by Tina Ferraro
That sounded better to me, too. But it didn't keep me from begging. “It'll be fun.”
“Fun?”
“Okay, maybe not fun, but …”
She held up her hand. “I get it. And thanks for asking me this time.”
This time? What? Had she wanted to go up to my dad's? But I didn't get to dwell on it. A deep guy-voice, speaking my name, interrupted us and Alison and I turned to see Jared's friend Mitch. He was tall, thin,with an upturned nose that gave shorties like me a view straight into his brain. Nice.
“I was thinking,” he said, aiming this goofy expression at me, “that I might need help with the Spanish test next week. I might need to call you.”
I was confused. Was my C+ something he envied?
“So why don't you give me your phone number?” he went on.
To shut him up and move him along, Alison rattled it off. He scribbled it down, then ripped off a corner of a page, wrote his own phone number, and passed it to me. To be polite, I accepted it, but knew I'd never dial it.
The next thing I knew, Jared sauntered up; then, after a few words, Alison made her excuses and it was just Jared and me, heading for the front door.
Looking everywhere but at each other.
I had been hoping that maybe we'd actually gotten past the awkwardness, but when I'd passed him earlier at the Senior Bench, he'd looked right through me. Now we were hardly talking.
Old habits die hard, I guess.
When we stepped outside, the hot sun blasted us. He slipped on a pair of dark shades and started walking in the direction of the north gate. I moved closer to him, simply because the outdoor lunch area was crowded. We passed groups of kids from several different cliques, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that Jared was the one getting the nods and hellos.
“You need to be back for fifth period?” he asked as we hit the side street.
“Yeah,” I answered, wondering if it was a coincidence that he chose until we left campus to finally speak to me.
“Doesn't give us much time.”
I struggled to set my mind back to business. “We don't need much. I just need to fill out a form and hand over the check.”
“And we've got to eat.”
My stomach was in a knot from all the morning's action—I couldn't imagine eating. “Maybe you do.”
He shot me a look, but with his eyes behind sunglasses, I had to go to his mouth and cheeks for a true reading of his thoughts. “At some point, Nic, I need food. Growing guy and all. Plus, I go straight from school today to my uncle's print shop. And it's part of the deal.”
Yeah, yeah.
Approaching the rear of his Camaro, we split to our respective sides.
“So,” he called over the top of the car. “Burger King before or after?”
“After.”
He slipped inside and popped open the passenger-door lock. Then sat back and turned the key in the ignition.
I opened the door and climbed in. Carefully—the seat was hot against my mostly bare legs. I don't know if it was the sizzling vinyl or maybe the same nerves that wrenched my belly, but I snapped at him. “You could do with some seat covers. And what, you're only gentlemanly enough to open the door for me at night?”
“I only opened the door for you because you were crying.”
“I wasn't crying!” Not then.
“You were about to.”
“How did you know that?”
Jared shrugged. “You wouldn't have asked me to drive you if it wasn't really important. And you seemed nervous in the car, and then uncomfortable around him.
“And he reminds me a little of my dad,” he said, and slowed for a red light. “Has his own agenda. Fathers like that can do a number on their kids. Make the girls cry, the guys punch holes in walls.”
“You've punched holes in the wall?”
“Once or twice. But mostly I just try to keep the peace.” He turned, and despite his dark glasses, I could tell he was looking straight into me. “I have a feeling you do, too.”
I laughed sarcastically. “Yeah, by keeping our phone calls and visits to the bare minimum.”
“For me, it's woodworking. Sometimes I can't wait to get to school and get my hands on the table saw.”
I wrinkled my brow. “You really like it that much?”
“Hey, don't knock it till you've tried it.”
I guess I couldn't argue with that.
The line between the red ropes at the bank was blessedly short, but at the window the teller pointed us to a desk on the other side of the room. Tension knotted in my neck, and my stomach was about as serene as the evening sky on July 4. Several desks filled a carpeted platform. A lady with collagen “trout” lips sat behind a plaque calling her an account manager. Jared and I walked over, and after quietly explaining that we wanted to make a payment, sat down across from her.
“Why isn't your parent handling this?” she asked, eyeing me over half-glasses.
“My dad is handling this,” I insisted, my voice cracking. “See, that's his signature on the check. And it's made out to the bank. I'm just dropping it off.”
Her brow arched. “What I don't understand is why this payment isn't being made through our payment center, or by one of the mortgagees on the account.”
Jared, who sat in a cushioned chair beside me, leaned forward. “Her parents are busy. You see,” he said, and dropped his voice to just above a whisper, “they've gotten a little behind financially. And Nicolette here is trying to do her part to get the family back on track.”
The woman's face softened. “And you, young man? What is your role in this?”
“I'm her driver.”
I didn't know if it was Jared's gentle tone, or the fact that he'd taken off his sunglasses and played up his root beer—colored eyes. But the lines in the lady's forehead faded like they'd been shot with Botox, and she reached for her receipt pad.
“Well, nice to see such enterprising young people.”
“No slackers here,” he said, exaggerating his smile.
