Glitter and Sparkle

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Harrison puts the truck in four-wheel drive and pushes on the accelerator. The truck shimmies back and forth, and the tires spin, digging us in even deeper.

  Harrison growls, talking to the truck, as if that will help. Finally, he gives up and looks back at me, resigned. “We’re stuck.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” he says, though we both know it is.

  When Harrison opens the truck door, a cold gust of wind blows through to my side. He slides out, goes to the front of the truck, does something, and then goes to the back. When he finally gets back in the truck, he hits the accelerator again, trying to get us out. After several more rotations of this, he gives up.

  “What now?” I ask.

  Harrison pulls out his cell phone and frowns. “Do you have service up here?”

  I check my phone, but mine is as useless as his. I shake my head.

  He rests his head back. “We’ll just have to wait for someone to offer to tow us out.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  December 26th - Cont.

  “Wait for someone to tow us out?” I ask, my voice on the shrill side.

  “This is the only way back to town. Plenty of people are leaving the slopes—someone is bound to help us.”

  I don’t love his plan, but I don’t have a better one, so I stay silent.

  “How’s your leg?” I ask instead.

  Harrison gives me a somewhat guilty look. “It’s fine.”

  “‘Fine’ like ‘I’m a big strong man, and I won’t admit that it hurts,’ or ‘fine’ like ‘fine?’”

  He twists in the seat, trying to get comfortable since we’re going to be here for awhile. “The second one.”

  “But you pulled a muscle…?”

  “I did.” He nods. “But it started feeling better by the first cup of hot chocolate.”

  I gape at him.

  He shrugs. “Your friend Riley, she’s very…tenacious.”

  Riley, tenacious? Of course she is. She’s also gorgeous.

  “You don’t like her?” I stare at my glove-covered hands.

  The snow whirls outside the window, a white blur in the headlights.

  “I like her just fine,” Harrison answers. “But not how she’s hoping.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said.” He clears his throat. “And I’m not comfortable dating a girl who’s still in high school.”

  I meet his eyes. “But you were right. You’re not that much older.”

  “It feels like it, though. Right now.”

  There’s a stretch of heavy silence, and I have a feeling we’re no longer talking about Riley.

  “Maybe after she graduates?” I ask, and then I hold my breath.

  “Maybe.” He lets out a slow sigh and looks out the windshield. “But I wouldn’t want her to wait, wouldn’t want her to miss out on normal senior stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  He turns back toward me. “Like prom, for one.”

  I look back at my hands. I have my dress picked out, my shoes, my nail polish. I’ve even already signed up for the decorating committee.

  Still, he wouldn’t be the first college-age guy to take a senior to prom.

  Just when I’m about to point that out, headlights shine in the back window. They steadily grow brighter as the driver pulls to the side of the road.

  “Looks like we’re saved,” Harrison says.

  “Do I need to get out?” I ask as he opens his door.

  “No, stay here where it’s warm.”

  A man about my father’s age gets out of his truck and meets Harrison. They talk for a few moments, stare at the truck, and then the man goes to retrieve his tow strap. Together, they set it up, doing whatever it is that guys do in this situation.

  Once they’re ready, Harrison gets back in the truck to steer. In the end, I wished I’d gotten out. The truck slides and bounces, and I’m nearly tossed out of my seat when we clear the ditch.

  Frazzled, but relieved to be back on the road, I fasten my seatbelt. Since he seems to be just fine, Harrison can drive the rest of the way home.

  He gets out of the truck and thanks the man. They talk for a few minutes more, their breath frozen mist in the headlights. Finally, Harrison gets back in.

  “Guess I’m driving, huh?” he asks when he sees me settled in.

  I give him a knowing look. “You already admitted your leg is fine.”

  “As much as I liked being chauffeured around, it’s probably better.” He flashes me a smile as he pulls the truck into gear. “Wouldn’t want you to drive us into another ditch.”

  Pretending to ignore him, I cross my hands in my lap and look at the white road ahead of us, which only makes him laugh.

