Elena rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe her friend saw her this way. “Okay, you want to know something else I want? I want you to go with me tomorrow night,” said Elena. “That’s part of the reason I came here tonight. Will you be my moral support at the Valentine’s dance? Because I’m nervous as hell.”
“Of course!” Harper said. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
…
Oliver’s feet had not touched the ground in going on twenty hours.
He had never done drugs before, and he didn’t drink much, but this had to be what it felt like to be under the influence of…something. One time his mom had had a root canal, and she’d still been woozy from the laughing gas when Oliver had driven her home. She’d kept beaming at the drivers of passing cars and pointing out the loveliness in everything she saw—police cars, dumpsters, their neighbor’s saucy new muumuu. That’s how Oliver felt in the wake of his evening with Elena. He was suddenly able to appreciate the beauty in a loud, floral housedress.
He was a marionette, the strings lifting his various body parts to the sky, fixing his posture, lightening his load. His eyes gleamed and grinned with every bouncy step.
In social studies first period, he blushed when Elena strolled through the door, but relaxed when he saw that her cheeks were similarly pink. She fluttered her fingers at him with a shy smile, and he returned the gesture. Last night wasn’t a dream. It had really happened. He and Elena had truly connected.
All day long, the universe stayed on his side. During lunch, his counselor called him in to talk about college plans—a school in Colorado had heard about the Stash Grab app and was interested in speaking to him. He aced his Latin quiz during seventh period (Thank you, Elena). In calculus, he solved a problem correctly before anybody else.
On his way home after school, he realized he was skipping, and he couldn’t stop. Skipping was his new normal gait. He sashayed through his front door, thinking he was alone, but he was met by a sadly familiar scene—his dad snoring on the couch in the living room, surrounded by empty beer cans and another stack of paper. Even that couldn’t kill his buzz. Practically floating, Oliver cleaned up the remnants of his dad’s afternoon—recycling the cans and trashing the potato chip bags. The papers today, however, did give him pause. They weren’t plans from Mrs. Chestnut this time. They were the divorce papers from his mom.
Oliver read through the contract dissolving his parents’ marriage. They would split custody of Oliver and Regina, who could choose to live full-time with either parent. They were, after all, already seventeen.
He glanced at his dad, who had a trail of dried drool running from his mouth to his chin. Maybe he’d want to stay here. Maybe now that his marriage to Oliver’s mom was for sure over, he’d be willing to give North Pole another shot. Oliver needed that to be true.
Trip’s phone buzzed and he shot up to a seated position, grasping for the phone on the couch next to him. Oliver dug it out from between the cushions and handed the phone to his dad.
“Jenny?” His dad ran a hand over his bald head. “Jenny, talk to me.”
Oliver averted his eyes and tiptoed into the front hallway. He wasn’t supposed to hear this conversation between his parents. He hid behind the doorjamb, however, and spied on his father’s end of the chat.
“Jenny, please,” his dad said. “I’m going to close the store and move back to Florida. We can work this out…No, we haven’t grown apart…We can still—” He tossed the phone to the table.
Oliver stepped back into the room. “Dad, are you o—”
His dad snatched up his phone and his coat and dashed out the front door, without a word.
Still, Oliver’s mood didn’t dip, at least not that much. His dad would eventually realize the divorce was really happening. He’d wake up and start planning for his future without Oliver’s mom. Maybe he’d finally talk to Elena’s mom about her plan for the stores.
Maybe it would mean Elena could stay in North Pole, too.
Oliver showered and shoved on his best pair of gray pants, which he ironed himself, and a pink dress shirt with a pink and green plaid tie. It was a Valentine’s dance after all. He combed his hair and borrowed some of his dad’s cologne, which smelled like ginger and cedar. Then, right before seven o’clock, he ventured out into the night.
