“What happened?” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth, aware that there are still people filming us.
“You can’t go with him.”
“Why not?” I ask through clenched teeth. “Why can’t I go with him?”
“Because…he’s going with someone else.” He nods.
O’Dell runs after his escaping cow, calling Alex to come and help him catch it.
“Who?”
“Kov!” O’Dell shouts from halfway across the field.
He averts his gaze. That’s when I know he’s lying. The supremely confident, usually brutally honest Alex Koviak looks everyone in the eye. “Uh…someone,” he says. “I don’t know. I mean, people were talking about it.”
I thrust out my chin and scowl. “So you knew he already had a date?”
He pushes back his hair, another tell of his when he’s not comfortable. “No. I mean—”
“Where’d you hear that?” I interrupt. Let’s see him dig himself out of this hole. “Was it in the cafeteria? From your friend Devon?” I am so mad at him I can barely breathe. “You couldn’t tell me before I got on the damn cow? In front of all these people?”
He finally looks at me, the liar. I don’t know why he’s lying, but I’ve had enough public humiliation for one night, and if I stay, I’ll start yelling at him. I push past him, through the gawking crowd.
“Wait, wait.” He catches up to me. “Stop! Did you get hurt when you fell?”
I pass by the still laughing Table Three girls. “I’m fine,” I say over my shoulder. At that moment, the music starts to play, deafeningly loud, over the sound system.
The stars at night
Are big and bright
Deep in the heart of Texas
More laughter.
I walk on toward my car, digging in my shorts pocket for my keys. Ironic, isn’t it? I want to be famous for being behind the camera. Not for being the main character in the most epic nightmare promposal in the history of promposals.
“Bails?” He follows me to the edge of the crowd.
“Leave me alone, Alex,” I shout over the music. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t follow me any farther, which surprises me. I thought maybe he would. Even if I did order him to stay away. I guess a part of me still thought we were in this together, but here I am, by my car, very much alone. My braids have fallen out, my thighs are on fire, I smell like cow, I have no prom date. I have no best friend. I want to go home.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Alex
What did I do? I mean it—I have no idea what just happened. We were about to shake hands with the other team, and instead, I left. Walked right off the field. We crushed the Lakeland team, and now Coach is gonna crush me.
I didn’t care. I had a plan. I had to beat him off the field. Him, being Tex. I needed to make sure this promposal didn’t happen, by any means necessary. I was going to run out to the parking lot and ask her to prom. No big promposal, just the question. As I played out the second half and watched that game clock, I didn’t let myself think about what her answer might be. All I knew was that I was going to do it, make it happen, take the shot. We’d figure the rest out from there.
Then I saw her, and I completely blanked. There she was, on the damn cow, and there’s me yelling “abort, abort” like she was a nuclear missile about to launch. Then the cow went rogue and Bailey was maybe gonna die, but the closer I got to the thing to stop it, the more freaked out it got, so I hung back, and she fell off. In front of all those people.
They were all laughing, and oh my God, she was mad, and she wanted an explanation.
So off the top of my head, I blamed Tex.
He’s going with someone else. It was all I could think to say. I told her a lie, which was not what I wanted to do, but it’s what came out. I guess I’m not a very good liar, because she knew it wasn’t true. I could see it in her face.
I pushed through the crowd, wanting to walk her to her car, but I was only making things worse. Everyone was filming. So many people were laughing. O’Dell was screaming for me to help him catch his goddamn cow.
Leave me alone, she said. She’s never talked to me like that—it’s how I knew I better listen.
What else could I do?
Now I’m home, trying to figure out how to fix this. Should I really leave her alone to lick her wounds? Should I go to her house and check on her?
I try to imagine the tables being turned. What advice would I give to someone in my shoes?
I have no idea. The Love Guru is at a loss.
A few hours later, with zero word from her, I send a text.
guessing you don’t want to grab a burger
I add the cow emoji and go for the laugh, because that’s what we do, Bailey and I—we laugh. We don’t take things seriously. We have fun.
But I’m a clueless idiot. It’s an hour before she replies, and when she does, it’s not good.
Leave me alone.
Again? No. Dammit. No no no no.
Sorry. I’m a jackass. Sorry about tonight. I was just trying to help.
I backspace over that last sentence because that’s also a lie, and I can’t tell her any more of those. I wasn’t trying to help. I was trying to ruin everything. And I did a fucking stellar job.
A half hour later, she hasn’t texted back, but I’m getting lots of notifications on my phone. I open a YouTube link and watch.
Holy shit. It’s a video, titled “Dumb Girl Rides Cow for Promposal.” What the hell? I watch a few nauseating seconds. There’s a song playing, with lyrics about mamas not letting their babies grow up to be cowboys.
It’s already got close to five hundred views and counting, and it was only posted an hour ago. Shit. It’s going viral. I’ve ruined her life.
I try to look for the positive and remind myself that Bailey doesn’t care what other people think of her, although this level of embarrassment would shake the most confident person on the planet.
Judging from the notifications pouring in, it’s not just on YouTube. It’s everywhere, and it’s only a matter of time before she finds out.
