by Kristi Cook
The house is unusually quiet when we step inside. I send Morgan and Lucy up to my room to get changed out of their cheerleading uniforms while I tiptoe around downstairs, looking for Mama and Laura Grace. It doesn’t take me long to find them. They’re in the kitchen, their usual hangout spot, with the door closed. And, okay . . . I know it’s a terrible thing to do, but I lurk outside the door, eavesdropping. I’ve got to know what’s going on, in case I’m about to get ambushed or something.
So, I lean my ear against the door—this is the tricky part, because it’s a swinging door—and listen.
“I just can’t believe Rob would do this,” comes Laura Grace’s sniffly voice. Clearly, she’s crying. “The both of them, going behind my back.”
“Just because a scout came to the game—”
“You don’t understand, Shelby. This . . . this is, like, the final step in the recruitment process. The man came all the way from New York to watch him play! He’s here to finalize the deal.”
“And Ryder’s already had his transcripts sent there? His SAT scores and everything?”
“Apparently. Which means this has been in the works for months, and no one even bothered to tell me. And then they’re both like, ‘Oh, by the way . . .’ ” Her voice breaks on a sob. “How could they do this to me?”
Mama makes comforting noises, and then I hear her sigh. “I just don’t understand why Ryder would want to play for a school like Columbia when he could have his pick of SEC schools. Real football schools.”
Columbia? What the hell are they talking about? Columbia’s in New York City. Ryder’s not going to school in New York City. If he were—if there was even a remote possibility—he would have told me.
Right? I mean, after I poured my guts out to him, telling him how I wanted to go to NYU, it seems like that would have been the perfect opening for him to have said, “Hey, guess what? Me too.”
But he didn’t. He didn’t even mention it, not once. I need to talk to him. Now.
Moving on silent feet, I hurry back upstairs. Morgan and Lucy have changed into pj’s and are lying on my bed, both of them doing something on their cell phones.
“I need you two to cover for me,” I say before I’ve really thought it through.
Lucy sits up with a start. “Cover for you?”
“I . . . yeah.” What do I tell them? “I need to slip out for a little bit, that’s all.”
“Slip out where?” Morgan asks, still typing furiously on her phone.
Oh my God. I’ve got to tell them. They’re my best friends. How can I not tell them? Especially considering the fact that I need them to cover for me so that I can go yell at someone else I consider a friend for not telling me something. So ironic, right?
“I need to go talk to Ryder,” I say as I quickly tap out a text message. Meet me at the ruins. Fifteen minutes. “And I know you have a million questions and that I shouldn’t just run out without answering them first, but I promise that I will the second I get back, okay?”
“Well, what are we supposed to tell your mom if she comes looking for you?”
“It doesn’t really matter, as long as you don’t mention Ryder. Say . . . say that I’m outside. That I left something in the car,” I suggest, even though I know it’s a lame excuse.
“I’m confused,” Morgan says, finally setting her phone aside. “Why do you need to go see Ryder? Besides, if your mom knew that’s where you were going, she’d probably throw a party, not freak out. Wait . . .” Her expression shifts dramatically, her eyes widening. “Oh my God! That’s why you don’t want her to know! Because you and Ryder . . .” She glances over at Lucy, waiting for her to make the mental leap.
“Jemma and Ryder what? What?” Lucy looks from me to Morgan and back to me again. And then I see it—comprehension lights up her face. “Holy shit! No way! I mean, I know you went to homecoming together and everything, but I thought that was just . . . you know, as friends.”
“Yeah, I figured his mom made him take you, or—” Morgan stops short, as if she’s just realized what she’s said. “Something,” she finishes lamely.
“I’ll tell you everything when I get back,” I say, glancing toward my closed door. “I doubt Mama will come looking for me, but if she does, say that I went outside to get something out of the car. That I just left. And then text me, okay?”
They nod in unison.
My phone beeps, and I glance down at the screen.
I’m on my way.
“Crap, I’m going to have to take a kayak.” I glance down with a frown, realizing I’m still in my uniform. Not the best kayaking attire, but my parents will surely hear the car.
Morgan shakes her head. “You can’t kayak in the dark.”
“Of course I can. Full moon.” I tip my head toward the window. The curtains are drawn back, the bright moon framed in the panes of glass.
“You’re crazy,” Lucy says with a scowl. “There’re snakes in that creek.”
Don’t I know it. I shudder involuntarily.
“And God knows what else. Drive, okay?” Lucy reaches for my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “And then if your mom asks, we’ll tell her that you had to run out to the drugstore. For . . . I dunno, tampons or something. I’ll say I had a feminine emergency and that I’m real picky about what brand I use and that you don’t have that kind, so . . .”
“So you went to get them for her,” Morgan finishes for her.
“Because you’re such a good friend,” Lucy singsongs.
I consider my options. Mama and Laura Grace are so caught up in their conversation that she didn’t even notice us come in. Why would she notice a car now, especially if I’m quiet? And if she does notice, well . . . Lucy’s suggestion is a good one. It sounds like something Lucy would do, sending me out late at night on a drugstore run just because she didn’t like my brand of tampons.