  I wait, anxious for the conversation to return to our prior subject, but Harrison doesn’t seem to have any desire to bring it up again. Soon we’ve strayed far from it.

  The hour-and-a-half drive passes quickly, and we’re pulling into the drive sooner than I would like. The lights are on in the house, and it looks welcoming and cozy under its layer of snow.

  I unbuckle my seatbelt, but I don’t open my door. “Thanks for driving me home.”

  Harrison sits there as if, like me, he’s reluctant to leave. Then he looks at me, an unreadable expression on his face. “It was my pleasure.”

  Subtly, I angle my knees toward him.

  He does the same.

  “How’s your leg?” I ask, buying time.

  “It’s fine.”

  I play with my scarf. “You probably shouldn’t snowboard for awhile.”

  He shifts a tiny bit closer. “You know my leg isn’t why I came home.”

  Feeling as if my heart has traveled to my throat, I swallow. “Right. It was because Riley is tenacious.”

  A hint of a smile shadows his face. “No.”

  “Because you would have felt uncomfortable in Grant’s grandparent’s cabin?”

  Again, he shifts toward me, but, this time, he doesn’t try to hide it. “That’s a little closer.”

  My breathing goes shallow, and I try to draw in more air without being obvious about it.

  I lean nearer, pulled to him like a magnet, remembering last night’s kiss. “Because you overheard me telling Mom I didn’t want to go?”

  “Yes.”

  He’s close enough I can hear each intake of his breath; I can see the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes drop to my lips, and a sharp thrill races through me.

  “I thought you decided high school girls are off limits,” I whisper as I lean forward.

  “They are.” His breath tickles my lips, making me feel heady and reckless.

  “Then what are we doing?”

  “Breaking the rules.”

  I close my eyes as Harrison’s lips brush over mine. His kiss is soft, carefully restrained. A text chimes on my phone, but I ignore it. His fingers stray to my shoulders, and then he brushes a hand up my neck.

  Sighing, I lean into him. Without breaking our kiss, he shoves the center console up and closes the distance between us.

  Another text comes through on my phone, shortly followed by one on his.

  Growling, he begins to shift away.

  I stop him. “They’re just catching up because we’re back in service. Ignore them.”

  Nodding, he deepens the kiss.

  Then my phone rings.

  Harrison gives me a wry look.

  Heaving a sigh, I drag the phone from my purse.

  “Who is it?” Harrison asks as he browses his texts.

  I stare at the backlit screen, and a squirmy feeling dances in my stomach. “It’s Grant.”

  The only noise comes from my phone’s electronic ring.

  “You better answer it,” Harrison finally says.

  Nodding, I accept the call.

  “Hey, Lauren,” Grant says. “Did you make it home okay? The roads were pretty slick getting to the cabin.”

  I bite my
lip and purposely avoid Harrison’s gaze. “We did, thanks.”

  There’s a lot of noise in the background, music and laughter. Over the din, I hear Harper squeal and my brother yell something as he chases her.

  “Sounds like you guys are having fun,” I say, hoping he’ll reassure me he’s having a great time.

  “Sure,” Grant answers, and then he lowers his voice. “But I wish you were here. I wouldn’t have offered if I’d known you’d have to go home.”

  I close my eyes as guilt washes over me. “You’ll have a good time.”

  “We’ll be back in town tomorrow evening. You want to do something? Go to the mall, grab a pizza?”

  Harrison’s watching me, his brows knitted enigmatically.

  “I don’t know what my parents have planned yet,” I say, hesitant.

  I can’t tell Grant over the phone that we’re just not right for each other, can’t tell him that I’m fully enthralled with someone else. But even though we’re not dating, it still feels like I’m cheating on him.

  After I hang up, neither Harrison or I speak for a few moments.

  “What were your texts?” I ask eventually.

  “One was Grant checking to see if we got back. The other was from work. There’s a last-minute meeting scheduled for tomorrow morning to discuss the development of the new shopping complex, and I have to be there for it.”

