by Kate Rorick
Besides, she reasoned, in actuality she had months to tell her mom about Berkeley—it didn’t start until the fall.
The prom, on the other hand, was a little over a week away.
It had happened before she even made it into the Favorite Flower that morning. When she pulled into the parking lot behind their stall, she was surprised to see Foz there, hanging out beside his car, flipping his keys over in his hand.
Usually, she beat Foz in to work. Partially out of a latent sense of competition with him, but mostly because since he was in Whittier now, she lived closer to downtown. But she was more surprised to see him because he hadn’t been in to work the past few days.
“Hey,” she said, as she climbed out of her car.
“Hey,” he replied, coming off the wall he was leaning against, and headed toward her. He fell into step beside her as they walked to the market’s doors.
“Were you waiting for me?” she asked, eyeing him.
“Kinda.”
“Why?” She was certainly feeling bold that morning. Although she hadn’t a clue the reason.
He stopped walking. She waited. He opened his mouth to speak, but then nothing came out.
“You’ve been out the past couple days,” she began, slightly hesitant. “Were you sick?”
“No. Nothing like that. I had AP exams.”
“Oh.” She felt oddly relieved. So he hadn’t been avoiding her. Not that he had any reason to avoid her. But there had been a certain awkwardness to the last time they saw each other. They started walking again.
“I don’t have any until next week. Which did you—”
“Computer science and biology,” he said automatically.
“Not my subjects,” she said ruefully.
“Not mine either.”
They walked on in silence for a few steps. Something was definitely up with Foz. She just had no idea what it was. But it kept making her glance at him out of the corner of her eye, curious.
“So listen . . .” he said, slowing his steps. Her body became alert and strangely uneasy.
“Yes?”
“I was going to ask you something.”
Her heart leaped into her throat. Last time at work. As they were talking about college. The last thing he said before Lyndi came and roped them into loading their cars, he’d said he wanted to ask her something.
“I was going to ask you to prom.”
Her eyes shot up to his face. “You were?”
“Yeah, but then I realized, I can’t ask you to prom.”
“Why not?” Did he have a girlfriend? You would think sometime in all of their working together and all of their texting that he would have mentioned a girlfriend in an offhand, casual way . . .
“Because we don’t go to the same school anymore.”
“Oh,” she said. Then, realizing, “ohhhhhhhh . . .”
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his head, making his hair stick up even more than usual. “Apparently, I missed my new school’s window for buying tickets . . . and besides, you probably have a date to your prom already. But just know, that if I could have . . . I would have asked you to prom.”
“ . . . Okay,” was her reply. Her utterly dumbstruck reply.
He waited a second, to see if she had anything more to say, but when she didn’t, he just shuffled his feet forward, and tried to cover up the awkward big talk with awkward small talk.
“So . . . ready for work?”
But instead, she reached out and grabbed his hand. He stopped, turned back to her.
And she took a breath, and dove in.
Kissing Foz was not what she expected it to be. She’d kissed guys before. She was a senior in high school, there had been the occasional game of spin the bottle in her friend Jennifer’s basement in middle school. And that one time she’d gone to sleepaway writing camp for a week, and a boy asked if he could kiss her so he would be able to write about it in their composition class—he turned out to be gay and when he read his composition aloud, she learned that her kiss confirmed it. But this was the first time she’d ever kissed anyone she’d spent a decent amount of time thinking about kissing beforehand.
And it lived up to her imagination.
Foz, for his part, seemed to be taken by surprise. So much so, he didn’t respond at first. But once he clued in to what was happening, he smiled against her mouth, his hand snaking into her hair.
Her kiss quickly became their kiss. And it lasted far longer than a predawn Monday morning moment in a parking lot probably should.
When they broke it off, it was with gasps of breath and tingling skin.
“Wow,” Foz said.
“Yeah,” she breathed. Then . . . “Hey Foz?”
“Hmm?”
“Wanna go to prom with me?”
