Never Too Late

by A. Destiny

  Caroline slipped inside, holding two mugs of steaming tea, and closed the door with her foot. She handed me a mug, which I took with a grateful sigh, perching on the edge of my bed and wrapping her hands around her mug.

  “What’s up, sis?” she asked.

  I raised one eyebrow. This was very unlike her, to come in and make small talk with me. Caroline was usually too busy hanging out with her friends to give me the time of day. “Not much. You?” I didn’t like the way the cautiousness came out in my voice but couldn’t help it.

  Fortunately she didn’t seem offended. “Mom sent me in here,” she said with a chuckle. “She’s worried about you.”

  I was both disappointed and relieved at this revelation. “She did? Why?”

  Caroline shrugged, her blond hair shifting lightly on her slender shoulders. “She said you seem a little . . . off. Plus, with you going out with that guy—”

  “It wasn’t a date,” I protested, wrapping my own fingers around the mug to draw a little of its warmth into my suddenly chilly hands.

  She raised a hand. “Whoa, I know that. But Mom just wants to make sure you’re okay, and she’s afraid of looking too nosy.”

  “Which is why she sent you to do her dirty work,” I finished with a laugh. “That sounds about right.”

  “Her methods are sketchy, but she means well.” Caroline sipped her tea leisurely, then continued, “So, is everything okay with you? Really? I won’t talk to her about it, promise.”

  Something in her voice seemed genuine. And the look in her eyes showed real interest in me. It had been so long since we’d talked, really talked, that I found myself opening my mouth to spill the beans.

  So I told her everything, without holding back—last year’s homecoming debacle, the play, Jason, Olivia, Romeo and Juliet, our near-kiss, the whole nine yards. When I finished, I took several draws on my tea as she sat and pondered my gut-purging confession.

  “Every day, I feel more and more guilty,” I said. “It’s spiraling out of control. I can’t help the way I’m feeling about him, no matter how I try to fight it. But Olivia likes him too. I can’t do anything about my feelings. She means too much to me.”

  Caroline popped her mug on my bedside table and leaned against my headboard, draping a pillow across her lap. “You’re in quite a pickle here,” she mused.

  “You’re telling me,” I said drolly.

  “Seems to me like there’s a few different issues going on here. One, you like Jason. You can’t help how you feel about him—and there’s nothing wrong with that.” She took a big drink of her tea. “You’re far too smart to like someone who isn’t worthy of your heart or your attention.”

  I flushed from the compliment.

  “It also sounds like Jason’s starting to like you, too.”

  I sat up a bit, stared at her. “You think so?”

  She crooked an eyebrow. “Sis, he’s throwing off signals left and right. Just because you’re not picking them up doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

  “Like what?”

  “Going out with you to Romeo and Juliet—and no, I don’t want to hear that it wasn’t a ‘date.’ Because it was, even if you don’t want to admit it. The near-kisses. The way he looks at you, which I saw for myself on Friday when I peeked at him before you two left. Need I go on?”

  I kind of wanted her to, but I shook my head, not wanting to look needy. “I think I get your point.”

  “Okay.” She shifted until she sat cross-legged against the headboard. “So there’s that. Regarding Olivia, here’s what I believe wholeheartedly. You have nothing to worry about or apologize for.”

  “You think?” Something in my chest loosened up just a bit upon hearing her words. I so desperately wanted to stop feeling guilty.

  “You and Jason haven’t done anything. As far as anyone knows, you’re friends. In the same way Olivia can’t help her feelings, you can’t help your feelings either. The difference is, you’re conscientious about not wanting to hurt her, whereas she’s being insecure and taking it out on you.”

  I bristled a bit at the dig against Olivia, ready to defend her.

  “Whoa, whoa,” she said, holding up a hand. “Before you get upset, let me clarify. I didn’t mean that she doesn’t care about your feelings. I mean that somewhere deep inside her, she suspects she never had a chance with Jason . . . and she may also suspect that you did. In fact, that you do. And she’s trying to process this—albeit not the best way, in my opinion.”