  I nod.

  “You should go with him tomorrow,” Harrison finally says.

  Shocked, I jerk my head up to look at him. “What?”

  “You might want to turn your phone down.” He gives me a small smile, and then he leans back and sighs. “Lauren—I have a meeting with the senior executive of the architectural firm. You have a mall date.” He shakes his head. “We’re just not at the same point right now.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but I don’t have anything to say.

  “Go. Have fun. That’s what you’re supposed to do your senior year.” He leans forward, an earnest expression on his face. “I missed out on all of that when I graduated early. I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

  He gently places his hands on my cheeks and leans in to press a soft, regretful kiss against my lips. Our eyes lock for several moments, a goodbye of sorts. He gives me a tiny nod, almost more to himself—as if he’s making sure it’s the right decision—and then he slides out his side.

  Just before he shuts the door, he looks back. I think he’s going to say something, maybe change his mind.

  Instead, he closes the door.

  I don’t get out until the door to the guest house shuts. Feeling numb, I carefully lock the truck and make the short walk into the house.

  Once I’m inside, I wave a quick hello to my parents, who don’t notice anything is amiss, and escape to my room. I sink onto my bed, but I don’t cry. There’s nothing to cry about. We kissed a couple times, that’s all.

  I liked him. He liked me back. I made him feel like a pedophile.

  What’s two stupid years? I’m eighteen; he’s twenty. Sure, he’ll turn twenty-one in a few months, but then I’ll turn nineteen in November.

  Maybe he doesn’t want to take you to something as juvenile as prom, with its bad music, bad punch, and boys reeking of cheap cologne. Or maybe he doesn’t want to introduce a baby girlfriend to his colleagues.

  The fact that he even has colleagues makes me uncomfortable. I haven’t even decided on what I’ll be majoring in yet.

  Maybe he’s right after all.

  With a long sigh, I drag myself up and begin the process of removing layers. I stare at my new jewelry box for a good several seconds before I open a drawer and toss my earrings into a compartment. Then, because apparently I like to wallow, I lift the lid and run my hand over the glittering heart.

  With a flick of my wrist, I snap the lid shut and pick up my phone.

  I dial the number before I can change my mind.

  “Lauren?” Grant sounds surprised to hear from me again.

  “We’re on for tomorrow.”

  “Yeah?” There’s a smile in his voice. “Great. Can I pick you up at four?”

  “That would be fine.” I rip my eyes from the jewelry box. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

  There’s a squeal in the background—my friends still enjoying themselves, and Grant chuckles. “Me too.”

  After we hang up, I walk to the window. Harrison’s windows are dark, and his truck is gone. Apparently he’s decided to move on too.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  February 5th

  January has flown by in an unspectacular jumble of snow and schoolwork. Brandon went back to college, I went back to high school, and Harrison started at the university.

  Now that we’re in the second half of the year, more people seem to be talking about what they’re planning on studying in college. Riley’s decided on elementary education, and Tyler’s looking into several different medical professions.

  And me? I looked up a couple of springer spaniel rescue organizations.

  Mom and Dad have told me not to worry about it, that you don’t have to know right away. But it’s nagging at me. I’d at least like to study something I’m somewhat interested in before I get married and settle into the house of my dreams.

  Harrison picks up a piece of bacon and studies the stretched out newspaper in front of him. He takes a bite as he circles a listing.

  I scoot my scrambled eggs back and forth on my plate, not hungry.

  “There’s a place near the university,” Harrison says. “But it’s all the way across town from work. I’d rather find somewhere in between, somewhere near here.”

  “There’s no rush,” Dad says, and Mom nods in agreement. “You’re welcome here for as long as you like.”

  Even though I haven’t finished the first piece, Mom slides another slice of French toast on my plate.

  “You haven’t eaten a thing, Lauren. You need to hurry,” she says. “You’re going to be late.”

  I nod and attempt a few bites.