Not that I didn't appreciate his efforts, but it was everything I could do to keep a straight face for the rest of the transaction. Which, barring the initial questioning, went faster than I'd thought it would.
Back at the car, we settled in and buckled our seat belts. Jared jutted his chin out. “That went well, huh?”
“Yeah.” I turned toward him. “Though it wouldn't have if you hadn't flirted with that lady.”
“That wasn't flirting.”
“That so was flirting!”
“This,” he said, and let the corners of his mouth tug into a smile that touched off a sparkle in his eyes, “is flirting.”
I tried to laugh—I mean, come on, this coming from a guy who basically put up with me for an hourly fee— but his smile set off something smack-dab in the middle of my chest, and my laugh came out more like a strangled gasp. What was going on?
Persistent to prove his point (or maybe egged on by my confused reaction?), he trailed a finger down my cheek, then tucked some strands of hair behind my ear.
I wanted to give him a shove. This was Jared. It was just too creepy. But I didn't do a thing. I just sat there, mute and paralyzed. Until he pulled his hand away.
“The thing in the bank,” he said, his face relaxing, “was called negotiating. Telling the lady what she wanted so we could get what we wanted.”
His words jump-started my brain. A memory formed, a certain business teacher discussing The Art of the Deal. And I was more than happy to change the course of the conversation. “I take it you took Intro to Business in tenth grade, too?”
“Yeah. I thought it was all crap at the time, but now that I'm writing college apps and working for my uncle, some of it is starting to come in handy.”
Negotiation skills helped me, too. With my parents. The coach. Even Jared. (Nice to know that some of the junk they taught us in school had a purpose.)
I watched him flip his visor, grab hold of his
sunglasses, and slip them back over his eyes.
“We're outta here,” he said, “and with time to spare. I think you should be thanking me.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“Totally. What would you do without me, Nic?”
“I'd get by, I think,” I said, biting back a grin.
His tone went flip. “Don't mention it.”
I lifted my hand to give him a playful punch. Like I had the other day. Then dropped it back in my lap. Because I realized—not that I had a crush on him or anything—that touching Jared was nice. Too nice.
•
Minutes later, Jared was turning into the BK driveway. But instead of continuing to the drive-thru, he parked and got out.
As we headed up the walkway, he fell into step beside me.
“We have time to eat inside. You are going to eat something, right? You're not one of those idiot girls who doesn't eat in front of a guy?”
With the mortgage paid, I did feel a little hungry. But Jared wasn't getting off that easy. “Actually, I am. I totally freak out around cute guys. But at the moment, I'm hungry enough to eat a horse.”
He shot me a dirty look, and I smiled back.
Things were returning to normal. I could finally take a breath and relax. Or so I thought.
When we actually entered Burger King to see Rascal and about five of his friends occupying a front booth, I knew my troubles weren't over at all.
Crap. A coincidence? Maybe. All those people had seen us leave together. But this was the only fast-food place within walking distance of school.
Six pairs of eyes turned on us. Their voices silenced.
I would have loved to have taken credit—to believe the shimmering tension was all about me. But the eye daggers Rascal and Jared were throwing at each other had entirely too much depth, too much history.
“McCreary,” spat Rascal.
“Rascal,” replied Jared, with venom.
Both guys were seeing red and practically scraping their hooves for a fight.
Push between two idiots and crack The Dress like a matador's cape—even though two cows do not make a bull, the BS is sure to start flying.
What was this about? Had Jared messed with Kylie at some point?
Nah. Alison would have mentioned it.
A smile must have taken over my face, because suddenly Jared turned his iron gaze on me, then made a hard turn into the line to order.
I followed.
“What are you so happy about?” he snapped. “Did you know he was going to be here?”
“No,” I mumbled with more frown than voice. “You're the one who suggested this place.”
His jaw clenched as if he wanted to say something,then decided to keep it inside. “Okay. What do you want?”
“A cheeseburger. Diet Coke.” I went for the ten in my front pocket.
His hand stopped mine in midair, touching me for just an instant. A nice instant. A really confusing instant. “It's on me.”
“But you said—”
“I'm paying, Nic.”
He retrieved his wallet from his back pocket, and I swear he threw a look over his shoulder at Rascal, as well. A look that said: She's with me.
Okay, so while I got that this weirdness had nothing to do with me, I was also pretty sure Jared was using me to his advantage. Which meant I had a right to know what this was all about.
And hey, I'd fessed up about my mother and the mortgage, so fair was fair.
He told the cashier we wanted the food to go, paid, and grabbed the paper sack. I grabbed the cups, filled up the drinks, and followed him toward the exit.
My heart went into a giddyup as we approached Rascal and his friends. Rascal, now outside the booth, was lounging with his backside against the table. His feet could easily reach out and trip a passerby. If he wanted them to.
Did he dare? Would World War III break out here in the restaurant?
Just stay cool, I said in my head.
Or at least I thought it was in my head. But suddenly my words were hanging in the air. And Rascal, whose gaze I was holding, was shrugging.
“I am cool, Nicolette. I'm the coolest guy you'll ever know.”
I could feel Jared's muscles tighten beside me. So not good.