Snow had just started falling, and, even though he could hardly remember what the world looked like without snow at this point, Oliver welcomed it tonight. Snowflakes danced in the streetlights and covered the gray slush that had been collecting since the last storm. North Pole felt tonight like it did back in December before all the Christmas decorations had been tarnished or deflated and when everyone’s spirits were high. All around him, people sauntered in the same direction—in pairs, groups, or alone—probably on their way to the Valentine’s dance at school.
Oliver, however, took a detour toward Main Street and stopped in at the flower shop. He had a rose to buy. Bobbi Moore stood behind the counter, helping Kevin Snow pick out a corsage for his date. “A special bouquet for a special lady,” she said, as she tied a bow around the clear plastic box.
Kevin grumbled. “Not that special.” He tossed a few bucks onto the counter and nodded to Oliver as he trudged toward the door.
Oliver stepped to the counter and laid his hands on top. “Hi, Bobbi,” he said, hoping he still possessed whatever magic he’d been sporting all day. Bobbi was not pleased to see him.
She sneered. “People are still coming in my backyard at all hours of the night.”
“I’m sorry,” said Oliver. “I told my sister—”
“You said the situation would be fixed.” She folded her arms.
“I know,” he said. “I thought it was, but…good news is, the game is over on Sunday—”
“So, two more days of this crap, and my fence is still broken, by the way. My dogs keep getting out. They’re running all over town.” Oliver did not remind her that, fence or no, her dogs always ran wild through the streets of North Pole. Bobbi glared in his general direction. “What can I do for you tonight?”
Oliver cleared his throat. She was a businesswoman. This was a business transaction. Of course she’d fill his order. “I need a yellow rose.”
She shook her head. “No yellow roses.”
“Not one?” Oliver peered past her toward the flower-filled refrigerator behind the counter. There was a bucket full of yellow roses right there, plopped in the middle of the fridge. “What about those?”
“Nope,” she said. “Sorry. Not for you.”
“I’ll pay you extra—” Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He’d give her all he had—twenty, forty dollars for one rose.
“I don’t want your money,” she said. “Get people to stop jumping my fence like you promised and I’ll give you all the roses you want for free.”
Where was he going to get a yellow rose now? The only option left was the grocery store, which was all the way on the other side of town. He was going to be so late for the dance. He dashed down Main Street and into Ludlum’s. There he found, not a yellow rose, but some dyed yellow carnations. They’d have to do. He even bought a full bouquet just to account for the fact that he was showing up with carnations. If a rose was the Cadillac of flowers, a carnation was the Ford Fiesta.
When he exited Ludlum’s the snow no longer lifted his spirits. This night was supposed to be perfect. He was supposed to show up on time and with a yellow rose. Here he was running a half hour late and armed with stupid carnations.
Letting the bouquet hang down to his side, he squinted into the snow and marched down Main Street, where he’d cut down Spruce Street to head toward the school. He passed his dad’s store, which was empty except for Craig, who was working. He crossed Main Street and passed Chestnut’s, where Elena’s dad was manning the counter in the deserted shop. Just past their store, he heard yelling, which was coming from the alley behind The Chinese Restaurant.
Oliver’s fir
st instinct was not usually to play real-life superhero, but Elena had told him he was a good guy, so he decided to live up to that description. He crossed Spruce and turned down the alley as a woman shouted, “You can’t just come in and out of this whenever you feel like it. You’re jerking me around.”
And then a man’s voice said, “I’m trying to figure things out.”
“We all are.”
The man’s voice belonged to his father. Oliver would know his gravelly tone anywhere. He padded down the alley, his boots scraping against the gravel. When he reached the back of The Chinese Restaurant, he found two figures—his dad and Elena’s mom—leaning against the back wall of the restaurant, kissing.
Oliver tried to stop the squeak from his throat, but he couldn’t. His dad pulled away from Mrs. Chestnut and whipped toward him. Their eyes met. His dad’s were puffy and bloodshot. Mrs. Chestnut clamped her hand to her mouth.
Oliver dropped his carnations and ran.
Chapter Thirteen
The yellow dress was starting to itch.
