In light of Rachel’s recent taste in music, I’m not sure this is a good idea. But Rachel knows a lot about classical and Broadway music, too, back from her days on the piano.
“Really?” Julianna says. “That would be great.”
Mom offers to let Julianna borrow the magazines again, and Julianna accepts.
When Mom and Rachel leave, I pick up the money from the counter. “I imagine this kind of thing gets expensive.”
“Pageants?” Julianna lets out a chuckle. “You have no idea.”
I extend the money toward her. “Then you’ll want this.”
She eyes it warily. “I still have to pay the fifty-dollar entry fee and donate money to the Children’s Miracle Network. Oh, and I need to find a local sponsor.”
I pull out my wallet. “How much?”
“It needs to be a business, Cody.”
“I know some people,” I say. “My cousin manages the bowling alley in Gilbert.”
“Thanks, but I think I can figure it out,” she says and looks at the money in my hand again. “This still doesn’t solve my problem, though. I can’t take that. I need the service hours.”
I hold up Lizzy’s Evening of the Arts brochure. So much for distancing myself from what I want and can’t have.
“Then we’ll put on one of these,” I say.
I should stay far away from Julianna Schultz, should never have gotten close in the first place. With her sitting in my kitchen right in front of me, I can’t stop myself. I want to help her.
CHAPTER 28
Julianna
I can’t believe he talked me into this. It’s been ten days since Cody convinced me to switch my platform to Advocating for the Arts in Education, and practically the entire school is aware of it. All of the art teachers have been notified of my Night with the Arts event, thanks to Cody, and I’ve received overwhelming support from many.
Mrs. Legend even turned the event into a mandatory assignment, and most of the other teachers are offering extra credit. Any student is welcome to display an original piece of art, within reason of course. No obscene pictures or creations. Everything must be approved by a teacher in order to be displayed at the event, and that’s a good thing. Someone already tried to approve a ceramics project made of nude-colored clay claiming to be Thor’s Hammer from Bryce Canyon National Park. Yeah right.
My choir teacher arranged to have her choirs perform that night in the auditorium as well. The Art Club is helping pass out flyers. Highland’s very first Night with the Arts is turning into an even bigger event than I could have imagined. And it’s all going down on September 30, twelve days away.
I should be terrified. The entire school invited to an event with my name on it? The news of me competing in a pageant out there for anyone to hear? In truth I’m kind of excited; at least that’s what I make of this bubbly feeling in my belly as I walk through school, spotting a flyer on a bench and another poking out from a locker. They’re everywhere. Cody had them printed two days ago and started passing them out yesterday.
I spot Connor and Sam by the lounge between classes, each holding a stack of flyers. Thanks to Cody, even the popular kids are into it. Girls are twisting their locks of hair and popping their gum, asking each other if they’re going. You’d think this was a bonfire or a party offering spiked punch and free beer.
My head is bowed as I make my way down the hall as inconspicuously as possible. I almost run into some girl, narrowly darting around her in time.
“Jules.”
Her voice, not to mention the nickname, makes my head snap up.
“Rachel,” I breathe out, relieved.
“I’ve got it,” she exhales, the first brimming smile I’ve ever seen on Rachel Rush splitting her face. “The song,” she says when I fail to catch on. “For your pageant. I’ve got it.”
“You do?” I say, mortification creeping in. Me, onstage, singing. Alone. I haven’t done that since my solo part in Guys and Dolls back in the eighth grade. Some people in the crowd snickered. Later, I found out it was Candace and her friends. Big surprise.
I haven’t sung a solo since, even though I practice all the time in my room, while I’m cleaning, or any other spare moment alone I get.
“Yes,” Rachel says. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Such a common song—a classic—but it’s perfect.”
She whips out a folder and hands it over, along with a CD. “I found a shortened version. One minute and forty seconds. That’s under the time limit, right?”
“Time limit?” I question.