“Okay,” I say with a nod. “Stick to the tampon story, but text me if she comes looking.”
“Well, go on, then,” Lucy says, shooing me toward the door. “You’re making your mama’s dreams come true, girlfriend.”
“I know,” I say. “And that’s exactly why she’s not going to find out about it.”
* * *
I park my car around the back of Magnolia Landing, hidden in the shadows of an old oak dripping Spanish moss. It’s a short walk from there to the ruins. Ryder’s already there, waiting for me. He’s leaning against one of the crumbling walls, staring out into the night. He doesn’t even turn at the sound of my approach.
Carefully picking my way across the bumpy path, I move to stand directly in front of him. He meets my gaze but remains silent.
You know that stereotype about redheads and tempers? Well, in my case, it happens to be true. I’m not exactly sure why, but I’m so angry that my breath is coming in shallow pants, stars seeming to dance in front of my eyes.
“I was going to tell you,” he says at last. “I swear I was. This wasn’t how I meant for you to find out.”
“Oh, yeah?” I spit out. “When were you going to tell me, Ryder?”
“I didn’t know that scout was coming tonight,” he says, skirting around the question. “As soon as I found out, I tried to find you, but the game was about to start and you were already on the field. And then . . . you were with Morgan and Lucy after.”
I shake my head. “Don’t you get it? You just sat there and let me go on and on about film school in New York, and not once did you even mention Columbia. I can maybe see why you wouldn’t have during the storm. But after? I thought that we were . . . that you and I . . .” I trail off miserably. “I guess I was wrong.” I turn and stalk off toward my car.
“You don’t understand,” he calls out after me. And then he’s there beside me, reaching for my arm.
I shrug him off. “What don’t I understand? That you’re a jackass? Because trust me, I understand that just fine.”
“So that’s it?” He folds his arms across his chest. “You’re j
ust going to storm off like you always do? You’re not even going to hear me out?”
“Fine.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Let’s hear it, then. This should be good.”
“God, Jemma.” He rolls his eyes. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”
“Oh, I’m making it difficult?” I start to walk away, but then turn back to face him again. “You know what? I am so done with you.”
He advances on me, closing the distance between us in two long strides. “How ’bout this? I’m done with you. If you’re too blind to see what’s going on here, then that’s your fucking problem, not mine.”
“Fine!” I shout, shoving him hard against the chest with both hands.
He takes one step back, both hands held up in surrender. “Fine.”
For several seconds, we stand there staring each other down. Anger radiates off the both of us in waves, crackling like electricity.
And then . . . he sort of staggers back. All his swagger, his bravado, crumbles away in a split second, just like that. “Why do we keep doing this? Yelling at each other like this?”
I let out my breath in a huff. “Because you always piss me off, that’s why, acting all smug and superior.”
“Yeah, and you always throw temper tantrums like some kind of spoiled brat. That’s just who we are. We’re not perfect.” He takes a deep, rattling breath. “But we’re good together, Jem.”
He’s right. I know he is, but . . .
“You say you love me, but you can’t even be bothered to tell me that you’re applying to a school in the same city as me? Not until the cat’s out the bag and everyone knows? What am I supposed to think, Ryder?”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “Don’t you get it? I want you to follow your dreams. To do what you want to do with your life—not what your parents want, or what Nan wants, or what I want. I didn’t want to take that away from you. If you knew I was thinking about going to Columbia . . .” He shakes his head.
“Then what? I’m having a hard time following your logic here.”
He sighs, his enormous shoulders seeming to sag. “I didn’t want you to apply just because I’m going to be in New York. Or hell, even worse, not apply because I’m going to be there. I was going to tell you right after you finished your application. But I wanted to tell you in person. And then the scout shows up at the game tonight, and what was I supposed to do? My mom is freaking out; you’re freaking out.” He throws his hands in the air in frustration. “I’ve totally fucked this up.”
It hits me then, the truth of the situation. He made his decision about Columbia on his own, and he wanted me to be able to do the same. Of course.
Hell, if it hadn’t been for the storm bringing us together like it did, I probably would have turned down NYU rather than risk going off to New York with him, and that’s the truth.
I drop my gaze to the ground and take a deep breath, cursing myself for being such an idiot.
“No, you haven’t,” I say at last, raising my eyes to meet his confused ones.
“Haven’t what?”
“Fucked it up.” I take a tentative step toward him. “I get it now. God, Ryder. Why do you have to be so perfect?”
“Perfect? I’ve been in love with you for so long now, and I’ve never managed to get it right, not once.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. “News flash—I think you’ve finally got it this time.”
His smile makes my heart leap. “Do you have any idea what was going through my head when you first told me about NYU? I couldn’t believe it. It was like . . . like a gift fell right into my lap. Like winning the lottery. All this time I thought going off to New York would mean leaving you behind. And now—”
“Now we both better get in,” I finish for him, though it probably wasn’t what he was going to say. I mean, he’s a shoo-in for Columbia. Perfect grades, high SATs, and a superstar quarterback the likes of which the Ivy League rarely sees. He’s every college admissions director’s dream. But me? If I get into NYU, it’ll be by the skin of my teeth. Because they want geographic diversity or something lame like that. I’m nothing special.