“Well,” I said, thinking fast on my unsteady feet, “that makes you and Jared exact opposites, then.”
All eyes moved to me like I was the center of a french fry-smelling universe. The Burger Queen.
“Yeah, Rascal,” I said, my thoughts racing, “you're definitely the coolest guy I know. But Jared?” I said, forcing a smug smile. “He's the hottest.”
Silence. Except for a lady and some kids at another booth who didn't seem to understand the dire necessity of defusing this situation.
Then one of Rascal's friends chuckled. Damon or Harrison or someone. Then another. Then Rascal himself.
I couldn't even think of looking over at Jared. Who might like the fact that I'd called him hot. But also, might not.
Rascal's mouth bunched into an all-knowing smile. “I think you're going to change your mind about which one of us is hottest, Nicolette. Sooner, if not later.”
I swallowed—hard. Was he implying there'd be an “us”—a Rascal and me—in the future?
Jared took a long, hard stride forward. “I'm more than happy to take Kylie into my backseat and let her be the final judge of who's hot and who's not,” he spat at Rascal.
Okay … not so good anymore. Besides the fact that the level of testosterone had me gasping like an asthmatic, I knew I had to get Jared out of Burger King before something bad happened.
I grabbed his hand, and to my shock, he didn't fight my grasp. In fact, he laced his fingers through mine.
Rascal's eyes took on a death-ray-like glare. “Kylie's off-limits.”
“Yeah?” Jared said. “Well, so is Nicolette.”
I was?
I was!
The room went spinning. As much as I wanted this to last forever and ever and ever, I knew this was dangerous territory.
“Come on, Jared,” I said, in a fake girly whine. “We've got to get back to school.”
The guys glared at each other, and then Jared turned, all red-faced, and walked out with me.
He didn't drop my hand until we reached the passenger door of his car, when he used his key to turn the lock for me.
Moments later, we were zooming out of the lot.
“So I—I'm off-limits?” I stammered over the blast from the air-conditioning vents.
“To him, anyway. He's got a girlfriend. And you're too smart to let him sniff around you again.”
Huh. I was a little disappointed. Although I wasn't sure why. His answer was so logical.
“And I didn't need your help in there, Nic,” he continued, squinting at the windshield, so obviously preoccupied and ticked off that he'd forgotten to put his shades back on. “I can fight my own battles.”
“I know that. But you stepped up for me at the bank,” I defended myself lamely.
He ground his teeth. “That was different.”
“Yeah, but somehow I'm involved in this, so I deserve to know what's happening.” I pulled the wrapper off a straw and plunked it into my Diet Coke. “Is this about … her? Did you go out with her at some point?” (For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to say Kylie's name.)
“I've never touched Kylie.”
“Did something happen at school?”
“We're not even in the same classes.”
Oh, yeah, Jared was all AP. And Rascal … well, he was known more for his feats on the football field and in the hallways.
Jared grabbed his burger, took a bite, and swallowed, ignoring me. Then, finally, he broke. “The fact is I hate him as much as he hates me. And since I've been driving you around again, and you seem to be the only girl at school who doesn't quiver in his presence, it's making him crazy.”
He veered around a car, then looked at me, his voice losing its hard edge. “Okay, I guess
I should thank you.You kind of kept me in check back there. Especially taking my hand like that. It distracted me.”
I reached for the air-conditioning vent and tilted it toward me, suddenly all kinda warm. “You're welcome.”
“And from here on, I'll keep you out of it. You've got enough on your mind.”
I took a bite of my burger before my thoughts fell out of my mouth again and got me in real trouble. If I'm not mistaken, I think I kind of liked being in the thick of this thing.
•
When I stumbled in from practice, Mom was soaking in the tub.
“There's a chicken Caesar in the fridge!” she called through the slightly open bathroom door. “Help yourself!”
I was starving, but before I could eat I needed a short pit stop. It was silly and flat-out embarrassing, but I really, really wanted time with The Dress.
Needed it.
I'd done the shower thing in the locker room, so I didn't have to worry about sweat or anything unseemly defacing its perfection.
I unzipped the bag and inhaled the fabric's sweetness. I could swear the soft rose color and the tiny embroidered flower buds gave off a scent all their own. I shed my shorts and tee, zipped myself inside its elegance, and turned to gaze in the mirror. The waistline somehow gave me an hourglass shape, and the color looked rich against my fading summer tan. But most of all, the pure enchantment of The Dress showed in my eyes. They were almost gleaming.
I moved to the bed, turned, and did one of those trust falls. Hard enough to set the springs of the bed screaming, but hyperaware not to harm the fabric or stitching on The Dress, of course.
A single ring from the cordless phone broke my musing. Mindlessly, I reached for it and pressed on. And heard a male voice.
“Hey, Nic.”
Rascal?
Jared?
Fire lit my face.
“Hey,” I managed, sitting up, telling myself to get a grip.
“Something I wanted to talk about,” he said.
The voice sounded deep, like Jared. Besides, why would Rascal call me? There was no date to break.
“Something I thought about after we went to class.”
Class. Oh, definitely Jared.