I hope she at least goes to bed before she realizes what’s happened. She’ll know soon enough, though, and she’ll blame me, because it’s all my fault.
She doesn’t reply to my last text at all. I know this because I stay awake, waiting for it, and it never comes. She hates me.
Whatever—I deserve it.
When I finally go to sleep, I dream about stampeding livestock and a tornado made of glitter, and in the middle of the school parking lot, hat crooked on her head, bandanna gone, rope burns on hands that are stretched out to me, she’s crying, but I can’t go to her. I can’t move, weighted down by the shame of lying to her and being completely responsible for this entire shitty situation.
Why wouldn’t she hate me?
I hate myself.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Bailey
My head is about to explode by the time I get to Java Infusion at six the next morning. Between Alex and his hamburger joke and the notifications I was getting on my phone, I almost called in sick. After I saw the title of the YouTube video, I actually felt sick, every part of me. Maybe that title was spot on, though. Right now, I do feel like the dumbest girl in the world.
I have never called in sick, though, and I need every penny to get out of here and go to film school. I’ll survive this. Somehow.
Jax is re-stocking the pastry case, and the second our eyes met, I know he knows. He tsks three times as he straightens a plate of brownies.
The time bomb in my head is ticking louder now. “Don’t. Say. Anything. Please.” I avoid eye contact and walk past him to the office to clock in. He sticks his head in, and despite my crystal-clear plea to say nothing, sure enough, he opens his mouth to talk.
“It’s not as bad as you think, you know.”
“No?” I roll my eyes as I log in to the timekeeping system. “Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s worse
.”
He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. “Have you watched it?”
“No! I lived it, thank you.” I tie my purple apron around my back and push past him.
The thing is, when it comes to the video, I know people will forget about it in time. I’ll recover from that. But about Alex? He charged over to me like a bull in a china shop, and I’m not even trying to be funny with the cow humor. Then he lied to me and humiliated me.
Jax stares at me, still uncharacteristically quiet. “It’ll make a great scene in one of your movies one day,” he says as I prepare the grounds to make the house brew.
Somewhere inside of my dark soul, my heart revives just a little, and a shadow of a smile flickers on my lips. He has a point. Pain can be awesome creative fuel.
A few hours later, the store is packed. There are a good amount of middle schoolers, which means I make a million Psychedeliccinos. I’m sure that some of them have seen the video from last night, or maybe I’m being paranoid about the way they’re staring at me. None of them have the guts to call me out on it, and that’s smart of them since I can take their already awful non-coffee coffee drinks and make them taste even worse if I wanted to.
I can deal with them. I can deal with this. So what if everyone on the planet watched me fall off that cow? So what if I’m friendless? Who cares if I have zero usable footage for my contest entry? It’s not like things can get much worse.
Of course that’s not true. They can, and they do.
Shortly after noon, I see them. My thoughts go into a tailspin, and I try to think of an excuse to hide in the back, but there are too many customers and it’s only me and Jax. This will make a great scene one day, this will make a great scene one day… I breathe from my toes and repeat that mantra, because the Table Three girls are in the house. Three of them, including Devon, claim a table. Two come up to the register to order. Their gross smiles give them away. I know what’s coming.
“Hiiii,” one says with an annoying high-pitched whine.
My smile is pasted on. Customer service is king! “Hi. What can I get for you?”
She clenches her teeth. “I’ll take a supremo latte. Non-fat milk, please.” This makes her giggle.
I enter the order into the register. “That’ll be five thirty-six, please.” So far, so good.
She lifts her eyebrow and slips a debit card into the machine. “Sorry to mention the m-word.”
“Sorry?” I hit the total button and print out her receipt.
“Milk?” She smiles, and the other girl giggles.
It takes me a second, and then I flash her the biggest grin I can manage. It’s not easy, but she is not taking me down with a joke that bad. “Oh. Okay.” I nod and scrunch up my nose. “Milk. Cow. I get it. A little bit of stretch, but I’m sure it took you a long time to think of, so I’ll allow it.”
Her smile disappears, and I know I’ve taken the right tack. I write her order on her cup and hand it to Jax. He winks at me, and I know she’s getting whole milk. As I take the next one’s order, Devon walks up behind them.
“Hey, girls,” she says, then her eyes land on me. “I’ll meet you at the table,” she orders them, and they walk away like good little lemmings.
“Bailey, right?” she asks.
Oh my God. I keep my eyes on the register. “What can I get for you, Devon?”
She reaches out a hand, like she wants to touch me, but then she pulls it back. “Are you okay?”
I lift my gaze and wait for the punch line. “Yeah, I’m great. Thanks. What can I get for you?”
“I wanted to say I’m sorry, about last night.” Her mouth crinkles into a frown. “It can’t be easy.”
I press my lips together. Customer service, Bailey. “I’m fine. What can I get started for you?”
She inhales deeply. “Listen,” she says, her eyebrows pulling together. “Were you trying to ask Caleb to prom?”
I sigh and grip the register on the sides with both hands.
“It really doesn’t matter,” I say. “Can I get you something?”
“I figured it was him, what with all the Texas stuff.” Now she does reach out and touch my hand, and it makes me cringe. “I heard Alex tell you he was going with someone else.”