That, and Elena was freezing in it. What had she been thinking, wearing a chiffon gown to a dance in the middle of February in Minnesota?
She parked next to the refreshments table and busied herself with a cup of punch, wishing it were hot cocoa, while she stared at the entrance to the school gym, not even pretending like she wasn’t full-on watching every single person who came and went through that door.
There was a clock over the door, a visual reminder of time passing. Oliver was five minutes late, then ten, then fifteen, now he was over forty-five minutes late. She checked her phone. No messages.
Harper, whom Elena had sent away when she’d offered to hover near the punch bowl with her, came back to check in every ten minutes or so. Wearing her boot cast and wielding one crutch, she’d been attempting to dance with the likes of Danny and Star and the rest of their usual crowd. Harper flopped onto the chair next to the refreshments table. “It’s tiring dancing with a broken ankle. Stick a fork in me.”
Elena dragged a second chair over to Harper, and helped her friend elevate her bad foot.
“Still no word from Oliver?” Harper asked, massaging her calf muscle.
Elena shook her head and focused again on the door.
“He’ll be here,” said Harper. “He’s just running late.”
“Mmm-hmm.” A niggling voice deep down kept reminding her that this was on-brand behavior for his family. Never trust a Prince. It’s a lesson she’d been taught her whole life.
“You guys had a great time together last night,” Harper reminded her.
Elena was on the verge of sobbing. They had. They’d had a wonderful time. He’d even told her in so many words that he was excited about the dance tonight. He’d waved to her at school. Everything had been clipping along nicely.
So, why was he not here?
Was last night a big ruse? Had it merely been him lulling her into a false sense of security before standing her up?
“He’s not blowing you off,” said Harper, reading Elena’s mind.
Elena pressed her lips together.
“He wouldn’t do that.” Harper reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. “I’ll text him.”
Elena grabbed for Harper’s phone. “Don’t.”
“I’m doing it,” she said, fingers moving across her screen. “It’s done.” She dropped the phone onto her lap.
The two girls stared at the door, waiting and watching.
“Still no text?” asked Elena when three minutes had passed.
“Nope.”
The second hand had journeyed around the clock face twice more, when the gym door creaked open. Elena straightened up, her breath catching in her chest.
She saw the copper hair first and her heart sped up, but her body deflated when she realized it wasn’t attached to Oliver’s head. The hair belonged to Regina, who waltzed into the dance on the arm of Stan Stashiuk.
“Regina and Stash?” whispered Harper.
Elena glanced down at her friend, whose eyes were wide and wounded.
“That’s who she’s been seeing?” asked Harper.
Elena crouched down and hugged Harper, who brushed her off.
“I’m fine,” Harper said, squaring her shoulders. She waved Regina over. Elena thought she looked like Don Corleone holding court before his daughter’s wedding. She made a mental note to tell Sam about her quick-drawn Godfather reference. He’d be so proud.
Regina whispered something to Stash, and then sauntered over to Elena and Harper. “Hi, ladies.”
“You and Stash?” said Harper.
Regina backed up a step. “Uh…yeah.” She frowned. “I’m sorry, Harper. It’s…you knew I was seeing someone else.”
Harper shook her head, like she was shaking away her hurt. Elena braced herself for a big blow-up, but instead Harper stuck her chin out and said, “Well, I’m not surprised. I’ve seen the way you guys look at each other.”
Regina grinned.
“I can’t blame you, honestly. He’s a freaking professional hockey player who cares about bettering the lives of needy children. You could do worse.”
“I could do way worse,” Regina said.
“You could’ve shown up on the arm of, like, one of the Sugarplum Sweethearts or something, in which case, I would’ve had to murder you.” Harper shuddered, and Elena patted her hand. The Sugarplum Sweetheart beauty contest was never not going to be a sore spot for her friend.
Grinning, Regina glanced back at Stan Stashiuk. “Stash and I just…we bonded.”
