my bed and pulled my laptop over from my desk.
After a few minutes of messing around, I clicked over to my e-mail to find only one new message, one from my senior editor at the school newspaper. The subject read: new story, and I knew it must’ve been urgent. Georgia rarely bothered the writers outside of school, and when she took the time to write us on a weekend, you could almost always bet it was something of dire importance.
Mandy, We’re running a piece on next Monday’s front page about the RI competition, and we want to include an interview with Gabriel Raddick. Since you’re working with the program, you’re the only writer on staff who’s got the inside scoop. I’ve got Santiago on pictures. A short article will suffice; it doesn’t have to be much, just enough to get some quotes. Try to get this back to me by Friday morning. -Georgia
I groaned and shut the laptop, too frustrated to even mess with it for another second. As if working side-by-side with the man over the next six weeks wasn’t enough, now I had to interview him for the Sugar Creek High Herald? Perfect.
Two knocks came from my door, and Dad poked his head in.
“Mandy,” he said, stepping in, “why did Darrel Yochum just call and tell me that he saw you parked in the middle of Highway 6 this morning?”
“Say what now?”
“He said that one of my daughters was parked in the middle of a state highway, standing outside her car talking to a man. It couldn’t have been Bailey. She was here with me. That only leaves you, so what? What were you thinking? Don’t you know how dangerous that is? You could’ve gotten hit.”
Yeah, my point exactly. Standing in the street could get you hit. Why was it that my dad understood that, but Gabe didn’t?
“Oh,” I said, searching my brain for an excuse. Any excuse would do as long as it wasn’t the truth. I just had to think of something that wouldn’t lead to getting my phone, car, and driver’s license taken away.
“It was just Gabe,” I said, clearing my throat. “He’s the president of the RI program, and he was stopped outside the park, and we just…well, we ran into each other.”
“You ran into each other?” he asked, narrowing his gaze, but then his eyes widened and he stood straighter. “Wait a minute. Gabriel Raddick? You were talking to Gabriel Raddick?”
“You know him?”
“Know him?” he asked. “I’ve been trying to get a lunch scheduled with him for months! His team has been rebuilding the park since May, so he’s alway
s in town, but I can’t seem to get him on the phone for the life of me. Do you think you can talk to him, put in a good word for me?”
Oh, for crying out loud! Why did it seem like everyone in the world had not only heard of the guy, but fawned over his very existence? I didn’t get it; what was the big deal?
“What do you want with Raddick, Dad?”
“You’re kidding me, right? He’s a local celebrity, Mandy,” he said, and I scoffed at his answer. If that was true, why hadn’t I heard of him until a few days ago? “We’re like-minded individuals. People with our kind of power and influence need to stick together, you know? There’s only a few elite in these small towns, and it makes perfect sense for those few to stick together.”
“You’re trying to buddy up with Gabe?”
“You call him Gabe?” he asked, making a mental note. “He likes to be called Gabe.”
“Dad, don’t be creepy, okay? You’re not missing out on much by not having Gabe as a friend.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said. “He’s the full-fledged, colossal, jerk wad.”
Dad’s lips rounded into a perfect “O.”
“I would’ve never guessed. I’ve only heard great things about him.” He shook his head and looked down at his feet. Just when I thought I was in the clear, his head snapped up again. “So, if you two don’t get along, what were you doing in the middle of the street together this morning?”
“I hit him with my car,” I said—like a band aid, quick and painless. Dad’s eyes widened for a moment. When I kept my face expressionless, he watched me a little closer, trying to read further into my tone. “And you know what? I’m not even sorry. I was, and I was truly concerned that I’d hurt him. But then I changed my mind.”
A small chuckle slipped through his lips, and I watched him closely, trying to figure out which part of that he could’ve found remotely laughable.
Breaking Rules Page 4
