Pinehurst

by Nicole Grane

  Chapter 10

  Dinner was as to be expected: Iris was beaming. Her cunning ability to sneakily drag me downstairs where I received the ‘invitation of a lifetime’ was totally her doing.

  “You can thank me. Come on . . . I know you want to.”

  “Thank you, Iris.” I rolled my eyes at her, a slight smile escaping me.

  “Ahahh! You must be so excited! How can you sit there and eat?” Gillian had just joined us. “The whole campus is buzzing about it.”

  I eyed her with caution. I was afraid to ask what the “whole campus is buzzing about.”

  As if sensing my confusion she added: “You and Roland . . . going . . . out . . . exclusively . . .” Gillian drew out each word as if savoring them.

  “What? He asked me to the dance like . . . a minute ago. How did you find out so fast?” Too bad it wasn’t true. If only I had a ten-alarm crush on Roland instead of Antonio. Not that Roland was anything to sneeze at. He was super-cute. But he hadn’t stirred that something inside of me. That something that made my heart flutter. He also hadn’t made me feel like a child like Antonio had. Antonio. I growled mentally. I needed to push him out of my mind.

  “Please,” Gillian continued, unaware that I’d drifted off to la-la land. “Nothing happens on this campus that I don‘t know about.” True. In the short time I’d been here, I’d quickly learned that Gillian was the eyes, ears, and nose of this place.

  “I knew you had a reason for staying in sixth period P.E.” The sound of that voice . . . like nails on a chalkboard . . . I cringed. Stacy Wilcox and her witch squad were standing over me.

  “It’s just a flippin’ dance. That’s all. We’re not ‘exclusive’.” I made little quotes in the air with my fingers. No doubt she’d heard that rumor as well. I stood up from the table to leave. I didn’t feel like listening to any of her crap tonight.

  “Great. I suppose you’ll be at the after-party as well?” she glowered.

  “What after-party?” I really hated feeling like Stacy knew more than me. She looked so smug.

  “Oh please, Evie. Don’t pretend like you don’t know. Like you’re not planning on hanging out where you’re not wanted and wrecking my night.” Her haughty attitude was beyond just getting on my nerves. She may as well have been stomping up and down on them. The look of confusion on my face gave her more ammo. “The after-party at Chad’s you twit!”

  Ohhh. That was so it. Stacy picked the wrong day to mess with me. I spied a busboy walking by with a half eaten plate of spaghetti . . .

  “You idiot!” Stacy shrieked. The Kitchen erupted into a loud snicker. Stacy was standing with her arms extended, surveying her dress in horror. “It’s ruined! Absolutely ruined!”

  “I’m sorry, Miss. I tripped!” The poor busboy looked like he was debating whether or not he should help her pick the spaghetti off her dress—he decided against it. The noodles had taken up permanent residence on her chest he knelt on the floor instead, retrieving the broken pieces of the plate.

  “Oh Stacy, that’s too bad . . . and you were going to wear that to the dance, huh?” I didn’t even bother trying to conceal my happiness.

  “Well, at least that ugly dress can be put out of its misery,” Gillian joked.

  Stacy stormed out, leaving a trail of spaghetti and profanities behind her.

  The girls hadn’t stopped laughing.

  “Well, my work here is done.” I brushed my hands together, dusting them off. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

  On my way out, I passed by Roland’s table. I laughed to myself, remembering Gillian’s gossip about how he and I were “exclusive.” He caught my eye and winked. In an attempt to push Antonio farther from my mind, I stupidly opened my mouth and said the first thing that popped into my head: “Am I going to get a goodnight kiss?” I was totally joking. I mean, no way did I expect Roland to do what he did.

  A look of shock and awe claimed him—not for long though. He jumped up; his chair skidded back into the table behind him. He had my face between his hands and his lips on mine faster than Gunny had slammed me to the floor. My guess, he’d been waiting for such an invitation—who knew?

  My first kiss! If you could call it that, I wasn’t actually doing the kissing. I was in complete shock. His mouth moved over mine with such precision and skill. I stood there like a statue, unable to move or contribute.

  I could hear the hooting and hollering from the gang around us. Even Gillian’s screech of excitement rang loud.

  My lips responded, slowly, trying to mimic his. I knew that with the heat of his kiss and the way he pulled me closer to him, it was only a matter of time before they came to life. This was certainly an unexpected turn of events—I liked Roland?

  He released my lips, but not his hold around me. A wide smile spread across his face.

  I held onto him for support. I didn’t trust my legs at the moment. I stared at him, unable to speak. The eyes that I’m sure were still on us vanished. It was only the two of us standing there. My heart was pounding loudly, wildly. He had to hear it.

  He dropped his arms and stepped back, his face still smiling at mine.

  I must have still looked stunned because I heard Wyatt ask Victor if he thought I was all right.

  “I’m just . . . gonna . . . go now,” I said, my voice sounding unusually high. “I’ll . . . see you later.” I gave Roland a small wave as I turned to leave, and tripped gracefully over a chair. The loud laughter behind me gave me the strength to keep walking, or staggering, depending on your point of view. I would never live this down.

  The sky was darkening now. It was seven-thirty by the time I’d gotten back to my room. I really didn’t want to, especially since I’d just experienced my first kiss, but since my dad was basically incommunicado during the daylight hours, I decided it was time to give him a call. Besides, I needed to hit him up for a dress for the dance.

  “Hey, Dad!” I was really happy to hear his voice. He actually sounded glad to hear mine too. Thank god he couldn’t see the still flushed cheeks I sported from Roland’s kiss.

  “I’m better. I’ve made some new friends . . .”

  George sounded unusually excited for me.

  And now for the dreaded part: It’s common knowledge that fathers are fierce protectors when it comes to their daughters. It’s as if they’re admitting: I was a boy once. I know how they think. They are dangerous creatures and should be avoided at all costs. So, you can imagine that me asking if I could have a new dress, because some boy wanted to take me to the spring dance, would throw up a few of those dreaded flags. A barrage of questions came at me—my dad was a need-to-know every detail kind of guy!

  I slumped in my chair. “Roland Vandenberg, I think his family lives somewhere in the Hamptons.” I answered George—the interrogation had begun.

  After a brief conversation, I learned that Roland’s family owned an exclusive yacht club. George of course was a member—something else I didn’t know about him. My father seemed pleased that I had such a respectable date—wonder of wonders! The dress would be no problem. He was actually in Paris at the moment. His assistant, Veronica, would make a trip to one of the local shops and pick out a dress for me. Veronica had excellent taste. She was in her late twenties, and knew the fashion world intimately. She’d always stick in a few “fun pieces” as she liked to refer to them. “Fun pieces” were not George Hollyander approved wear. He’d have me in layers if it were up to him. But since he didn’t bother looking at the sales receipt, he had no idea what Veronica bought for me.

  “Thanks dad. I love you too.”

  And that was that. George got right to the nitty-gritty of my call, added the “I love yous” where applicable, and hung up before I could ask any questions. Why was he avoiding me?