He smirked. Then, it exploded into a full-on grin. “Yes, I do.”
“Good,” she said. “So . . . it’s a date.”
“It’s a date.”
They walked in silence into the Favorite Flower, sneaking peeks at each other out of the corners of their eyes.
Judy and the other arrangers were already there, their heads whipping around to see them enter. But instead of beckoning them over to get them to work in the assembly line making bouquets, they froze, then started whispering and giggling all at once.
“Do you think they know?” Foz asked, bewildered.
Maisey scoped Judy. She had her eyes deadlocked on the two teenagers, and she wasn’t even hiding her massive grin and whispering to the others.
“They absolutely know.”
“Man, what if I had said no?” Foz whispered. “That would have been so embarrassing for you.”
“Considering you said you were gonna ask me, I was reasonably sure of your answer.”
“That, and the kissing,” he said, making her turn bright red.
“And the . . . that,” she agreed.
“Hey, so since you asked me, does that mean you have to buy the flowers, and the limo, and stuff?”
Maisey snorted. “I think we’ve got our flowers covered. And as for a ride—don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ll get my dad’s Corolla washed for the occasion. I’ll honk the horn outside your place, when I come to pick you up.”
Foz practically choked on his laughter, as they both dissolved into giggles. And that’s what they were like the rest of the morning. They worked side by side putting together the last of the bouquets, stealing glances, making silly jokes, and giggling. And then, as they loaded up their cars, Foz would find excuses to step just a little closer to Maisey, to let the side of his hand graze the side of hers. It was like being really, really awake—but only able to see the incredibly minute. The big stuff around you didn’t matter one whit.
Which was, no doubt, why they misloaded one box of bouquets.
“Hold on,” Paula said, looking down at Maisey’s loaded Corolla. “Lyndi, wasn’t this box supposed to go on Foz’s run?”
Lyndi trotted over as fast as her pregnant belly would let her. She checked the label.
“Yep. Don’t worry, I’ll call him back.” Foz’s car had already left the lot.
“I’m sorry, it’s my fault, Lyndi,” Maisey said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“And we know why!” came the cry from Judy, twenty feet away.
Maisey determinedly ignored her as she checked the box, saw the addresses on the labels. “Don’t worry about it, I can take them.”
“Are you sure?” Lyndi asked. “You won’t be late for school?”
“It’s not out of the way,” Maisey said, and threw herself into the car, and took off up the road.
And that was how she ended up on the studio lot, delivering her mother’s weekly flowers from Sebastian.
Unfortunately, her mother was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey, Maisey!” Kip cried, coming over from rearranging brushes to throw a bear hug around her shoulders. “Good to see you! How’s everything? What’s going on at school?�
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“Hey, Kip—sorry I don’t have a lot of time,” she said as she slipped out of the bear hug. Normally, she would have gossiped with Kip for hours, but she really didn’t have a ton of time that morning. And she had to see her mom, to tell her her news. “Where’s Mom?”
Kip grimaced. “They have her in the extras’ tent today, creating more frost giants out of thin air in less than an hour and a half. You can leave the flowers here, sweetie. I’ll tell her you came by, she’ll be touched.”
“No, I . . . I kinda wanted to talk to her. Where’s the extras’ tent?”
Kip pointed Maisey in the right direction, but it only took her thirty seconds and two wrong turns in the sea of trailers to get lost.
Maisey had been on the lot before. When she was in middle school, she was in her mom’s makeup trailer all the time, doing homework in the corner while her mom crafted characters out of paint and hairspray for whatever show she happened to be working on. She’d spent plenty of time in the last three years on Fargone’s set, too. But they must have rearranged the trailer layout on the backlot since she was last here, because she was so turned around, she accidentally wandered over to where a sitcom was shooting, and was quickly chased off by a harried PA.
She found her way back to the Fargone area, but still didn’t see a tent anywhere. However, she did see a trailer that had its door wide open.