“For talents in pageants,” Rachel says. “I ran it by my cousin first; you know, the one who did a pageant a while ago?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Anyway,” Rachel continues, “she said talents have to be under two minutes, so I found a shortened version.” Rachel points to the folder in my hand that I’m guessing holds the sheet music. “I crossed out the measures and lyrics that are cut. I think this rendition still captures the essence of the story told, and it’s beautiful.”
The minute bell rings.
“Gotta go,” Rachel says. “See ya, Jules.”
I smile as she walks away, wondering if I have anything to do with her ease in opening up to me. I think about her family: Cody, charming little Lizzy, their flawless mom, and that awful special agent dad of theirs. All of them so perfect in their own way. It’s got to be hard being surrounded by such perfection. Maybe having a feisty, nowhere-close-to-perfect girl like me around the house is a breath of fresh air.
Rachel made it easy for me to open up to her about the pageant. And she’s right. I need a song that means something.
I’m standing at my open locker after fifth hour when a hand slams against the locker next to me. I look up, recognizing Lucas’s leather bracelet. One of the green flyers is wedged between his hand and the locker.
“What’s this?” he asks, sounding more confused than upset, like this is some joke.
I’ve been so busy this week, Lucas and I haven’t seen each other outside of school.
“Rumor is you’re doing a pageant?”
“Yes,” I admit and turn to meet his eye. No use hiding it now. “Surprise.”
He looks surprised all right, and not in a good way. “Jewel, a pageant?”
Said as though I’m about to play with Barbies or dress up and pretend to be someone I’m not, which isn’t far from the truth.
“It’s for my mom. She’s always wanted me to do this.”
“So?”
“So, I’m doing it.”
“Just because your mom is stuck in fantasyland?”
Lucas is practical, not a supporter of anything girly. His ex left high school early to enroll in beauty school. That’s when she became his ex. Still, he doesn’t need to be rude about this.
“Someone told me Cody Rush is passing these out for you?” he challenges, like he’s daring me to deny it.
“Yeah, he is. And I could use your help, too. I can use all the help I can get.”
“What is it with you and Cody?”
“Nothing,” I say, wondering if it’s a lie. Lucas must have seen me with Cody more than I thought.
I’ve tutored Cody off and on since Lucas asked me to homecoming. Cody has kept his distance, holding his typical flirtations in check. So have I. It’s for the best. Cody and I are friends, and he’s a good friend. Supportive. Helpful. He always manages to make me laugh, and his strengths are rubbing off on me little by little. Making me think I can do things I never before dreamed possible.
Most of the time Cody and I end up talking about my platform and planning the Night with the Arts. He’s brilliant. And confident and resourceful. And he can wield the kind of charm that gets him whatever he wants. He’s everything I’m not, and although I find myself increasingly intrigued by him, he doesn’t like me, not anymore. That much is obvious now.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this . . . pageant?” Lucas asks, his nose wrinkling like he c
an’t stand the smell of that word.
“Because I knew you’d react like this.”
Clearly this was the wrong thing to say. Lucas digs his hands into his skinny sides. “Like what?”
“This,” I say, gesturing to his rigid stance.
“Julianna,” he says and pauses, his eyes widening like he clearly understands something I don’t. “Pageants are . . . are—”
“Are what?”
“Stupid!”
That’s it. “Maybe it’s time you and I take a break.”
The words slip out before I even realize that’s what I want. It’s the truth though, and it’s only fair. I don’t want to lead Lucas on when I don’t feel the same way for him that I used to.
I begin to explain, even though I have no idea what to say. “It’s just—”
“No, don’t,” Lucas cuts me off. “We both saw this coming.”
We did?
He starts backing away like he’s ready for that break now. “Let’s just . . . talk about this later, okay?”
I don’t get a chance to reply. I stand, watching Lucas disappear around a corner and wondering whether I did the right thing. Did I just break up with my boyfriend? And what about homecoming? Shock settles in as I walk to my next class.
