by Ginger Scott
“How’d you know?” This is the dress I touched when I was with Taryn. It’s the only thing I saw in the entire store that I thought I would actually buy for myself if I had the means to do so. It wasn’t incredibly expensive, but it was more than I had to give for a dress. It’s not a lot of money for my father, but it’s more than he’s ever spent on something that wasn’t a bat or a glove.
My father shrugs.
“It was Taryn’s idea, really. She said you didn’t have anything to wear, said I should do something about that. I gave her the money at school, but she dropped the bag here yesterday, said it would be…more meaningful if I gave it to you,” he says, every word sounding uncomfortable and embarrassed. His eyes dart to mine, but drop quickly to his feet.
“Dress shopping isn’t our thing,” I say, giving him an excuse. I don’t know why I do, but I can see the struggle in his body language. He feels guilty that Taryn had to prod him to do something nice. But still…he wanted to do it. I wouldn’t be holding this dress if he hadn’t. That’s the part that matters…I think.
“I hope she got the size right,” he says with a quick smirk.
“It’s…it’s right,” I say, pulling the dress completely from the bag now. My fingers work at the tag, my thumb running over the eighty-dollar price marking. “You…you didn’t have to…”
“Yeah…I did,” my father interrupts. He leans his head against the frame of the door, and his eyes finally make it to mine. “This is one of those things a father should do for his daughter.”
I hold his gaze and let his words burrow into me. After several seconds, I look back down at the dress in my lap and let my hands smooth it out as I nod.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” my father says, swallowing as he reaches into his hair, his fingers scratching at his scalp. “I’ll let you finish. If Wes comes, I’ll keep him busy so you can get ready.”
“Okay,” I say, my eyes still locked on his as he slowly pulls the door to a close between us.
For a full minute, I remain frozen, my perfect dress in my hands. It takes me that long to feel like I deserve the dress I’m holding. When I slip it over my head, it looks exactly as I imagined it would. I put Taryn’s dress back into the bag and set it along with the black shoes I borrowed from her on the chair in the corner of my room, then go into my closet and find the dark-brown cowboy boots I haven’t touched in almost a year. They were my mother’s, and wearing them feels like a betrayal. But I won’t ever get rid of them. I love them as much as I hate them.
Minutes later, I hear the doorbell ring, and even though I’m ready, I wait by my door, listening as my father opens the door and makes small talk with Wes. I put my phone and the twenty I kept out from my first paycheck in the satchel purse that I used to use to smuggle cigarettes and beer into the movies. I cross the strap over my body and pause again with my hand on my doorknob. Wes and my father are chuckling over something, but I can tell they’re both really just waiting for me.
My eyes closed, I whisper a prayer. I ask for tonight to be perfect, to be heartbreak free. And then I push through the door. When my eyes open again, I’m given my first indication that my wish was heard. They aren’t pandering. They aren’t gawking. Their smiles are subtle, and my father’s eyes are glassy. Neither of them says a word, until my father holds the door open for us both and reminds Wes to drive carefully.
I feel the tickle of Wes’s fingers along my back as he guides me toward the curb, to his truck. I reach to grab the door handle, but he stops me, his hand covering mine.
“No, let me. Just tonight,” he says.
I laugh lightly. “All right, just tonight,” I say, my palms moving to the skirt of my dress, bunching the folds of fabric together, and getting ready to lift myself into the truck seat. Wes opens the door, and reaches for my free hand, taking it as I step up into the cab. He stops before closing the door, his eyes on mine, his face void of the usual stray pieces of hair that fly loose when he pulls away a hat. With both hands hanging on the top of the open door frame, his head falls forward as his chest lets out a heavy breath.
“I promised Taryn I wouldn’t make you uncomfortable with attention and talk about how pretty you are. She said that might scare you. But holy fucking damn, Joss. Just…holy fucking damn,” he says, raising his head again, his lip in his teeth and a smile on his face.
He doesn’t say anything more, closing the door and walking around the front of the truck. But he pats his hand on the hood twice as he rounds the front to his door, and he bites his lip once more before shaking his head and firing the engine.
