Glitter and Sparkle

by Shari L. Tapscott

  Grant looks like he’s regretting opening his mouth. “We’ll probably be in the backyard. People will be playing volleyball and stuff, and you look a little…”

  “Stuffy?”

  “I don’t want your outfit to get ruined, that’s all.”

  What exactly am I getting myself into that my outfit could be ruined?

  “Okay.”

  He tilts his head, giving me a puppy-dog look. “Are you mad?”

  “Of course not.” I take a slow breath through my nose and work up a smile. “An outfit must match the occasion, right?”

  “I know you’re irritated, but I appreciate that you’re trying.”

  I want to tell him that he’s trying too, but I doubt he would understand my meaning.

  “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

  I nod then watch him leave the yard. He waves out the window as he pulls from the drive. Still miffed, I toss open the front door and then shut it with slightly more enthusiasm than necessary.

  “Bad day?” Harrison asks from the living room.

  I eye him. “Don’t you have a couch in the guest house?”

  That slow smile builds at the edges of his mouth, and he doesn’t take his eyes off his laptop screen. “Sure, but the house is so much cozier, don’t you think?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “What’s ruffled your feathers?”

  Ignoring his teasing, I motion to my outfit. “How do I look?”

  He looks up, and his expression instantly goes guarded, as if he’s worried the question is a trap. “You look fine…why?”

  “Fine?”

  Sighing, he shuts his laptop. His tone careful, he says, “You look amazing, Lauren. You always look amazing—you always know you look amazing. What stupid thing did Grant say this time?”

  I huff out a breath and toss my backpack on the couch. “Nothing. He just wanted me to change before he drags me to some dumb party one of his jock friends is throwing.”

  Harrison shakes his head and opens the laptop back up. His eyes on the screen, he says, “You don’t belong at one of those parties.”

  My hackles instantly rise. “Excuse me?”

  Harrison looks back up. “You actually want to go?”

  “Well, of course not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t belong there.”

  He stands, and his expression makes me wonder if he’s as irritated with me as I was with Grant. Laptop tucked under his arm, he takes the two steps toward me. “You really want my opinion?”

  I motion for him to continue.

  “You’re too mature to get sucked into that world.”

  “Really? Because the day you set foot in this house you said I wasn’t mature enough to admit”—I make quotes with my fingers— “that I was in love with you.”

  He steps closer, too close. “I was trying to get a rise out of you, and you know it.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  He shifts a little closer. “You know why.”

  My pulse quickens, and I lick my lips. “Why don’t you explain anyway?”

  The front door opens and shuts and Mom hollers, “Come help me with these grocery bags!”

  Harrison takes a step back, an enigmatic look on his face. He tilts his head to the side, raises his brows, and then turns toward the foyer.

  My heart hammers in my chest, making me feel lightheaded.

  “When do you leave for your cousin’s wedding?” Mom asks Harrison when we reach the kitchen.

  “On the twentieth,” he answers.

  Mom glances at the calendar. “That’s the day before prom, isn’t it, Lauren?” She laughs and turns back to Harrison, teasing. “I guess we won’t be sending you as Lauren and Grant’s chaperone then.”

  My eyes fly to Harrison, but his full attention is on a mesh bag of oranges.

  Mom chatters as we finish helping her put things away, and I escape to my bedroom as soon as I get the chance.

  What, exactly, is one supposed to wear to a backyard party? I keep my jeans on because the late May evening will not be warm enough for a summer skirt, but I exchange my heels for flats. I also grab a long, lightweight white cardigan that I just found at the mall last weekend. It’s super cute.

  I glance at my blouse. What’s wrong with it? It’s not too dressy. After all, I wore it to school.

  In the end, I pull my hair up in a loose ponytail and call it good. I changed out of my heels. What else could Grant want?

  I watch for my boyfriend, and when he pulls up, I leave without waiting for him to come to the door. I’m not excited about the night, and I have a feeling my parents will like it even less. Guilt churns in my stomach, but I won’t do anything stupid, so it will be all fine. Tedious, but fine.