While she knew it was not exactly a good idea to go jumping into other people’s trailers—it was akin to stepping inside their office, or house, uninvited—Maisey was lost enough now she didn’t know where her car was, let alone her mom. And she did have a bunch of other deliveries to do before school.
Besides, their door was wide open. And there was someone in there. She could hear them working out. Or maybe lifting stuff.
“Hello?” Maisey asked tentatively as she knocked on the door and took one step inside. “Can you point me to—”
The words died on her lips.
At first, Maisey didn’t quite comprehend what she was seeing. It just looked like two faceless bodies, wrestling. Oh, she knew what she was looking at. She knew what sex looked like, she’d seen a movie. But to see it happening live, and so unexpectedly . . .
And then, to realize that the guy in the equation, with his back to her, had familiar lanky hair.
And an even more familiar Sophia tattoo on his shoulder.
“Maisey!” Sebastian cried, just a blur of movement as he dove for something to cover himself with.
“Jesus—Sebastian! Mom!” Maisey said, ducking her gaze and squeezing her eyes shut. This was something no child should ever see. She was going to be scarred for life. She would send all of her therapy bills to Sebastian in perpetuity—
“Mom?” came the sultry voice from behind Sebastian. “Whose mom?”
Maisey didn’t want to look. But she knew she had to. And there, paying lip service to the idea of covering herself, was Vanessa Faire.
Biggest rising star in Hollywood.
Her mom’s supposed friend.
“Oh . . . Maisey, right?” Vanessa said, her face taking on a look of pure innocence. Hell, maybe she had deserved that Golden Globe after all. “You’re . . . you’re Sophia’s daughter? Oh, dear.”
“Maisey, it’s not what it looks like,” Sebastian said in a rush, pulling his pants on. “I’m not . . . I didn’t mean for this—”
But Maisey was out the door before Sebastian could get his second leg in his jeans. She was nearly back to the makeup trailer—if only she could find it!—before Sebastian caught up to her.
“Maisey, wait!” Sebastian said, out of breath, as he grabbed her arm. “You can’t tell your mom.”
“Are you crazy?” Maisey replied. “I’m telling her right now.”
“It will only hurt her!” They were in an alley of trailers—which ones Maisey had no idea. But two people came around the corner, and Sebastian’s hand tightened on her arm.
“Give me a chance to explain,” he said, as he pulled her in between two trailer bumpers, pulling the hood of his hastily thrown on sweatshirt up over his head.
“ . . . she doesn’t know you’re here,” Maisey realized.
“Of course she doesn’t.”
“I don’t mean on set. She doesn’t know you’re even in the state. You’re not supposed to be back for another two days. Trust me, she’s been counting them down.”
It was marked in big red marker on the wall calendar in the kitchen. “Sebastian Home!” was right before “AP Exams!” “Hiatus!” and “Graduation!” All had equal exclamation marks, each massive events worthy of excitement.
“I . . . We got done early, and . . .”
“You don’t ‘get done early’ with concerts. It’s not like working in a stockroom,” Maisey argued. “You told my mom weeks ago that you’d be back two days from now, but you knew then that you’d be done already. You didn’t want her to know.”
“Okay!” Sebastian exploded. “I bought myself a little alone time—is that so wrong?”
“You weren’t exactly alone back there.”
He sighed. “Your mom . . . she can be real needy, you know? She didn’t used to be, but lately . . .”
“Lately she’s been pregnant with your baby and is trying to plan for the future. That’s not ‘needy.’ That’s normal.”
“Well, it’s not normal for me, okay? I love your mom, but it can be a lot,” Sebastian said, running a hand over his wispy beard.
“So, your answer to that is to fuck—” he cringed as she said the word that so accurately described what he had been doing “—Vanessa Faire? Who, correct me if I’m wrong, has been making my mom’s life hell on this show?”