“Where will you go if you don’t get into NYU?” he asks.
“Where else?” I say. “Ole Miss, with Lucy and Morgan.”
“Then Ole Miss is my backup too. Here’s the thing, Jem. I’m going wherever you’re going—whether it’s New York or Oxford. I’m not missing my chance this time.”
“Why?” The word just tumbles out of my mouth before I can stop myself. “You’re going to be some kind of college superstar, whether it’s the SEC or the Ivy League. You’ll probably win a freaking Heisman.”
“And you just might win an Oscar,” he counters.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right. Please.”
“Why not? God, Jemma, you don’t even see it. How strong and smart and tenacious you are. Everything you do, you do well. I’ve never seen you put your mind to something and not come out on top. You win that trophy at cheer camp every single summer—what’s it called, the superstar award? Only three people at the whole camp get it or something like that, right?”
“How’d you know about that?”
“Miss Shelby told my mom. I think they put it in the yearbook, too, don’t they?”
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a cheerleading trophy.
“And how long did it take you to win your first shooting tournament after your dad bought you that gun? Six months, tops? From what I hear, you’re the best shot in all of Magnolia Branch.”
“Okay, that’s true,” I say, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
He reaches for my hand. “And then there’s those dresses you make, like the one you wore to homecoming. You take something old and make it new—turn it into something special. My mom says you and Lucy could make a fortune selling ’em, and I bet she’s right. Don’t you see? You’re not just good at the stuff you do—you’re the best. That’s just the way you are. So I have no doubt that you’re going to be some award-winning filmmaker if you put your mind to it.”
My heart swells unexpectedly. “You really think that?”
He nods, his dark eyes shining. “I really do.”
“Tell me again why we’ve hated each other all these years?”
“Because we’re both stubborn as mules?” he offers.
I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I’d say that about covers it.”
“I love you, Jemma. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to feel the same. I’ll wait forever if I have to.”
I suck in a breath. He doesn’t know. How would he? He’s said it to me, but I’ve never once said it back. “Trust me, you had me at ‘prettiest girl in all of Magnolia Branch,’ and then you sealed the deal with that whole ‘best shot’ thing.”
“Wait. . . . Are you saying . . . I mean—”
“Shhh.” I put my finger against his lips. “Though you’re really cute when you’re stuttering like that.”
“Hey, I don’t stutter.”
“Neither do I. I love you, Ryder Marsden. See?” I rise up on tiptoe and press my lips against his.
His arms encircle my waist, drawing me closer, till there’s no space whatsoever between our bodies, till I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. His mouth moves against mine, and he kisses me hungrily. Thoroughly. Expertly. And so very hotly.
This kiss is somehow different from the ones that have come before it. It’s a promise that he is mine, that I am his. It’s an acceptance of our fate. It’s the ultimate acknowledgment of something that’s been there all along, just waiting for us to discover it. To enjoy it. To celebrate it.
So we do.
We pull apart only when my phone buzzes in my jacket pocket, startling us both. I pull it out and glance down at the screen with trepidation. Just as I feared, it’s from Lucy.
Mom alert! Abort mission now!
ACT III
Scene 7
I
’ve gotta go,” I say, scowling at my phone.
“Now?” Ryder asks, tipping my chin up with one hand so that our eyes meet.
“Unfortunately. It’s my mom. Lucy and Morgan are covering for me, but I’ve got to get back. I’m supposed to be at the drugstore.”
“What are we going to tell them? Our moms, I mean?”
I shake my head. “We can’t tell them anything. At least, not yet. Can you imagine the pressure they’d put on us if they knew? I mean, they already drive us nuts and they think we hate each other.”
“You’re right. So . . . we keep it a secret?”
“Not exactly. I’ve got to tell Lucy and Morgan. Just . . . not our parents, okay? Besides, think how fun it will be, sneaking around.”
His eyes light with mischief. “Good point.”
“Don’t go getting any naughty ideas,” I tease. “C’mon, walk me to my car.”
He takes my hand and falls into step beside me, glancing down at me with a wicked grin.
“What?” I ask.
“Hey, you’re the one who brought up ‘naughty,’ not me.”
I poke him playfully in the ribs.
“I’ve got an idea,” he says. “Let’s pretend we’ve got to do a school project together. You know, say that we’ve been paired up against our will. We can make a big fuss about it—complain about having to spend so much time together.”
“While we secretly do lots of naughty things?” I offer.
He nods. “Exactly.”
I shiver, imagining the possibilities. Suddenly, I’m looking forward to those Sunday dinners at Magnolia Landing. And to Christmas and the inevitable Cafferty-Marsden winter vacation. In fact, the rest of the school year looms ahead like a lengthy stretch of opportunities, no longer filled with uncertainty and doubt, but with the knowledge that I’m on the right path now . . . the perfect path.
And like Nan suggested, I’m going to grab it. Embrace it. Hold on to it tightly—just like I’m holding on to this boy beside me.