I’ll take holy fucking damn.
“We have to pick up Levi, back at my house. He’s bringing some girl on your team. Bria, I think?” he says, driving slowly, his eyes keep glancing over at me, and I cross my legs to try and get the tingling sensation to stop.
“Your legs look really good in boots,” he says, his grip now on his neck as he looks at my bare knee where the dress has slid up just enough. I tuck it tightly under me and cross my legs tighter, my body warm with his attention.
“You look nice too,” I say lightly. He only smiles in response, giving his attention back to the road.
He’s wearing a gray button-down shirt, black pants, and a thin black tie. I notice his shoes—the way they look barely worn, and I smile to myself. I don’t ask him if they’re new, but I’m pretty sure they are. And it makes me think back to when he was a boy.
We pull up in front of his house, and Wes’s family is waiting in the driveway for us. Bria’s parents dropped her off, and she’s standing with her hands wrapped around Levi’s arm. Levi is dressed just like his brother, and the thought that TK probably looks exactly the same warms my heart too. My suspicion is confirmed when Taryn pulls up behind us, and Wes’s brother steps from her car.
“Gah! I don’t think my boys have ever looked so handsome,” a short, red-headed woman says, pushing her way from behind Bruce, her phone poised in her hands ready to take a picture.
“That’s my mom,” Wes whispers in my ear.
“Boys, come on. Just one more photo,” his mother says, urging her boys to stand next to the truck with their arms around each other’s shoulders. “TK, knock it off. No flipping the bird secretly. I see it every time you do it.”
“Bah, you do not!” TK laughs. “I slipped one in the Christmas card photo last year!”
His mother drops her hands and juts her hip out to the side, staring at TK. “I know. I couldn’t send the damn things out, and I ordered a hundred. Now knock it off, and do it right,” she says, that special quality added to her tone that means business. Wes smacks TK on the back of the head, and the three of them finally pose without any pranks.
After she takes a few pictures, she urges us all to gather for one together, then asks her boys to all gather with their dates for couple shots. She asks Wes and me to stand on our own last. She steps close to me, and her fingertips find the fringe at the bottom of my dress. She pulls it out a little before letting the fabric fall back in place.
“This is lovely,” she smiles.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice coming out a bit hoarse. I clear my throat, my hands gripping the sides of my dress, bunching it while I try to dry the sweat from my palms. “It’s…it’s new. I don’t really do dresses.”
“That’s what I hear,” she says quickly, smiling. She runs her palm down my arm and squeezes, then offers me her hand. “I’m Maggie. And Wes hasn’t been able to shut up about you for the last two weeks. He…he doesn’t talk about girls. Ever. So I figured you were pretty special.”
I’m blushing—hard. I whisper, “Thank you,” then tilt my head up to look at Wes at the feel of his hand squeezing mine. Maggie snaps a picture at that very moment.
“Do you think you could send me one? We didn’t take any at my house,” I ask.
“Sure. Here, just type in your number,” she says, giving me her phone.
I look at the image she c
aptured for a second before sending it to myself. When I give the phone back to her, she snaps a few more, but I know there won’t be one I like any better than the image of me looking up at him and Wes staring down at me like I’m beautiful. For the first time ever, I feel that way.
“Okay, people. We’re going to be late,” Taryn says, motioning toward her car and Wes’s truck. I laugh because Taryn is always late, and she shoots me a look. I shrug it off, following Wes to the truck. I climb in and slide close to him, making enough room for Levi and Bria to slide into the bench seat with us. Levi insists that Bria and I wear the lap belts, and he goes without.
The school isn’t far from our home; we pull up to the outside of the gym, and the boys let us out, TK pulling Taryn’s car into a spot down the hill. We wait at the curb, and when the boys leave the truck and car, they climb the hill back to us. It only takes a few seconds, but the scene feels like slow motion—like a glimpse into the future. The Stokes boys are lean and muscular, and I could watch them saunter toward us in the moonlight for hours and never get tired of looking.
