Never Too Late

by A. Destiny

  He told me stories about strange things his brother did and what he was like as a kid. He also told me about how his parents had almost gotten divorced last year but had worked it out. Now they were more in love than ever.

  I told him about my older sister and our strained but slightly improving relationship. And about Don, who was a better father than my own biological dad, the man I barely saw because of his busy work schedule.

  It was freeing and scary to delve so deep into myself and bare all. But he returned my trust with his own.

  When we’d parted, he’d given me a full grin and told me he’d see me Monday. Of course, Saturday and Sunday dragged like crazy, in spite of my shopping trip to buy my required portion of Renaissance faire decor for our class decorating party next week. To help kill time, I even picked up extra chores around the house, something my mom could scarcely believe.

  Monday morning finally arrived. I was keyed up with nervousness, excitement, fear. Would Olivia read my face and instantly know how I felt about Jason? I was sure I was glowing from the inside out, certain everyone in school would see. Luckily, she and I hadn’t talked much over the past couple of days because of her being out of town, just exchanged a few generic text messages.

  Somehow I managed to avoid her until our World History class. I slipped into my seat and gave her the biggest smile I could muster when she got in a minute later.

  “Hey, did you have fun this weekend?” I asked brightly, fighting to keep my attention on her and not look around to see if Jason was in the room yet.

  With a heavy sigh, she slid into her seat, slumped back. “Yes, but I am so drained! We did a lot of running around. It was fun, though. You?”

  Jason walked in then; I saw him look at me and smile as he passed. My heart thudded, and I swallowed.

  “Um, I did,” I said, tearing my attention away from him and back to Olivia. “Did some stuff around the house. Hung out with Lauretta. It was good. Fun. Lots of fun. But busy.” My rambling was getting out of control. Stop it!

  She quirked an eyebrow but didn’t get a chance to respond because Mrs. Gregory came in right as the bell was ringing and clapped her hands, her thin metal bracelets jangling.

  “Okay, class. Do you have your decor? All of the sophomores have been going down to the gym and working on their portion. It’s our turn now. Gather your things so we can make our display and sale tables ready.”

  I grabbed my bag and stood, following the other students bearing bags out of the room, down the hall.

  “What did you end up getting?” Olivia asked me. “I brought some small woven containers.”

  “Just some various things to help our table look festive. And I found these cute finger puppets I thought we could sell during the faire.”

  “That’s perfect!” she said. “Kids will love it.”

  “I bought some face paint,” Jason said, slipping right between us. “That’ll be a lot of fun.”

  Olivia blinked, and her smile grew bigger as she eyed him. “Oh, hey! That’s awesome—are you doing a face-painting booth?”

  “Actually, I was assigned to be a floater and help others out. So after I get my booth set up, maybe I can work with you guys on your tables and the puppet show. If you want, that is.”

  “Of course we want,” she declared.

  I nodded dumbly. Any chance to spend more time with Jason was welcome . . . so long as I could keep from acting like a total idiot. And also tamp down these flare-ups of jealousy every time Olivia turned up the charm for him.

  When we got to the gym, I nearly gasped in surprise. Several of the other classes had already been down to set up their tables and sections, and the large room’s transformation into a real faire had already begun. Two of the walls were covered with large woven tapestries and blankets of bold tones and weaves, similar to what we’d seen in the art museum. There were arms and armor displayed in corners—not real, of course, since our principal wouldn’t let us bring in genuine weapons—but the look was good enough to fool most people. Bright colors and ribbons were strewn up and down the rows of tables where our wares would be hocked.

  A bubble of excitement welled in me. “This is going to be so cool,” I whispered, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet.

  Mrs. Gregory guided us to our class’s row, which was a line of undecorated tables. “Make it festive,” she said loudly, her voice echoing off the walls. “We want people to be drawn to our goods. And make sure to help others if you have time! Participation is part of your grade, and I’m watching.”

