by Wendi Wilson
“Why would anyone make fun of your name?” Jett asked, cutting me off.
“I was born in Savannah and my parents named me Savanna, after the African grasslands.”
“Because of your hair,” Beckett said.
“Exactly. But they wouldn’t listen. They said my parents were stupid and couldn’t come up with anything different so they just used Savanna. They teased me mercilessly.” I paused for a moment, smiling at Jett. “I may have a wee bit of a temper, and one day I lost control of it.”
He smiled back at me, showing a row of straight white teeth. “What did you do?”
“I punched Jonas in the mouth and yanked Fiona’s hair. They both fell to the ground and Jonas hit his head. He was fine, but he cried like a baby. I got suspended for a week and when I got back to school, what few friends I had deserted me and Jonas told everyone to watch out for me because I was crazy and had given him brain damage. That’s when I started to stutter.”
“That’s terrible,” Beckett said, reaching out and rubbing his palm up and down my arm.
“And he’s still scared of you?” Jett asked.
I chuckled. “Well, I may or may not have fed into his belief that I’m crazy over the years.”
“Why would you do that?” Wyatt asked, smiling.
“I didn’t have any friends. I had to entertain myself somehow,” I said, grinning back at him.
“I think I love you,” he said, dramatically covering his heart with his hand.
“Shut up,” I said, shoving at his shoulder.
“Well, you have us, now,” Jett said, looking sincere without a trace of arrogance for once. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
Chapter Ten
“Let’s start tonight.”
The words burned a hole in my gut, making my stomach churn with nausea. The boys brought me straight home after Wyatt made the statement, so I could relax and get ready for, and I quote, “the best night of my life.”
Apparently, the boys had already drawn straws, confident that I would agree to their insane plan. Wyatt drew the short straw and, if his impatience was any indication, he was extremely happy about it. I, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. I spent most of the afternoon in my room, staring at my closet and finding nothing to wear or just lying on my bed, staring at the clock. Wyatt said he’d be there to pick me up at six, and it was nearing five o’clock.
A soft knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I called out.
The door opened and Mom slipped through, closing it behind her. She turned and spied me, still lying on my bed, wearing the jeans and shirt I had on all day. She put her fists on her hips and frowned.
“I thought you’d be getting dressed, or at least undressed and hopping into the shower by now,” she said, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed.
I sat up and leaned my head against her shoulder. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Don’t be silly. Let me have a look.”
I watched her walk over to my closet and start sliding the clothes back and forth on the rack. She was being really cool about the whole date with an Alt thing. I’d assumed she was going to, at the very least, have reservations, but she seemed excited for me. I bet she had given up on me ever having a date. She probably thought I’d end up living with her and Dad forever.
Heck, I still might if I screw this up like I seem to do with everything else, I thought.
“You should wear these jeans,” she said, pulling out the dark blue denim with silver embroidery and rhinestones on the back pockets.
“Ugh, Mom. Bling-butt pants?”
“Hey, I bought you these jeans,” she said, a hurt look on her face. “They seem to be the style these days.”
She was right. They were the style that all the snotty, stuck up, popular girls like Fiona and Lizzie wore. And they were cute. Really cute. I had never worn them because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. The second I stepped foot into school, the fluorescent lights reflecting off my butt cheeks, Fiona would have a field day with me. It was all about self-preservation.
“Okay. I’ll wear them,” I said. Fiona won’t be on my date with Wyatt, so I should be safe, I added mentally.
I had no idea how I was going to tell her and Dad that I was dating all three of the Patton brothers. I had opened my mouth to say something, anything, to try to explain it several times, but ended up clapping it shut each time. I thought about just blurting it out. The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They all liked me and wanted me to experience each of them so I could pick one. I just couldn’t bring myself to admit that I’d agreed to it.
“What about this one?” she asked, pulling me from my thoughts. “It really brings out your eyes.”
She was holding up a cornflower blue long sleeved blouse with tiny yellow flowers embroidered all over it. I scrunched my nose. It was very girly, not my usual style. Of course, my usual style was sloppy, at best. My mom knew more about this stuff than me, so I bowed to her expertise.
“Ok,” I said, holding out a palm for it.
“It’s a warm night, so I don’t think you’ll need a sweater,” she said, her voice muffled as she dug through the bottom of the closet. “Where are those white sandals I bought you last year?”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to wear white after Labor Day,” I called out.
I didn’t give two hoots about fashion rules, obviously, but I knew my mom did. The southern ladies in this town were sticklers for protocol. Besides, I threw those dainty sandals in the trash not long after she brought them home. They were too cute and made my size ten feet look like yachts attached to my legs.
“You’re right,” she said, straightening. “What shoes are you going to wear?”
“What about the black Docs?”
My mom frowned. My beloved Doc Martens were a source of contention between us. I loved them and she hated them. A lot. She said they were too bulky, too manly, too black. She was so mad when Dad and I got home from the one shopping trip he took me on before she banned him from all future trips. He’d given me carte blanche, letting me pick everything myself with no input from him. It was glorious.
“Ugh,” she said. “If you insist. I guess the jeans will hide most of the shoe.”