  Grant’s eyes wander over my outfit. “You didn’t really change.”

  “Yes, I did.” I point to my feet. “I was in heels.”

  He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even roll his eyes—but it looks like he wants to. The drive is slightly strained. Why does he care so much about what I wear?

  Twenty minutes later, I find out “casual” is obviously code for “less fabric.” Despite that it’s going to be a cool night, several girls are in short shorts and skimpy tank-tops. They have to be freezing. I can see how Grant would be embarrassed by his fully-clothed girlfriend.

  Unable to keep my mouth shut, I tell him as much, hissing the words under my breath.

  “That’s not it,” Grant argues. “I was just hoping you could wear something that makes you look a little less unapproachable.”

  “I’m not unapproachable,” I say.

  “Sweetheart,” Grant says. “You are the most unapproachable person I know.”

  I blink at him, hurt.

  He takes my hand and pulls me farther into the party. “Let’s forget it. There’s no reason to fight.”

  Holding Grant’s hand, I fake a smile, trying to look “approachable,” as we make our way through the throng of people. Daniel yells a greeting across the backyard, and Grant acknowledges him.

  A few of Riley’s cheerleader friends are here, and they say hi, but most everyone else ignores me. I’m just Grant’s arm decoration—and apparently a poor decoration at that.

  The sun sets, and a chill tinges the spring night air. One of the girls next to me shivers when a breeze blows through, and I bite back a smile as she wraps her bare arms around herself, obviously cold.

  I’m perfectly comfortable.

  A rowdy group shows up, hollering as they step out the back door. And they’ve bought refreshments. Soon the party gets a little too wild for my tastes.

  “Can we go?”

  Grant looks torn, obviously not wanting to leave this early. “Just a little longer?”

  A headache is blooming behind my left eye. I have fabric to cut, and I simply don’t want to be here. “I’d rather go now.”

  “You can’t leave, dude,” Daniel says, overhearing us. “The party is just getting started!”

  Despite me sitting right here, a girl from one of the neighboring schools leans over Grant’s shoulder. “Come on, Grant. You can’t leave now.” She flashes me a vicious smirk, and then she purrs in his ear, “Remember how much fun we had at that party last summer?”

  And that’s my cue.

  I stand, letting Grant decide whether or not he’s going to follow me. I don’t care at this point. If he doesn’t want to leave, I’ll call Riley. She’ll come pick me up—she’ll give me grief for being here—but she’d come get me.

  Apparently, I don’t have to worry about it, though. Grant excuses himself and follows me out.

  “Sorry about that,” he murmurs as he wraps his arm around my waist.

  I stop. “For the party or for the girl?”

  He takes a breath. “Both, I guess. I knew you would hate it. I shouldn’t have dragged you here.”

  There’s something in his voice that makes me pause. I study him, the curve of his shoulders, the angle of his chin.

  We’re n
ot doing as well as I had thought. I had hoped it was just me.

  “Come on,” he says, sliding his hand to catch mine in his palm. “Let’s get you home.”

  ***

  Grant didn’t stay after he dropped me off—not that I expected him to. I didn’t ask what he was going to do with the rest of his evening, either. He may have gone back to the party for all I know.

  Now I’m sitting in the kitchen, brooding over it.

  Dad winces as he reaches into the top cabinet for the jar of cinnamon. Ignoring the pain, he pulls the spice down and continues gathering ingredients. He’s making a pear crisp—his own recipe.

  “How’s your shoulder?” I hop up to grab the flour and brown sugar from another cabinet so he doesn’t have to pull it out too.

  Dad sets the cinnamon on the counter and rotates his arm a few times. “It’s still pretty messed up.”

  It still hasn’t healed after the accident.

  “When do we go to Missoula?”

  He has to see a doctor there, someone who specializes in shoulder injuries.

  Distracted, he says, “In a few weeks.”