“Nessa and I go way back. She’s a friend. And she’s not making Sophia’s job hard on purpose, she’s—” He stopped himself, when he seemed to realize that defending the woman he was cheating on Maisey’s mom with was probably not the best way to win Maisey over. “It only happened once.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth!”
She stared at him, hard. And he seemed to realize there was no point in lying about the situation. At least not so obviously. “Okay—it might have happened more than once. But it’s not going to happen again. I promise.”
“I don’t care if it happens again,” Maisey replied. “And neither will my mother. Because she is going to kick you to the curb.”
“Maisey, please . . .”
But she was already walking away.
“What about her blood pressure?” Sebastian called out.
Maisey paused. That was about the only thing that could make her do so.
“The doctor said she needs to keep it under control, right?” Sebastian continued. “Or else it could hurt the baby. She could end up in the hospital like she did with you.”
He was right. The doctor had commented that her blood pressure was slightly elevated. This . . . on top of everything going on at work . . . the stress her mother let slide off her every night when she got home. This was going to devastate her. And normally, Maisey knew her mother could handle it—there wasn’t a person on earth stronger than Sophia Nunez.
But it wasn’t just her she had to worry about anymore.
“I will tell your mom, I swear,” Sebastian said, coming toward her. “But you have to let me do it right, so it doesn’t put her in the hospital. Because that’s what would happen if you burst in there right now, and told her.”
Sebastian leaned over her, his voice pitched to seduce, to persuade. And it was working.
Because he wasn’t wrong. Springing this on her mom . . . she could end up in the hospital again. And it would be all Maisey’s fault.
“Thank you,” Sebastian said, when Maisey hesitated. “I’ll make everything right, you’ll see. Thank you. Thank you.”
Sebastian pulled Maisey into a hug, but before he could get his arms around her, she pushed him away, skeeved at the very thought of being touched by him.
&nbs
p; “Right,” he said, edging up to the precipice between them. “I should get back . . . talk to Vanessa. Don’t you have school?”
She nodded dumbly. Then, without anything more to say, Sebastian hesitated a bare second, then backed away. Careful to keep his hood up, lest he be spotted.
Leaving Maisey in the byzantine maze of trailers, a forgotten and now crushed bouquet of flowers falling to the pavement at her feet.
“SOMETHING IS UP with Maisey.”
Maisey was eavesdropping again. From behind her bedroom door again. And this time, she was trying really, really hard not to shake with rage.
Because Sebastian was in their kitchen, pretending for all the world like nothing had happened two days ago.
It made Maisey wonder, how often had he pretended like that?
After leaving the lot, studiously avoiding seeing her mother, Maisey spent the rest of that day in kind of a fog. Most of her friends wrote it off as the kind of grim focus that comes with freaking out about the AP tests next week, but Ms. Kneller pulled her aside and asked if everything was okay.
“Um . . . you’re friends with my mom, right?” Maisey said, awkward as the rest of class filed out of the room.
“Yes,” Ms. Kneller replied, nonplussed. “I’ve slept on your couch, Maisey.”
“Right,” she replied. Like that wasn’t weird enough. “Did she tell you about her predisposition to preeclampsia?”
Ms. Kneller blinked. “No. I didn’t know that. Is she okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine. But . . . if there was something that could affect her blood pressure—even if it was better for her to know in the long term, should she know?”
Her teacher leaned forward on her elbows. “If it’s worrying you this much, I think your mom would want to know, whatever it is. Is this about school?”
“ . . . yeah. I’m just, er, stressing about AP tests next week.”
Ms. Kneller relaxed a little. “I have no doubt that your mom already knows how much these tests mean to you. This time of year they put so much pressure on you kids. AP exams, the prom, graduation, college. It seems like the future is coming at you like water from a fire hydrant, doesn’t it?”
Maisey nodded slowly.
“But you don’t need to stress out so much. You’re going to do great. You’ll get through the next couple weeks. Just try not to let extraneous stuff distract you in the meantime.”