  I nodded, slightly mollified. “But what do we do about it? I mean, I can’t tell her how I feel about him. And right now it doesn’t even matter. He’s not asking me out or making it clear if he likes me. So what would be the point in confessing to her?”

  “At some point, things are going to hit the fan, Abbey.” She sipped her tea, finishing the last of the cup. “Either you’re going to remain friends with Jason, or he’s going to take that last step and declare his feelings. And then you have a few decisions to make.”

  If he did, would I date him?

  If he did, how would I tell Olivia?

  My gut pinched. This was so complicated. The easy path would be to stay friends with Jason, of course. But it would also be ignoring that part of my heart that grew a little bit bigger every day. The part that wanted to be more than friends with him.

  But acting on that would likely hurt Olivia so badly, we might never recover from the fallout.

  I looked down into my mug and sighed.

  “I know, sis. It’s no fun dealing with guys, is it.” Her voice was soft, empathetic.

  “Have you ever had something like this happen to you?” I asked her.

  “Hmm. No, not quite. A friend and I were both interested in the same guy earlier this year.”

  I looked up. “What happened?”

  She grinned. “He turned out to be a jerk, so we both dropped him. No love lost there.”

  I shook my head, chuckling. That didn’t help my situation, but it was good to see this wasn’t a unique problem. That friends ran into this kind of thing at times.

  Her face turned serious. “Abbey, if Jason asks you out and you want to be his girlfriend, at some point you’re going to have to tell Olivia exactly how you feel. It’s not going to be fun. But if she’s a real friend, she’ll get over it and still care about you. You’re not poaching him—they don’t have anything beyond a casual friendship, so there’s nothing to poach.”

  “I know,” I whispered, gnawing on my lower lip. “But I still feel bad, like I’m doing something wrong. She’s liked him for a long time.”

  Given how much Olivia had backed away from me over the last couple of weeks just because of the possibility of me liking Jason, if anything ever really did happen between him and me, it would be a hundred times worse.

  “But she doesn’t know him,” Caroline retorted. “She knows of him, what she sees in class. The same as you used to. But you know him now, in a way she doesn’t. You guys are genuine. Her feelings are just a crush.” She peered at me then stood, dropping my pillow back on the bed. “And I think we both know that what you’re feeling goes well beyond a crush.”

  I chewed my lip another moment and nodded. She was right. And while I wanted to believe what she was telling me, I was petrified. Olivia was my best friend, flaws and all. If a guy came between us, if she cut me off because of it, there would be a hole in my heart no one else could fill.

  All I could do was tread water as carefully as possible for now . . . and hope that whatever happened, things would turn out okay.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rosalyn . . .” Jason took my hand and drew me to center stage, where the lighting guy changed the light to focus on the two of us in a bright, glowing beam. “I can’t live without you. I . . . I love you.”

  Jason’s eyes burned with an intensity I wasn’t sure was entirely just acting, flickering with layers of emotion that pulled me toward him. Regardless of whether it was truth or fiction, it left me brea
thless and practically shaking in his arms.

  A good thing, since my character was supposed to be swooning big-time. Not so hard to fake at all.

  Drawing in a breath to steady myself, I pressed a hand to my chest, the memorized words at the end of the play coming easily to my lips by now. I blinked rapidly and turned my face from him. “Wait, you . . . you love me? But how can this be? You have done nothing but tease and torture me from childhood on. Our whole history is built upon this strange antagonism between us.”

  Jason chuckled, clenching my hand tighter. Was I going crazy, or did I detect a slight shake in his hand too? I had to be imagining it, right? “From the first time I pulled your hair at the side of the river,” he said on a soft breath, “I knew I loved you. How could I not? Especially when you returned my attention with a punch in the nose—well deserved, I might add.”

  I grinned at first in response to his teasing commentary, then creased my brow in confusion and proceeded slowly to the far end of the stage, where I could see Mr. Ferrell nodding his approval. His face was stern, fixed, but not critical. . . . He was intently into the play.