I chuckled, standing. “Thanks for your help, Mom. I guess I’ll jump in the shower.”
“You’re welcome, Savanna,” she said hugging me. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
After showering and washing, blow drying and curling fat waves into my hair, I got dressed and attempted to apply some makeup. I used half a bottle of eye makeup remover attempting to draw on the perfect cat-eye eyeliner before giving up. I patted on some powder, swiped mascara across my lashes and dabbed on some strawberry lip gloss. Pinching my cheeks, I stared at my reflection. My long blond hair was on point, and the rest would just have to do.
After lacing up my boots and taking one last look in my full-length mirror, I grabbed my purse from my bed, flicked off the light and headed downstairs. Dad whistled when he saw me, making me laugh. I flicked my hair and struck a pose.
“How do I look?” I asked, making my voice low and dramatic.
“Gorgeous, Darling,” he said, just as dramatically.
Dad always knew what to do to make me feel better when I was sick, to make me happy when I was sad, to make me laugh when I was nervous. Like I was in that moment. I may have gotten my blond hair and temper from my mom, but I got my sense of humor from my dad. He was the best.
“Oh, Honey,” Mom’s voice called out from the kitchen door, “you look beautiful.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, sticking my head through the strap of my purse and pulling my hair out from beneath it.
“Are you taking that old thing?”
I followed her line of sight down to the bag hanging from my hip. It was a small cross-body bag, just big enough to carry my wallet and lip gloss. It had a couple of stains on its beige exterior, but other
wise it was in good shape. My mom was more obsessed with purses than she was shoes, and she had a different hobo bag, tote, or clutch for every day of the week.
“Yes, Mom. It’s fine,” I said, my voice impatient.
“Sorry. Sorry,” she said, holding up her hands.
She walked to the coffee table and swiped her phone from its surface. “Stand next to your dad for a picture,” she said.
“Mom,” I said, my voice on the verge of a whine.
“Humor me, please. It’s your first date.”
“Okay, but you are not allowed to do this in front of Wyatt.”
I walked to my dad and he threw an arm over my shoulder. Mom took what felt like two hundred shots before I flat out refused to stand for any more. She opened her mouth to argue, but the doorbell rang, cutting her off. A volcano erupted in my stomach, sending electric shocks zipping through every one of my nerve endings.
Dad answered the door, ushering Wyatt into the living room where I stood, still rooted to the same spot. His eyes found me and he stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open. His eyes roved over my body from head to toe, then back up again. He coughed into a fist, then seemed to shake himself before turning that signature grin on me.
“You look…nice,” he said, rubbing a palm across the back of his neck.
My nerves evaporated and I smiled. I didn’t know him well, but I knew enough to know that “nice” was not the word he wanted to use. He amended himself at the last second out of respect for my parents. Or fear of them. I made a show of looking him up and down.
“You look…nice, too,” I said, my smile turning mischievous.
“Can I just get one picture of you guys?” my mom asked.
I gave her my best “I’m going to kill you” look, but Wyatt just wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me in close to his side. My frown slipped away as I got a whiff of his scent. He smelled like fresh chopped wood with an undercurrent of soap. I fought the urge to turn my nose into his chest and inhale. God, I wanted to. So bad.
“Smile, Savanna,” Mom said, snapping me out of my trance.
I narrowed my eyes at her for a moment, just to let her know we’d be talking about this later, before relaxing and lifting my lips into a smile. I gave her just long enough to get one shot before pulling away from Wyatt. She opened her mouth, but one death glare from me had her snapping it shut.
“You two have fun,” Dad said, breaking the tension.
“Thank you, Mr. James,” Wyatt said, politely holding out a hand for my dad to shake.
“Be home by midnight,” Mom added.
“No problem, Mrs. James. I’ll take good care of her.”
I smiled up at him. I would normally be the first person to declare I didn’t need a man to take care of me, ever, but hearing Wyatt say that to my parents…I don’t know. It felt good. I turned and ushered him to the door before my mom could embarrass me any further.
Wyatt turned to me when the door closed behind us. He took both of my hands in his and held them out wide before releasing one and twirling me around. I laughed out loud, enjoying the feeling. He grabbed my free hand and pulled both of them into his chest.
“You look amazing,” he whispered, his eyes shining.
“Thanks,” I said, feeling self-conscious and a little uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to that kind of attention. At all.
He must’ve sensed my unease, because he released me and, turning toward the driveway, held out an elbow. I smiled and tucked my fingers into the crook, letting him lead me to the passenger door of the truck. It gleamed in the late day sun and, as he opened the door for me, I caught the scent of leather cleaner and vanilla. The interior was immaculate, which made me nervous. I made the decision right then to not bring any food or drinks into that truck.
Wyatt closed the door behind me and ran around the front end. Climbing up into the driver’s seat, he cranked the engine and revved it a couple of times. Looking at me with a grin tugging up his lips, he shifted into reverse and backed out of the driveway, then headed down the road toward town.
“Are you ready for the night of your life?” he asked, reaching over and interlacing his fingers through mine.