After a second or two, though, Wes is all I see. His eyes never leave mine—not when he reaches me and threads my arm around his, not when he guides me through the balloon arch decorating the main doors to the gym, and not when he walks me through the rows of tables to the middle of the dance floor where everyone can see us—touching.
All. I. See.
“I still have my purse,” I say against him, his arms heavy around me, cradling me as we sway off time to a song that I’m pretty sure is meant for fast dancing.
“I know, but one, that’s not really a purse, and two—if I had let you sit down, it would have been hell trying to get you out here to dance with me,” he says, his chin steady along my head. He won’t break our hold because he knows if he does, I’ll retreat to the safety of the tables. He’s right.
“Good point,” I say.
“You’re a pretty good dancer, Jose,” he says, the deep chuckle in his chest rumbling in my ear.
I kick him softly in the shin with the toe of my boot.
“Owwww,” he says, faking to hop on one leg. I pull away, but only as a test. He tugs me back in close, his lips just above my ear. “You can kick and scream all you want. We’re not leaving this dance floor until I’ve held you through three cheesy R&B songs.”
“I know, right? What’s up with today’s R&B lyrics? They don’t do it like they used to. Smokey, Marvin Gaye…that was good shit,” I hum against his chest. He pulls back and looks at me, his hands still holding my waist tightly, though. “What?” I ask as he gazes down at me, one brow arched.
“You’re like this perfect freakazoid girl,” he laughs lightly with a shake of his head.
“Nice. Freakazoid. Real nice Wes,” I roll my eyes.
“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just…you can throw a ball harder than most of the guys on our team, and you can hit my best pitch—”
I interrupt him.
“Is that an admission? Did you just admit that I can hit your pitching? Oh my god, did I…did I break the Wes Stokes ego code?” I tease.
“You broke it when you sent my best curve into the weeds at the elementary school weeks ago,” he says, his lips an adorable half smirk with a deep dimple. I stand on my tiptoes to kiss it, then snuggle back into him to continue our sway while the song overhead raps loudly, the thump of the speakers vibrating near us.
“It was a changeup. Now, go on then, how am I a freak?” I ask.
“You throw out things like Marvin Gaye and Smokey Robinson, while most girls at our school would be singing along with the latest graduate of Disney’s marketing machine or some winner from a pop-star reality show.”
“Don’t make fun of Kelly Clarkson. I love Kelly Clarkson—chick can belt,” I say, my palm flat against his chest, my other finger pointing at him. He pauses our movement and looks at me, his lips slowly curling with his light laugh as he pulls my hand from his chest and kisses the knuckles.
“Got it, Kelly kicks ass. But you know what I mean,” he says, his hands sliding to either cheek as his lips press a soft kiss on top of my head. I’m so very lost to this boy, it isn’t even funny. I’ve given over my control, and as much as it scares the shit out of me, I’m more afraid of missing out on him—anything with him. I cede willingly, and I am racing to the next kiss, the next dance, the next touch of his hand. I’ve never felt my heart beat before like it does when I’m with Wes.
I melt into him again, and the music changes into an actual slow song meant for whatever it is we’ve been doing out here on the dance floor. I catch Taryn’s eyes as she and TK move to a darker corner of the floor, spending more time kissing than actually dancing. I watch the lights shift around the floor, the reflections bouncing off overstuffed balloons and streamers and the rows of bleachers that have all been pushed in. It’s the same gym it always is, only we’ve dressed it up to be something more. Kind of like me—a freakazoid dressed up like a western princess, dancing with the cute boy, while she slides around in her momma’s boots.
I step back from Wes again and look him in the eyes, my hands finding a comfortable place around his neck. He looks at me like I matter.
“I’m just who I am,” I say, his lips quirking up on one side with his raised brow. “Before…freakazoid? I know what you mean, that I’m different. But…I just…I never really fit into the right box. I like driving fast—not that I have a car to drive—but when I do drive, I drive fast. I like running through the street barefoot. You can’t feel things through shoes, and I’m faster without them. I like winning. I hate losing. And when I lose, I front about it—I make up excuses and tell people I don’t really care. But I do…care? I care so much when I lose that I find somewhere dark to cry. And then I lie about that too—about crying. I like the popular things too. I like movies where the guy gets the girl in the end, and songs that play on repeat ten times a day.”