  A rush of success swept through me as I continued my lines. “I never knew you felt that way. Why did you not speak of these feelings before . . . before your brother made his intentions clear toward me?”

  Jason slipped behind me and took my hand, turning me to face him. His eyes sparkled with regret and other emotions I couldn’t quite place. “Would you have trusted me, had you known?” He shook his head. “I have railed against this for far too long, believe me. My heart did struggle with the knowledge that I could not let my brother win your hand. Not when . . . when I wanted it for my own. I could no longer remain silent.”

  I stepped closer to him until we were so close, I could see the flecks of dark brown in his irises. “Oh, my dear William, I love you too.”

  Our lips drew closer, closer . . . and I froze.

  I was mesmerized by his eyes, unable to look away. And I was stiff with fear, knowing that if I moved my mouth closer to his, pressed my warm lips against his, the naked truth of my ever-increasing feelings would be laid bare before him, before Mr. Ferrell, before all the other cast and crew.

  And I was so not ready for that.

  So instead, I gave a nervous giggle and backed away slightly, scrambling for some kind of a save.

  Jason’s eyebrow quirked up, though his eyes stayed intensely locked on mine. Fortunately he didn’t seem offended by my strangeness, as if he recognized that I needed a moment.

  “What’s wrong?” Mr. Ferrell asked.

  “Um, well,” I started, my face flaming so hard I was sure my cheeks were going to combust, “I’m not sure I’m . . .”

  Desperate, I cast a nervous glance around me.

  “Mr. Ferrell,” Jason interjected, “I think we just need a moment.” He guided me by the elbow to the back of the stage. “What’s wrong?”

  There was no way I could tell him the truth. I grappled for the right words to say, spewing out, “I just . . . I wonder if it might be better for us to wait to . . . you know, to kiss during the actual play. For authenticity, so if it’s the real first time, it’ll come across that way. To the audience.” I couldn’t stop my babbling words and wanted to stuff a rag in my mouth.

  He tilted his head, studied me. “If that’s what you want, that’s fine. We can wait on it.” There was a bit of a flatness in his voice. Or maybe I was simply imagining it, secretly hoping he’d be disappointed.

  A realization that became even more convincing when he swept across the stage and said with no flatness whatsoever, “Mr. Ferrell, we’re gonna wait and skip the kiss until opening day. It’ll be more authentic that way.”

  “Hmm.” Our teacher rubbed his jaw. “Interesting. Worth a shot. If you guys keep giving it your all like you did today, it should work out fine. I’m really feeling the chemistry between you two now.”

  Despite my embarrassment, I found myself flushing again—with pleasure this time. Was it the Romeo and Juliet outing that had helped us be more fluid and natural around each other?

  Was it something growing between us?

  Whatever was the cause, it was working.

  Mr. Ferrell clapped. “Okay, let’s go back to the beginning of the last act. Noblemen, please take your places onstage. Ladies, line up across from them for the dance scene. Rosalyn and William, you can exit now. Thanks for your hard work.”

  Off the hook . . . at least for a while. Until the day of the play, when I’d be forced to face the music and kiss Jason.

  We took our seats in the front and grabbed our scripts, our habit when we weren’t onstage. My eyes read the script, my mouth breathed the lines, but my brain was completely detached.

  All I could think about was Jason’s lips, the way his fresh cologne floated around me every time he stepped near me. The glint of stage lights across his hair.

  I was getting so caught up in him, way past anything I could control. And even crazier, I found myself liking this rush. This fall headfirst into . . . whatever it was. The emotions saturated me, made colors brighter, made everything just a little bit warmer in my life.

  If this was a crush, how had I lived without it this long? No wonder Olivia was so adamant to cling to this feeling. It made everything in life so much more vivid and worth experiencing.

  I huffed a small exhale at the thought of my best friend.

  “What’s going on?” Jason asked me in a low whisper.

  I shook my head. “Oh, nothing I can’t handle. You know, just everyday stress.” Yeah, nothing big, except that the more I found myself falling for Jason, the greater my risk for losing my best friend.