My heart skipped a beat. Before tonight, I’d never held hands with a boy. Or a girl, for that matter. Wyatt’s predilection for the touchy-feely stuff was throwing off my equilibrium. I had to make a conscious decision to just go with it.
“Absolutely,” I said, smiling.
I had a feeling my cheeks were going to hurt by the end of this date. Wyatt squeezed my hand as he turned onto the highway, heading north. I watched his profile as he drove, humming along with the radio, the setting sun painting his skin with a pinkish hue. He really was beautiful.
His head snapped toward me, catching me staring. I felt my face heat up and hoped it was masked by the sunset. He chuckled and gave my hand another squeeze, putting me at ease. Returning his attention to the road, he accelerated, making the black truck fly down the highway. I didn’t know where we were going, but I couldn’t wait to get there and neither could he, it seemed. I smiled and watched the scenery fly past in a blur.
Chapter Eleven
We headed into the city and, despite my pestering, Wyatt refused to tell me where he was taking me. I knew I had reason to be concerned. A boy I barely knew, and an Alt at that, was driving me into the city and no one, not even me, knew where we were going. He could do terrible things to me and no one would be the wiser.
But I wasn’t scared. Maybe, if it were Jett instead, I’d be a little more nervous. Something about Wyatt just put me at ease. A little voice in my head told me those are the ones you should worry about the most. I told her to shut the hell up. This was my first date and I was determined to enjoy it.
As darkness fell, we turned off the highway and I saw a glow in the distance. As we drew closer, I was able to make out a large sign that read, “Welcome to the Coastal Empire Fair.” I looked at Wyatt, a huge smile breaking out across my face.
“You’re taking me to the fair?”
“Yep,” he said, taking his eyes off the road long enough to grin at me. “We’re going to eat fried everything and go on rides that’ll spin us ‘til we puke.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said, forcing my voice to go flat. In all honesty, I was giddy.
“You don’t like the fair?” he asked, an edge of panic to his voice. “We can go somewhere else. I just thought—”
“Wyatt,” I said, cutting him off, “I was kidding. The fair sounds amazing.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
He paid the parking attendant and pulled into the crowded lot. Wyatt parked and, ordering me to stay put, jumped from the truck and ran around to my side to open my door for me. I was going to make some joke about him being a true gentleman, but the sounds and smells of the fairgrounds hit me and I lost my train of thought. I hadn’t been to the fair since I was a little kid.
Wyatt pressed his palm against mine, interlacing our fingers. My stomach jumped into my throat at the contact. It was one thing to hold hands in private, but out there with hundreds of people milling around? The sheer fact that he wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with me amazed me. The fact that he wanted to be there with me made me happier than I could remember ever being. I couldn’t wipe the smile off of my face if I tried.
Wyatt released me to pay our admission and buy us each unlimited ride bracelets. After asking me to hold out my arm, he gently wrapped the paper bracelet around my wrist and secured it. He may have been strapping on a corsage, he took such care in making sure it was on straight and that it wouldn’t stick to my arm.
We walked through the gates and into the cacophony, Wyatt peppering me with questions about which ride or food I wanted to try first. I declared that I needed a deep-fried candy bar before we could discuss going on any rides. That’s when it hit me. I kicked myself for not thinking about it before. Alts don’t eat. At least, not regular food.
“Actually, I
’m not that hungry. Let’s go ride something,” I said, pulling his arm to get him out of line.
He planted his feet and arched a brow. “A minute ago, you were going to die if you didn’t get a bite of this fried chocolate goodness. What changed?”
“Nothing. I, uh, just realized how many calories are in those things.” My excuse sounded flat to even my own ears.
He tugged my hand, pulling me back into line with him. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he pulled me in close and leaned his forehead against mine. “Tell me the truth,” he murmured.
“I forgot you don’t eat and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” I said.
“Next.”
The harsh voice of the carnival worker in the booth broke us apart and Wyatt stepped forward, ordering two deep fried candy bars and a cherry coke. I watched as he paid the man, who pinched the very corner of the bills between two fingers and placed the change on the counter instead of handing it to Wyatt. As he poured our drink, his eyes flicked between us, filled with curiosity and something else. Something that looked suspiciously like disgust.
I looked at Wyatt and he seemed not to notice the guy’s aversion, but I wasn’t about to let it pass. My temper and deep sense of justice wouldn’t allow it. I narrowed my eyes as the worker put our food on a plate and, using only his fingertips, pushed it toward us. As Wyatt reached out to grab the plate, I swung around in front of him and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Thanks, Babe,” I said, projecting my voice. “You’re so much better than the regular guys I date.” With that, I attempted to kiss his cheek but somehow managed to catch the corner of his mouth.
Embarrassed, I took a quick step back and spun around, focusing my attention on the carnival worker. Snarling, I reached out and took the plate from the counter before repeating, “So much better.”
Then I flounced away. I’d never actually flounced before, and I hoped that I didn’t look like a total idiot. I found an empty bench and sat down, placing the plate in my lap and keeping my eyes glued to the crispy treats, willing my anger to leave me. I felt Wyatt sit down beside me. Silence reigned between us for several long moments before he spoke.