Harper shrugged. “I get it. And it’s not like you weren’t honest with me about your feelings. It’s tough to see someone you like with another person, is all. It’s jarring.”
“I’m sorry,” said Regina. “I should’ve told you before the dance. We had been taking it slow, but now…”
Harper waved her off. “You can make it up to me by telling us where the hell your brother is tonight.”
Elena’s stomach dropped. Here was the moment of truth.
Regina frowned. “Ollie?”
“You have another brother?” asked Harper.
Regina shrugged. “Where else would he be? He’s at home.”
“You’re sure?” asked Elena.
“I just left him.” She scrunched up her nose. “Was he supposed to meet you here?”
Harper cut in. “Yeah. He told me we’d hang out.”
Regina rolled her eyes. “Sorry. My antisocial brother is at home in a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. He looked like he was in for the night.”
Elena swallowed, clutching her phone. The idea that something terrible had happened to Oliver had crossed her mind earlier in the night. Perhaps he had been hit by a car or a snowmobile or one of the Christmas trollies that ran up and down Main Street. How tragic would that have been, for the love of Elena’s young life to have been snuffed out before they could profess their undying devotion to each other?
Though all of that would’ve been preferable to being stood up by a pajama pants-wearing liar.
“What’s he doing at home?” asked Elena, beginning to seethe.
“Playing video games.” Regina shrugged. “My dad caved and gave him his computer back.”
Elena nodded. Oliver had chosen his computer over her. In truth, however, he had never chosen her at all. He was never going to come to the dance in the first place. He was Regina’s anti-social brother who loved video games more than human companionship.
“Thanks, Regina,” Elena said.
Regina nodded and dashed off to find Stan Stashiuk, and Elena stood rooted to the floor, still staring at the door.
“You gonna go after him?” Harper said.
Elena glowered at her friend. “Are you kidding me?”
“Don’t you want to confront him? Give him a piece of your mind?” Harper gestured toward Regina. “Like I just did with Regina. I could’ve ignored her all night and sat here fuming while I endured watching her and
Stash dance together, but I didn’t. I called her over, told her what was bothering me, and we worked it out. Maybe you and Oliver can work it out.”
“There’s nothing to work out,” said Elena. “He was supposed to show up, and he didn’t. He’s at home playing video games and not thinking about me, so I’m going to stay here and dance and not think about him.”
She drained her punch and marched onto the dance floor, where she joined the group Harper had been bopping around with previously—Danny, Star, Kevin, and Marley.
Danny nudged her in the side. “Who are you here with?”
“No one,” she said. She was going to leave it at that, but instead chose the nuclear option. If Oliver was going to stand her up, then she was going to take him down with her. She was not going to let him hide, consequence-free, behind his computer. “I was supposed to meet Oliver Prince here, but he blew me off. Never trust a Prince,” she added.
She glanced up at Kevin Snow, who was watching her with his usual sultry stare. Elena knew he looked at everyone like that, so she didn’t kid herself that it meant anything, but she pretended it did. Tonight she needed to feel like someone found her attractive, even if it was just Kevin.
When he asked her to dance later, she said yes. She wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed in his sweaty scent under a thick layer of sandalwood body spray. It brought her back to a few months ago, when the odd dalliance with Kevin was enough for Elena—pre-Stash Grab, pre-Oliver.
But she’d never truly had Oliver, and Stashiuk4Prez was just a mirage.
She decided to lean into whatever this frivolity with Kevin Snow was, because that was what she wanted, at least for tonight. And she was going to get something she wanted for once, thank you, Harper.
“Where’s your date?” Elena whispered in his ear.
He shrugged.
Elena decided that if Kevin wasn’t worried about it, she wouldn’t worry about it, either.
After the dance, she and Harper trudged through the snow to Danny’s house for an after party. Elena ran into Kevin there, in Danny’s mom’s room, which was serving as the coatroom. He waved, about to leave and find something to drink or someone else to make out with or who knew, whatever.
Any Boy but You (North Pole, Minnesota) Page 16