  Wednesday evening, Olivia and I were parked on her basement floor, surrounded by yards of clipped fabric, ribbons of all shapes and colors, and spools of thread as far as the eye could see.

  “This gown is going to be amazing,” Olivia breathed. She stood and pressed the rich green velvet fabric to the front of her waist, where it fell in soft pleats just below her feet. The color highlighted the fair tone of her skin. “And since the pattern is super simple, I’m definitely going to have it done before the faire. Yay!”

  I gave her a massive heartfelt smile, happy to be focusing for a little while on something other than guy issues. It was good to spend fun time with my best friend, especially when she was relaxed and grinning. The way things used to be before everything got crazy complicated. “You are going to have the prettiest dress at the Ren faire. I guarantee it.”

  I looked down at my own bloodred dress. It was a heavy satin that draped nicely on me and fit like a glove. When shopping with my mom yesterday, I’d found a simple shell that I was adding on to with various fabrics and embellishments. Tugging the thread from the neckline, I snipped it off.

  “Mine’s not quite coming along as I’d hoped,” I continued wryly. “Oh, well.” It would be done before the faire so long as I continued to work regularly on it.

  “Here,” Olivia said, shoving a box of miscellaneous sewing material at me. “I have some pretty lace hiding somewhere in the bottom that you can add around the sleeves if you want.”

  I beamed at her. “Thanks!” I dug through the box, finding the roll of lace. “Oh, this is perfect. How’s your puppet play coming along, anyway?”

  “It’s great.” Olivia bit off a strand of thread at the hem, tugging on it to make sure it was secure. “I finished writing it last night. I think it’s gonna be funny. Can we get together next week to make the puppets?”

  “Oh, that is gonna be hilarious,” I said, shaking my head with a chuckle. “Are you going to make them look like us?”

  She shrugged. “Why not? That would be even funnier, I think.”

  “I’m definitely in.” I stretched the lace around my sleeve and snipped off the excess then grabbed my needle and white thread and began to tack it to the edge. “I wonder how the other projects are coming along.”

  Most of our World History class time was n
ow filled up with talking about the Renaissance faire. Plans were being tossed out left and right about how to organize booths, scheduling for special events and features, and the like. There was going to be a group of wandering minstrels, some gypsies and fortune-tellers, and a couple of kids were learning how to juggle.

  Serious fun. I was getting more excited just thinking about it.

  “So, how’s play practice?” Olivia asked.

  I froze up just a tiny bit but forced myself to relax my shoulders and back. “Great. I have almost all of the lines memorized,” I said lightly. “Which is good, because Liana has been eyeballing me closely lately. I think she’s hoping I’ll get sick.”

  “You might want to watch your lunches,” she said with a laugh. “Didn’t people used to get poisoned through their food back then? Like, sprinkled on top of their turkey legges or something?”

  I snorted. “She’d have to stay awake long enough to come up with a plan, much less execute it.”

  In spite of Liana’s longing gazes at Jason throughout every single practice, she still didn’t manage to remain conscious in class. If she had even one act memorized of the play, I’d be floored.

  “Any good plans this weekend?” I asked her casually. We still hadn’t talked about the party so I needed to find out if she was planning to go or what.

  “My aunt Bettina invited me to come stay with her for the weekend,” she said excitedly. “There’s some kind of spring festival going on. I haven’t seen her in months—it should be fun.”

  I struggled to hold back my relieved exhale. “Oh, that does sound fun.”

  “You?” She tilted her head, looking at me.

  I swallowed, giving a shrug. “Oh, not sure yet. Still trying to iron things out, but nothing concrete. Probably hang out around home some. Work on homework. Finish memorizing lines. You know, same old.” I was babbling, a terrible sign, one that gave away I was hiding something.

  Fortunately for me, she didn’t seem to notice, just nodded thoughtfully. “So . . .” she drawled, staring fixedly at her hem. “How’s it going with Jason?”