It isn’t until the end of the day that I remember Rachel’s sheet music and CD. Distracted by Lucas, I shoved them in my locker and forgot. Making a quick stop by my locker, I pull out the folder and open it, my nerves bubbling up as my eyes devour the title and lyrics. Rachel was right. It’s perfect. Too perfect, maybe. I can almost hear my mom speaking these words, her voice filling my head as the lyrics strike close to home.
A high-pitched squeal jerks my attention away. Holly is at her locker a few down from mine, her hand clamped over her mouth as rose petals tumble to her feet.
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” she pants.
I make my way toward her, curious. Samantha Rusnak closes in from the other side. A bouquet—and not your typical bouquet—of flowers is situated in her locker. The flowers are fresh and exotic and arranged masterfully. Holly doesn’t have a boyfriend that I know of.
“How did he get in my locker?” Holly asks before spinning toward Samantha. “You helped him, didn’t you?”
Samantha smiles. “Of course! I knew you’d love it. Right?”
“Yes!” Holly says.
I spot a piece of paper in her hand. A homecoming invite. “Who asked you?”
Her face turns red at my question and she smiles. “Cody Rush!”
Samantha grabs Holly’s hand and muffles a squeal of her own, sharing in her best friend’s excitement. Their enthusiasm only underscores my shock and the fact that I’ve gone numb from head to toe. Speechless. I fish for something to say but nothing comes. The bouquet. Of course. Cody’s mom made it. On the one hand, I’m glad it isn’t Candace. Holly is nice.
“Congrats,” I say, trying to infuse some artificial energy into my voice.
A text from Cody two minutes later as I walk down Hawk Hall pulls me from my trance. My pulse flickers back to life as I open the text.
GOT SOME B-BALL WITH THE GUYS AFTER SCHOOL. WON’T BE ABLE TO MAKE TUTORING. RAIN CHECK?
Basketball. Really, I’m happy he’s back on his feet doing something he obviously loves. Still, my heart plummets, and I realize how hung up I am on Cody Rush, how everything he does affects me, no matter how much I want to deny it.
SURE. HAVE FUN, I send back.
YOU NEED A RIDE HOME?
I study his words, sorely tempted. I’m clinging to something that isn’t mine, though, and I have to stop. I type my response slowly, finally clicking send.
NO THANKS. I’M GOOD.
Luckily, I spot Mindy when I reach the parking lot and she gives me a ride. I don’t mention Lucas. I’m not ready to talk about it.
Mindy has been acting strange ever since English yesterday morning, and it’s no mystery why. Trish was elated when she found out Cody was helping me with my platform, clapping and bouncing up and down in her seat while demanding details.
Enough was enough. Secrets can feel heavy with time, weighing you down. I told them all about Cody asking me to tutor him. In fact, I told them almost everything. All about how his dad was the fed who put Mama away and how Cody showed up at The Chocolate Shoppe. How he met Vic at a tournament. Got hit by a car. I kept my feelings for Cody locked away, hinting at nothing but my initial disdain.
“What’s up?” I ask Mindy after a long stretch of road with no words between us.
“Nothing,” she mutters, but I don’t buy it. “I just can’t believe you kept this all a secret.”
“What?”
“You and Cody,” she says with great effort, as though this has been on her mind all day.
Why did I keep it a secret? Truth is I liked him all along, even though I knew I shouldn’t. A girl like me doesn’t end up with a guy like Cody. Mindy has a crush on Cody, too. The way she’s acting is proof.
“It was no big deal,” I say. “And it was awkward, you know? His dad put my mom in prison. But Cody really is a nice guy and he needed help with art.”
Mindy nods, hopefully satisfied, yet she doesn’t say another word until “see you later” when she drops me off.
Tonight is the fifth pageant workshop and I plan to make the most of it. By the time I leave the house I’m a different woman, having spent way too much time with makeup and a flat iron in front of the mirror. I’m wearing the most fashionable outfit I own: a pair of white Capri pants that hug my butt, a lacy yet full-covering beige top, a red purse for a pop of color, and the highest pair of heels I own. Immersing myself in the trivialities of makeup and hair was a good distraction. From Lucas. From Cody.