  “Is Riley coming over for dinner?” she asks as I stand to scrape off the rest of my plate.

  “There’s a game tonight,” I answer.

  She nods, and I can practically see her mentally adjusting her menu accordingly. “What about you, Harrison? Do you have plans?”

  There’s a slight pause before he says, “I have a date, actually.”

  The words hang between me and him, and he doesn’t look my way. My parents don’t notice, and they continue to chatter away.

  It’s fine. It’s been over a month. Not a big deal. I’m practically dating Grant. Why shouldn’t he be seeing someone?

  “I gotta go.” I grab my keys from the counter and escape out the back door.

  Once I get to my car, I realize I forgot my backpack. I start the engine so it will warm up, and then I jog back into the house.

  When I get back to my car, I find Harrison leaning against it, waiting for me.

  I don’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m running late.”

  “Are we okay? I mean…” He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Well…are we okay?”

  He looks so earnest with his hands shoved in his pockets and his expression guarded. I can’t help it; my heart flip-flops. You wouldn’t think it would. I was devastated the night he brought me home. But I can’t seem to help it.

  “Yeah, we’re good.”

  He gives me a nervous smile. “Friends?”

  Feeling tired though it’s only morning, I sigh. “Sure.”

  “And you’re okay with…?”

  His date. Him dating someone. This very mature, very lovely girl he’s dating.

  “Of course I am.” I give him a bright, chastising smile. “You really need to get over yourself, Harrison.” To prove I’m not still hung up on him, I give him a playful swat on the arm. “You’re really not so amazing that I’d still be pining for you.”

  Unfortunately, smacking Harrison’s arm just makes me want to step up to him, wrap my arms aro
und him. Maybe lean up on my tiptoes and angle toward—

  “Good.” He gives me a wry smile. “Glad to hear it.”

  Hands still in his pockets, he rocks back and forth on his heels. We just kind of stare at each other.

  “I really do need to go,” I motion to my door, which he’s blocking.

  “Oh, right.” He jumps out of the way and opens it for me. “Have a good day, Lauren.”

  “You too.”

  After he closes the door, I give him a nonchalant, “I’m-so-not-in-love-with-you” wave goodbye.

  Once I round the corner out of my subdivision, I bang my head against my headrest. Our conversation runs on a continuous loop in my brain.

  Thanks to Harrison, I pull into the school parking lot with only minutes to spare. I slam the car door, and when I try to hurry away, my backpack yanks me back. Rapidly running out of time, I growl as I fight with the locks and pull my strap free of the door.

  I plop into my seat with only four seconds to spare. Flustered, I pull out my books, take a deep breath, and then sit back, pretending to be serene.

  “Bad morning?” Riley asks from next to me.

  Only now do I acknowledge her. She’s slouched over, her elbow propped on her desk, her cheek resting on her hand. She smiles, her eyes teasing, loving to see me rattled.

  “No,” I lie.

  “You were almost late.” With her free hand, she taps the desk with her pencil’s eraser.

  Remembering I need a pencil as well, I dig through my backpack. “But I’m not.”

  She opens her mouth, but she’s cut off by Mr. Maxwell, who apparently thinks first period is for American history and not for social interaction.

  “Miss Newton,” he says. “Would it be all right with you if I start my lesson now?”

  Riley turns toward the front. She sits back in her seat and smiles, ignoring the teeters from the other students. “Sure, Mr. Maxwell. Whenever you’re ready.”

  “That’s very gracious of you,” the teacher says, and then he launches into a lecture on the French and Indian War.

  We sit through class, and I try to keep my mind on the battle and off contemplating Harrison’s date. I’m failing miserably.

  She probably has platinum hair and huge blue eyes. Or maybe her complexion is darker, with olive skin and a long sheet of ebony hair. And she’ll be tall, model tall. And I bet she wears heels—simple, sleek ones…no glitter anywhere. She’s probably an architect, maybe she even works with Harrison. Maybe she’s just a tad older than he is…far more sophisticated than I am…