“So?” I pull my hand out from under hers and grab a cup. The last person on earth I want promposal advice from is Devon McGill.
“The thing is, Billie, he’s not.”
Did this bitch just call me Billie? Again, she reaches out, and I move my hand. Seriously. Do not touch me again.
“I mean it. He’s not going with anyone. Alex told me last night. I don’t know why he lied to you.”
I knew he was lying, but to have Devon McGill confirm it? It’s too much. “Yeah,” she smiles. “So you can still ask him. Caleb, I mean.” Clearly, she is pleased with herself. I don’t respond—my mind is stuck on the mention of her and Alex and last night. I do not care anymore about her being with him, but here I am once again picturing them together, on the sofa, and laughing about me. This is not healthy, and now I want to jump over this counter and have a good old-fashioned throw down with her.
My face—whatever expression I’m making—is apparently exactly what she wanted to see. “I’ll have a medium caramel iced latte. Easy on the ice. Non-fat, sugar free, no whip. Please.”
Scene in a movie. Scene in a…no. This might be a great movie scene one day, but right now it sucks. I give her the total, and she pays up, then I write her order on the cup and hand it to Jax. He’s heard our entire back and forth. I can tell because he’s giving her some major side-eye. If he wants to spit in her drink, I won’t be mad. Customer service has its limits.
I take the next customer’s order. I don’t know him, but I think he’s in my grade. The way he’s grinning like a freaking circus clown, his friends behind him looking exactly the same, I know he knows who I am.
After they pay and walk to the end of the counter to wait for their drinks, I hear a low, “Mooooo,” and they all laugh.
Cowards.
Once I clear the line, I help Jax catch up with orders. I finish Devon’s drink and give it to Jax to call. I swear if she tries to pat my hand again, I can’t be responsible for my actions. I’m already picturing this entire latte dumped on her head.
I go back to the register to help another customer, and I notice a black Jeep driving slowly by the store. I can’t make out a face, and I know there’s more than one black Jeep in Edinburgh, but I think it’s him.
A heavy feeling falls on me that I can’t at first put a name to. He only wanted to be friends, which is fine. I get it. But I did believe he was my friend, a real friend. Real friends don’t lie, or humiliate, or abandon you for a mean girl.
I glance at Table Three, all present and accounted for. I turn away.
I know that my friendship with Alex was weird—untraditional, for sure. But I was okay with that. In our late night talks, I told him things I’d never told anyone. He told me things, too, about his family, and his hopes, his fears. I trusted him. Now, it’s all gone.
Table Three breaks into a group laugh. They’re talking about prom, and everyone in the shop knows it. Dresses, limos, after-parties. All the things.
I want to die for ever wanting a part of it.
Another stream of customers comes through, so I can’t hear what they’re saying as clearly, though I do hear “Kov” come up more than once. Why wouldn’t it? His name belongs on their lips. He’s one of them, and a liar.
I purposely tune them out for the rest of the time they are there. It’s not easy—they’re so damn loud—but I do it.
“Can I help you?” I focus on the next customer, the next cup of coffee. The Jeep outside is gone. I smile and say thank you, because: customer service.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alex
I hate Sundays.
Last day of the weekend, day before school starts. What’s to love? This Sunday I hate more than all other Sundays, though
, because a week ago, I was at her house for family movie night. That was a good night, one of the best nights, but then the week got awesome, then awkward, and then it turned into complete shit.
This morning, Miriam dropped by and invited me to her house for dinner. Said I look like I needed to get out. I said no thanks, then she told me to at least take a shower and ordered me to leave the house at least once today. But I’m not going anywhere—it’s too depressing. Yesterday I did a drive-by of Java Infusion. Her car was out back, and I thought about stopping, except there were a shit ton of people in there, and Devon’s car in the parking lot.
No way was I going in.
Friday night, after Bailey left the scene of the crime, Devon was right there, asking me what happened, asking me how I knew “Hailey.”
“Bailey,” I said. “It’s Bailey, and I just do.”
At some point in the late afternoon, the doorbell rings. I’m lying on the family room sofa, binge watching old episodes of The Office. I plan to ignore humanity while I get lost in the world of paper supply, but it won’t go away. Whoever it is starts to knock, which reminds me of Bailey’s dad the other night.
Shit. Is it Bailey’s dad? I hurry to the door and open it, prepared to dodge a punch.
Instead, I’m struck with a bolt of lightning.
Bailey.
I stagger a little because my instinct is to take her in my arms and start up where we left off the other night. I know I can’t do that, so I smile like I haven’t been able to smile since that kiss. It’s really her.
“Hi,” I manage to say when she says nothing. I have no idea where to go from there, so I pull the door open further. “Come in.”
That’s when I notice the garment bag in her arms.
“No,” she says and holds out the dress. “Thanks. Here. Please tell your mom I appreciate it but that I don’t need it. I’m not going to prom. Obviously.”
“Wait.” I don’t take the dress. “What about your project?”
Her eyes on me are like lasers, pinning me down. “I’m changing my topic.”
Love and Other Secrets Page 16