  Mom walks into the kitchen, sees Dad rubbing his arm, and frowns. “We’ll be going the second to last weekend in May. I was thinking we’d make a weekend of it, maybe all of us go see a show? It’ll be nice to spend some time with Brandon.”

  What weekend is that?

  Realizing when it is, I say, “Mom, prom is that Saturday.”

  We just talked about it this afternoon. How could she forget?

  Her face falls as she glances at the calendar on the fridge. “Oh, I didn’t even think about it being the same weekend. I forgot to write it in my planner.”

  “It’s okay,” I assure her. “I can probably stay with Riley. Or, I’m eighteen…I could stay here…”

  Both my parents look up, staring at me blankly.

  “By yourself?” Dad asks.

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, by myself.”

  They exchange a look, and I’m getting ready to argue. Technically, I could move out if I wanted to. Technically, I could get married if I wanted to.

  Suddenly, the worry in Dad’s expression eases from his face. “Harrison would be just out back if you need anything.” He shrugs and winces again. “I guess it’s fine.”

  “Harrison has a wedding in Connecticut that weekend,” Mom says.

  That she remembers.

  “Oh.” Dad’s forehead wrinkles. “Well, I guess it’s all right if you’re here alone…but why don’t you see if you can stay with Riley? Or Grandma and Grandpa?”

  After a quick phone call, it’s all arranged.

  I guess I’m staying at Riley’s.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  May 20th

  “No, they were supposed to be coral peonies.” I tap my foot on my bedroom rug. “Not pink.”

  The woman on the phone assures me that they are a very salmony pink.

  The entire color scheme will be off, and it’s my fault. I was the one who insisted on fresh flowers for the table decorations. But how can you do a garden party theme without fresh flowers?

  Janna’s going to be ticked. She wanted to order the cardboard centerpieces.

  I rub my throbbing temples. I can fix this. Somehow, I can make it work. It’s not like prom is tomorrow or anything.

  Oh my, prom is tomorrow.

  “It’s fine,” I say into the phone. “I’ll pick them up in the morning at nine.”

  My mind whirls madly. How am I going to integrate pink into our theme? What can I add to the bouquets?

  My eyes land on the vase of crepe paper flowers on my vanity.

  It could work.

  It has to work.

  I’m only fifteen minutes late getting to the school where the prom committee has agreed to meet to put together the rest of the decorations for tomorrow.

  I arrive with a bag full of crepe paper, floral wire, and eight glue guns.

  “I’m so sorry,” I call out as I push the gymnasium doors open. “We had a mix-up with the—”

  My words die in my throat as I survey the group, which consists of Janna.

  Only Janna.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “Dylan and Hannah are sick,” she says. “I have no idea where Vance and Kally are…”

  Not good. Not good.

  One by one, she lists everyone else in the committee, and she finally says, “Where’s Grant?”

  “He has an out of town baseball game at three.”

  His team is already on their way to the next town, and I’m supposed to drive over just as soon as I’m done here.

  And there is no way I’m going to make it because I have four-hundred coral and light pink crepe paper peonies to make.

  Janna looks stressed, and she’s surrounded by about a billion balloons for the tacky arch I tried to talk her out of. “We’re never going to get this done on our own.”

  “Don’t say that.” My finger twitches against the plastic bag. “We have to get it done.”

  I dig for my phone as I toss my bag on the floor. Riley answers on the second ring. Her brothers squeal in the background, and she sounds frazzled.

  “Can you come help us with the prom decorations?” I ask in lieu of a greeting. “No one showed up.”

  “I’m babysitting my brothers,” she says. “And I can’t bring them. They’re tiny tornadoes.”

  She’s right. They’d trail behind us, destroying everything we put together.

  “Did you try Grant?” she asks.

  “He’s going to an out of town baseball game.”

  She goes through more people, but half of them were supposed to be here to begin with. I only start to panic once I hang up.

  Janna’s wrestling with the balloons, fighting with the arch.