I feel Dad’s stare through the window as I walk toward Rusty. Thanks to Cody, I’ve discovered art is an interest I’ve denied myself for too long. I’ve been helping Dad with his projects. Fixing this and that. I’m good at it, too; Cody was right. I even caught an appraising look on Dad’s face the other day when I finished my second coral reef.
I feel an odd sense of empowerment, a woman on a mission. I remind myself to wear heels more often. I need to make a quick stop by a copy center before the workshop. Big surprise: our printer/copier is broken.
I scan Rachel’s sheet music in at a copy center, a pair of scissors in hand. Rachel is obviously a musician, the kind that can cross out measures, draw arrows all over, and still follow along without a hitch. My brain functions on a little more order, however. Copy, cut, paste. I’m compiling only the sections I’ll be singing in the shortened rendition.
As I copy the second page, I get the prickly feeling that someone is staring at me. My eyes sweep the room while I copy the third page, catching a few eyes on me. I begin to wonder if I overdid it with the makeup before the sinking realization hits me: This is copyrighted music. Am I breaking some law? Suddenly I feel totally stupid, like I should already know.
For better or worse, I convince myself one copy is no big deal. Regardless, I pick up my pace. I sense the man at the copy machine next to mine looking at me and I dare a glance.
His gaze captures mine, and he doesn’t pretend he wasn’t looking. A mischievous smile plays on his lips as he stares unabashed.
“Hey,” he says before I realize I was staring back.
I divert my gaze, but it’s no use now. I paste on a grin. “Hi.”
I’m not sure whether to ignore him or look back up. I choose the latter and notice the electrifying quality of his steely gaze. His eyes remind me of Cody’s, which makes little sense. Cody’s are green. This guy has the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, almost translucent.
“Do you teach?” he asks.
“Teach?”
He drops a pointed look to the sheet music in my hands.
“Oh,” I say. “No. I’m just copying and pasting the sections I need for a performance. I mean, it’s my sheet music, of course,” I rush in to justify myself, my excuse plunging out in a jumbl
e. “A friend gave it to me. She bought it. At least I think she did. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m not, like, breaking any laws here. . . .”
Thankfully, my tongue grinds to a halt before I do any more damage. Advice to self: leave now. I shove the last page facedown and press the copy button.
The guy saunters over and leans up against my machine. I raise my gaze to his, noting the muscles in his forearm, the tattoos on his biceps, and his generally impressive physique. His eyelid drops into a wink and he leans in to whisper, “Trust me, I’m the last guy who’s going to turn you in.”
A laugh bubbles up. I smile, realizing I’m blushing. Realizing the effect this attractive man has on me. And I think he’s flirting with me.
This is all new to me. When I look into the mirror, I still see the shadow of the girl I was, the one with frizzy hair, glasses, and pimples. But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m wearing skinny pants and my hair is ironed to perfection. I look like a different girl, a much older girl. And that’s the most awkward part about this. I’m pretty sure this guy is too old for me.
“Thanks,” I say, trying to temper my grin and figure a smooth way to let him know that I’m still a minor. “I’d hate to go to juvie.”
His eyelids close in a quick wince. “Seventeen?”
I chuckle. “Yep, and you?”
“Twenty-six,” he replies.
Nine years. Barriers safely established, he extends a cordial hand toward me.
“I’m Damian Acklen.”
I shake his hand. “I’m Julianna.”
“I’ll bet you already have a boyfriend anyway, am I right, Julianna?”
Cody flits to mind first and I kick myself for it. “Yes. I mean, no. Um, it’s complicated.”
Should I tell him the truth? I broke up with my boyfriend today.
“And his name is?” he asks.
This is more than irrelevant, but Damian is smooth and tall and dark and handsome, and I tell myself off for wanting to revert to my bashful ways. This is what people do. They talk. They flirt. This is a new me, a more confident me, and I’ll be eighteen this January anyway.
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