  I nodded and got to work with Olivia on first setting up our table. We’d decided early on that we were going to sell our stuff together. We draped the table in a pale-green cloth and tied bows and ribbons along the trim. The work went fast.

  “Ready to move to the puppet show area?” I asked her.

  Olivia nodded. “My dad helped me make the stage and brought it in this morning. It’s beside one of the bleachers.” She looked around. “Hey, Jason!” she hollered. “Um, can you help me carry my puppet stage over to the far end of the room?”

  The green-eyed monster peeked up in me again. I knew what she was doing and was irritated by her flirting. She wanted to play helpless. “I could help, you know,” I said. “It’s not that heavy.”

  “He’s already on his way. Don’t worry—Jason and I have this covered.”

  I swallowed back my irritation and focused on gathering my supplies to help decorate the miniature theater.

  She and Jason maneuvered it into the designated area, off to the side near where Jason would be doing face painting. “Thank you so much,” she gushed.

  He smiled. “No problem. Um, you guys need any more help?”

  “We totally do.” She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “How about you start with decorating the front, and I’ll add the curtains. Abbey, can you work on the sides?”

  “Sure,” I said flatly.

  She didn’t notice my tone or ignored it, gathering fabric in her arms and draping it across the front of the large hole where the puppet show would happen.

  “What time did you end up getting home on Friday?” Jason asked me.

  Olivia stopped in place, her back stiffening.

  I swallowed, heart thudding painfully. Crap. I was so busted. “Um, not too late. It was a fun party—Lauretta said Jennifer gushed about how great you guys played.” I tried to play up the angle of him being in the band and lessen our personal interaction, despite my desire to talk more to him.

  “There was a party?” Olivia asked. Her voice was light, but I could see something in her eyes.

  Jason nodded, grabbing some fabric and material to staple along the front of the minitheater. “Yeah, our band played for a birthday party.”

  “Lauretta’s cousin Jennifer,” I added. “There were a lot of people there. Too bad you were out of town.”

  “Yeah. Too bad.” This time her voice was the one that was flat, and in it was tinged a warning. I would definitely be hearing about this later when Jason wasn’t around.

  Guilt mingled with anxiety and frustration. I didn’t owe her any explanation, did I? I was at a public party, not a private date with Jason.

  “What if we do a few stripes of this color and this one”—Jason held up red and yellow fabrics toward me—“on the front and sides? Do you think that would work? The colors might look good against the curtains.”

  At least he wasn’t picking up on the tension between us, despite the feeling it was all about to boil over. “Yeah, that would be great.”

  We cut several strips, working in silence and tacking them on the wood as Olivia crafted her curtains in a rich green velvet.

  “So, you play in a band?” Olivia asked. “What’s your instrument?”

  “Bass.” Jason squinted and stuck out his tongue just slightly as he stapled a strip into place. It was adorable. “But I have a long way to go before I’m as good as Abbey. She’s a natural.”

  In spite of the frostiness radi
ating from Olivia, I melted just a little bit from the kindness in his words. “I’m still learning too. And I thought you guys sounded great. Um, your whole band worked hard, I could tell. The audience loved you guys,” I added.

  “I’d love to hear you play sometime,” Olivia told him softly.

  “Not sure when our next gig is, but I’ll let you know.” The words were said nicely enough, but the meaning was clear—he wasn’t planning on playing any special gigs just for her. Why? Was it because he didn’t like her?

  Could it be because he liked me?

  The phantom feelings of his fingers in my hand on Friday night made me clench it into a fist.

  Olivia was quiet for several more minutes. She finished draping the green curtain the way she wanted it. Jason and I got our fabric in place as well.

  “Thanks for your help,” she told Jason. There was a strange formality in the statement. Something had changed in the air—I think Olivia knew something was up. And I’m sure the hot flush burning my cheeks didn’t help things. “And you, too, Abbey. I’m glad to see you’ve got my back.”