  “Shouldn’t we be making that tomorrow?” I ask.

  She looks flustered. “I thought it would be better to make it now and take it in the back of Brady’s van.”

  “Will it fit?”

  The student council president blows a strand of hair out of her face. “I have no idea.”

  I watch her for a few minutes more, thinking. I’m about to get started on the paper peonies when my phone rings.

  I really don’t have time to deal with Harrison right now.

  “Yeah?” I ask, my voice curt.

  “I can’t find my tablet,” Harrison says. “Have you seen it?”

  “You left it on the end table.”

  He mutters something, and then he says, “It’s not here.”

  “The one with the lamp.”

  “Oh…oh, yeah. I see it. Thanks.”

  I’m about to hang up when he says, “What are you doing?”

  “Freaking out.”

  He laughs. “What about?”

  I tell him our dilemma and then say, “I don’t know how we’re going to finish it all.”

  There’s a long pause. “I have to be at the airport at five…but I guess I could help.”

  Startled, I look at my phone. “With prom decorations?”

  Isn’t that exactly the kind of thing he was hoping to avoid?

  “Sure. I’m already packed. I’ll head to the high school right now.”

  “Okay, um, thanks.”

  Janna looks up when I end the call. “Who was that?”

  I scoot next to the wall, dragging my bag with me. “That was help. And he’s on his way.”

  It only takes fifteen minutes for Harrison to make it. Janna’s jaw goes a little slack when he walks through the door, looking all teen-movie hot. Seeing him again, newly through Janna’s eyes, makes my pulse jump a little too.

  “Hey,” he says to Janna, and then he squats down next to me. “I’m all yours. Do with me what you will.”

  ***

  Four hours and fifty-six minutes after Harrison walks through the door, we have finished the paper peonies, a chalkboard welcome sign, one balloon arch, the band backdrop, and the photo booth extras. I’ve burned m
y fingers with hot glue more times than I can count, and I’ve broken not one, but two nails.

  Thankfully, I have an appointment to have them done tomorrow morning.

  Janna had to leave, and now it’s just me and Harrison, trying to beat the clock. He has to be at the airport in a little less than an hour.

  We’re painting the lattice-work archway a deep coral color (the same color the peonies were supposed to be). It’s quickly becoming apparent that, though he’s a better woodworker, I am far more skilled with a paintbrush.

  “You have a drip,” I say, motioning to the runny wet splotch with my own brush.

  Harrison peers at the spot and tries to even it out, but he still has too much paint on his brush. I step between him and the archway and smooth the drip.

  “I was going to fix it,” he says.

  I realize my mistake as soon as I feel the breath of his words on my neck. We’re too close.

  Too close.

  Swiping my brush over the wood, I dart away as quickly as I can.

  He doesn’t mention it, but I’m sure he noticed how I fled. We continue to paint in near silence.

  Once finished, I cross my arms, surveying our work. “Not bad.”

  Harrison stands next to me, mimicking my posture, his paintbrush still in his hand. “Not bad? I think we’re pretty awesome.”

  As he says the words, he bumps his shoulder into mine. I jump, startled by the contact, and accidentally step right into his paintbrush. It leaves a thick, coral smudge just below my elbow.

  Harrison takes a step back and holds up his hands, paintbrush and all, in surrender. “I didn’t do that. You walked into it.”

  I stare at the smudge, and then I look at him, determined.

  He takes another step back. “Oh, no, no—I have to be on a plane in an hour.”

  Grinning, I take another step forward as he retreats.

  Looking down as he reaches the end of the canvas drop fabric, he holds his paintbrush out like a sword. A small smile spreads across his face, lighting his eyes. “If you take a step closer, I will be forced to retaliate.”

  I’m about to lunge for him when a voice of reason whispers in my ear. Grant wouldn’t like this.

  With a sigh, I lower my paintbrush.

  It only takes Harrison a moment to spot my weakness. He darts forward, pinning my arms with his own, and he holds the brush threateningly over my cheek while I squirm.