“And I also like the things you have to search for—the bands nobody knows and the movies with subtitles that are on late at night. I get pissed though, because I don’t speak French or Spanish, and I wish I did. I like school, and I wish I was better at it. I think maybe if I tried all along, I would be. I’m mad at myself for giving up in the beginning. I’m also embarrassed that I don’t know how to braid my own hair. That’s why I don’t put ribbons in it like the other girls on our team. I tried once, and I made a knot. Bows are stupid. But they’re also pretty. And—”
Before I get out another word, Wes’s lips are on mine, his mouth fitting against mine so perfectly, it’s as if he’s the exhale to my inhale, the end of my every breath. I freeze under the power of his kiss, my hands sliding to the back of his shirt, my fingers gripping to hold on as his come up to hold my cheeks and chin, his thumbs tracing a slow circle under each eye.
“You don’t belong in a box. That’s what makes you so amazing. You…you’re a little bit of everything. And you’re not ashamed to show any of it,” he says.
“I don’t know about that,” I sigh. “I think I keep that shit in check,” I laugh, but I quit trying to make a joke out of my insecurities when I meet his eyes again.
“I know about it, and I see it,” he says, his thumb under my chin.
I breathe in deeply and let my head fall to the side.
“I always loved the way you looked at me,” I say.
Wes’s smile comes fast, and his strong arms swallow me whole. I embrace him so tightly I’m sure I’m ruining the hair work of art Taryn tacked to my head. I don’t care, because when I’m with him, like this, no matter how I look, I feel pretty.
“I saw you cry once…” he breathes, his voice a low hum at my ear, his fingertips running circles over the bare skin along the top of my spine. His touch is hypnotic.
“When?” I whisper.
“When you were young. At school, the day of the first race I went to your house. I saw you cry. You didn’t get picked for the solo in music class. Taryn did. You pretended y
ou didn’t care, and then you asked for a hall pass and hid around the corner from the bathroom to cry,” he says.
He’s right. I did. That memory has been buried under years of love for my friend. I never held it against her. And I don’t now—not even in my memories. “I wanted Taryn to be happy. I felt selfish for being sad, so I hid,” I say. Wes tugs my chin up with his fingertips, and I look at him, my cheek still resting on his chest.
“I know you did. That’s what made it so amazing. You were this unbelievable friend. And I wanted a friend like you in the worst way,” he says.
His eyes sink into mine, and I picture them on that sad boy I once knew.
“You remember all of that? I thought…you didn’t remember me until you saw me?” I ask, still staring at his long lashes. His lip ticks up and his head tilts to the side.
“I had the memory, but the face was fuzzy. When I saw you again, you filled in so many blanks,” he says.
I wonder how many blank spaces I filled, just how many memories of his I was starring in. I had millions of questions all battling to be the next one from my lips now that my big question—who he really was—had been answered. But they would have to wait. They’d wait because my other half, Kyle, was standing alone in the dark corner wearing a suit. And he looked sad.
“This is a really weird thing to ask my date, but can I dance with someone else? Just…just for a song?” I ask, my lips forming a tight line and my heart pounding in my stomach. I don’t want him to get the wrong impression about Kyle, but I also can’t let Kyle stand there, alone.
Wes follows the motion of my eyes to Kyle, then breathes in slowly, turning back into me, his hands sliding along my cheeks and his lips following to my mouth. “Like I said, you were always an unbelievable friend,” he whispers against me before taking my bottom lip between both of his, holding it there for a few seconds then letting go.
Wes steps away and nods toward the table near the dance floor where Levi is sitting with his date. When he joins them, I turn to the right and walk slowly to my sweet friend. His suit is pressed, and I’m sure he’s rented it—I’ve never seen one like this in his closet. The white shirt underneath is beaming, and I have a feeling that’s new as well. He’s painfully handsome, and in some other life, I would have been a fool not to fall for him. But this life had other plans for me, and somehow, Kyle has still decided to stay by my side—as my friend.