  With that, she balled up the scrap fabric in a bag and walked away.

  Practice was going terribly.

  “I . . . crud, hold on,” I said, fumbling in my pocket for my script. I’d forgotten my lines yet again.

  Jason stood there, unusually silent and patient. I knew he could tell things were off but didn’t prod me to talk about it.

  And that was good, because what was I going to say? That my best friend knew something was up with us and hadn’t talked to me since yesterday during the decorating—no texts, no in-class notes, nothing? It wasn’t Jason’s fault that he’d become a “thing” between us. I couldn’t drag him into it.

  Added to that was the stress that it was our last solo practice. The faire was next week, and neither of us had time to meet alone before then. We had only two more group practices, as well.

  Between all of that, I was stressed, flubbing my lines, forgetting what I was supposed to say and where I was supposed to stand. I couldn’t focus. I just wanted to sit down and have a good cry to get it out of my system.

  “You seem . . . off,” Jason finally said. “What’s wrong?”

  I huffed a sigh. “Just stressed. That’s all.”

  His brow furrowed and he moved closer. “Seems like more than just stress. Wanna talk about it?”

  “Jason,” Braedon said from his seat a few rows back, “my green crayon broke. Can you fix it?”

  He shot me a regretful glance. “Hold that thought.” Then he hopped down off the stage to help his brother, who was busy coloring a picture to keep himself occupied while we practiced.

  I sat down on the edge of the stage, feet dangling, heels thunking the front panel. How had things gotten so crazy so fast? Would Olivia stay mad at me forever? Should I just talk to her and tell her how I was feeling, what was going on?

  Was there anything going on?

  And was I going to be this scatterbrained during the play? Lines were escaping me quicker than I could believe. Panic swelled. Frustration thundered at the sides of my temples.

  Argh! I wanted to pull my hair out. This was getting to be too much.

  I swallowed and jumped down, going to my bag. “I should go,” I said. Suddenly I had an urge to get out of there, to go stand outside and get some fresh air, clear my head a bit. I needed perspective.

  “What? Wait, hold on,” Jason said. He turned to Braedon and whispered something then rushed down the aisle over to me, pulling me to a seat in the front row. “Sit. Talk. Something’s up, and we need to get it out, now.”

  Reluctantly I did as he said and took a steadying breath. “I’m . . . I’m kinda freaking out. The play is next week, and I’m forgetting lines left and right. What happens if I screw it up? Everyone’s worked so hard.” I blinked back a sudden stab of tears. I was not going to cry about this—not here. “Um, sorry . . .” I glanced away.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently, tilting my head back toward him. His eyes were soft and understanding. “This is normal. You have the jitters. It’ll go away once we get out there and perform.”

  The stuff with Olivia wasn’t going to go away, and I couldn’t talk to him about that or about my feelings for him. But maybe he was right. Maybe once I got onstage, the rest would come together. I could only hope. “You think so?”

  “Absolutely. I’m there with you. We’ll get through this together.” He dropped his hand and placed it over my own. A gesture of comfort, yet it heated me and made my heart race madly.

  “Have you ever freaked out before?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Are you kidding? I was so scared on Friday night before that gig that I thought I was going to throw up. I didn’t eat for hours beforehand.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “What? You looked like a natural. So smooth and—” I stopped myself from saying handsome, biting my lip to keep that word inside.

  “And what?”

  I cleared my throat, glanced away. “Um, you looked great.”

  Fortunately, he let that slide. “You are a natural at this, Abbey. Mr. Ferrell picked you because no one else could play this role like you can.” The words were gentle but insistent. “Now, let’s get back to practicing. It’s our last chance to rehearse alone, and I don’t want to waste it. Okay?”

  I took his hand and we went back on the stage, glad he was taking control of the situation. It helped ease some of the tension in my stomach.

  “Okay, let’s start from the top of Act Two.” His eyes bore into mine. “You know these lines. Don’t force it—just let it happen.”

  I took a moment to breathe in, out, then nodded. I could do this. He was right. I’d get through practice and then talk to Olivia tonight, try to clear the air. Surely, she’d appreciate me trying to be considerate of her feelings.

  And if she didn’t . . . well, I couldn’t think about that right now. One step at a time.

  “I’m ready,” I told him. “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I love your dress,” Lauretta gushed on Tuesday, the morning of the Renaissance faire. Shoving her pale pink sleeves up, she reached toward my head. “Let me fix a few of those braids though, okay?”

  I braced my hands against the porcelain sink of our school bathroom and nodded. “I couldn’t reach the back very well, so I think some of them are crooked. And when I tried to twist them, well . . . you see what happened.”

  As Lauretta braided and twisted, creating perfectly elegant hair, I eyed myself in the mirror, nervous beyond belief. My gown hugged my top nicely, flaring just under my bodice into an elegant drape that shimmered even in the dingy bathroom light. My makeup was light; the nearly permanent flush on my cheeks made blush unnecessary. I hadn’t even risked trying to put on eyeliner with as much as my hand had been shaking.

  Fortunately, the play wasn’t until tomorrow evening. I could make it until then.

  If only things weren’t so awful between me and Olivia.

  “So, where’s your partner in crime?” Lauretta asked, once again pretty much reading my mind.

  I sighed, taking a tube of lipstick out of my small purse and puckering my lips to apply the soft, nearly nude color. “I don’t know. She hasn’t talked to me since early last week.” Several days had passed now with no response to my texts or calls. I’d tried to reach out to her, but she didn’t want to be reached.

  Things were going to be so awkward at our booth. My butterflies kicked into overdrive, making my stomach flutter even more.

  “She knows how you feel about him, huh?”

  I kept my head still and met her eyes in the mirror. “I didn’t get a chance to even explain my side of things. She put two and two together, basically.” Like it had been hard, though. I could barely keep my mind off Jason; no wonder my emotions bled through onto my face.

  “She’ll come around.” Lauretta did a few small tugs on my hair, adjusted some of the pins. “There. Sheer perfec
tion.”

  I took out my compact mirror and eyed the ’do. So much better—she’d made me look casually elegant, twisting the braids into a braid of their own and pinning them to my head. “Thank you so much.” I put the mirror and lipstick back in my purse. “Do you need help with anything? Though you look perfect,” I added.

  She grinned. “Nah, I’m good.” Her smile slipped a little. “But I’m worried about you. You don’t seem like yourself. I know this stuff with Olivia is taking a toll on you, but try to not worry, okay?”

  I gave her a hug, careful to avoid our hair from entangling. “Seriously, you rock. Thank you for being there for me.” My throat closed up. Lauretta had always given me so much care and attention. It was a balm for my poor heart right now. “I don’t know how I’d get through this without you.”

  She pulled back and grinned. “You’d do horribly, I’m sure. Just kidding—you’re stronger than you know. Now, buck up, kid,” she said in a deep, manly voice, chucking me on the chin. “We have a Renaissance faire to attend. You ready?”

  I sucked in a breath and nodded.

  We headed out of the bathroom together and made our way down the hall toward the gym. Music greeted us long before we got to the doors, along with laughter and the buzzing of lots of voices.

  When we opened the doors, both of us gasped. We hadn’t seen the gym since our classes had done our portion of decorating. Now, with the decor fully done, it felt like we were plunged into an historical, genuine faire. I couldn’t fight the smile on my face; the environment perked me up instantly.

  “Welcome to ye olde town faire,” a sophomore guy I didn’t know said from right beside me, clad in a Harlequin outfit with bold, colorful tights and tunic. He thrust a program into my hand. “This here flier tells ye where ye can find any goods ye wish for.”

  I curtsied. “I thank ye,” I replied, slipping into my role. I turned to Lauretta. “Come, dear, we must head into the festivities.”