She grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes, then her nose. She had a job to do. And once it was done, she would go back to New York, back to her real life.
WHEN GRIER WALKED into the conference room a few minutes later, it was to the immediate realization that her mother was no longer there.
Undeniable relief washed over her, and she felt as if she could finally breathe again. Shame nipped at the heels of the relief, but she pushed it away, unwilling to give it any pull.
She used the time during which the girls were completing their questionnaires to catch up on voice mail messages from the office, mostly distracting herself from the unexpected encounter.
Forty-five minutes later, Gil returned with the stack of questionnaires. Snacks had been set up in the other room for the girls during the wait while Grier quickly went through them.
They had been given extremely specific parameters for an initial elimination. The duke was quite specific in his likes and dislikes. No airheads. GPA 3.4 or above. Dog lovers only. She could like him for that one. No fu-fu girls who disapproved of a few dog hairs, and if they weren’t cool with a dog in the house, then they weren’t the girl for him. That one alone knocked twenty-five out of the running. And then there was the question about why it was nice to have money.
A: It made getting into clubs easier
B: It was always nice to pamper yourself
C: It gave a person choices
Surprisingly enough, his preferred answer was C. And that eliminated another twelve girls.
The last question: what was the most important thing a guy could give a girl?
A: Flowers
B: A cool ride for dates
C: Respect for his mother
This one really made Grier wonder. What seventeen-year old boy would have written that? Maybe his mother had written it.
That answer knocked out another sixteen girls, leaving the new total at thirty-two.
“Well, that does it,” Gil said. “Guess we’ll go from here.”
Grier felt a little sorry for the ones who would be leaving after this, but the thought of weeding her way through thirty-two determined and likely deserving girls made her wonder if she had been crazy to take this on.
She put the non-eliminating questionnaires in a folder. “Now for the not so fun part,” she said to Gil. “Shall we bring them back in?”
Gil went to the adjoining room and signaled that they were ready for them.
A few minutes later, the girls were all reseated, staring at Grier with the same look in their eyes she had seen in the eyes of American Idol contestants right before their elimination. “Okay, everyone, as I said before, this initial elimination round is based on questions sent by George himself about the kind of girl he feels he’s most compatible with. And while I wish every one of you could be chosen to go to that ball with him, unfortunately, it will only be one of you. If I call your name, please follow Gil outside the room into the lobby area. Jessica Jameson, Holly Munroe, Tara Munson.”
And so the names went on for another seventy or so, until the room was left with the girls who had not been eliminated. “You thirty-two young ladies will remain for the next round of consideration.”
A cheer erupted in unison, the girls hugging one another and high-fiving. Grier’s gaze went to Andy Randall, still sitting beside her mother in the back row. Andy’s expression showed no emotion of any kind. Grier wondered whose idea it was for her to be here anyway.
Grier left the room and stepped into the lobby where the seventy plus girls stood looking as if they no longer had anything to live for.
Her heart went out to them, and she wished somehow that she could tell them life would hold joys and wonders far more amazing and wonderful than a date with George. That this let down was really just a little pot hole along the way.
“Girls, I want to thank you for coming out today. I understand that each of you had your hopes up for this. I wish that I didn’t have to disappoint any of you. If it were up to me, every single one of you would be the winner.”
A half smile and shrugged shoulders met the statement. Grier watched as they turned and trudged from the lobby through the doors of the Inn. Gil looked at Grier. “They’ll get over it. At sixteen, everything is life or death.”
The two of them rejoined the group of still bubbling over teenagers, and Grier began the process that would shatter the hopes of yet a second round of eager girls.
The interviews were conducted in a small sitting room off the main lobby. Gil directed each girl in and out and held her to the five-minute time allotment like a German shepherd holding a suspect in place while the arresting officer questioned him. If it weren’t for his careful monitoring of the time she spent with each girl, they could be here until midnight.
The difficult thing was that each of the girls had something about them that made them special. Some of them were funny, some serious, some more eager to know about Grier’s career than about George.
Anderson Randall was a tough nut to crack though. She walked into the room, wearing a deadpan expression that hid what Grier already knew was a beautiful smile. “Hello, Anderson,” Grier said.
“Hi. I prefer Andy.”
“Have a seat, please, Andy.”
She pulled out a chair, crossing her arms across her chest, looking suddenly awkward and gawky.
“So why are you here today, Andy?”
“I want to go on a date with George like everybody else here?”
Grier smiled. “Now why don’t I believe that?” She looked down at the application Andy had filled out, saw the 4.0 GPA, the interest in historical architecture. “You don’t seem like someone who would care an awful lot about that.”
“What do I seem like I would care about?” she asked, a little short.
“Meeting someone on your own?”
“Around here?” Andy said.
Grier inclined her head, then said, “So why do you want to go out with him?”
Andy’s gaze went wide, as if she felt she was being unfairly prodded as to her motivation. “Does it really matter?”
“Yes, actually, it does,” Grier said. “I just kind of have a feeling that you’re not here on your own.”
“That’s not true,” Andy said. “I am here on my own.”
“And your mother very much wants you to be?”
“And my daddy very much doesn’t want me to be. But I don’t really care what either of them thinks. I’m here because I want to be here.”
Grier considered this, doodled on her paper for a minute and then said, “What if he’s not what you’re expecting?”
“Well, I’m not expecting much. Surely, he’ll live up to that.”
Grier laughed then, charmed in spite of herself. “He would certainly have his hands full with you.”
Andy looked surprised by this. She glanced away, folded her arms across her chest and bit her lower lip. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to go somewhere, do something different, be somebody different?”
“Actually, I have,” Grier said.
“Is that why you left here?”
Grier raised an eyebrow. “How did you know—”
“My daddy said you used to date Uncle Darryl Lee.”
Grier had to press her lips together at the sound of uncle and Darryl Lee paired together. “Yes, that was a very long time ago.”
“He’s not as bad as everyone makes him out to be,” Andy said. “He just likes to have fun.”
“Nothing wrong with that as long as no one gets hurt.”
Andy considered this. “Daddy thinks he’s irresponsible.”
“Your daddy could be right.”
“I think Daddy would do well to borrow a little of Uncle Darryl Lee’s live and let live.”
“Hm,” Grier said. “So what is your daddy going to say if you win this date with George?”
“There’s not a whole lot he can say.”
“Actually, you’re sixteen. There’s a good bit he could say. If t
here’s a chance that he won’t allow you to do this, then it’s really not fair to take the opportunity away from another girl.”
“Don’t say that!” Andy erupted with clear indignation. “This is something I want to do. My mom already signed the consent form. It doesn’t matter what Daddy thinks.”
“Andy—”
“Please,” she said. “Don’t eliminate me based on that. Give me a chance!”
Grier’s heart twisted a little at the pleading in the girl’s voice. She wasn’t sure of the origin of it, but she knew it was real. She remembered suddenly what it felt like to be sixteen and yearn to be anywhere in the world except where she was. Even if it was just for a day.
Gil entered the room with an abrupt knock and a pointed glance at her watch. “Okay, time’s up.”
Andy stared at Grier, then stood and in a soft voice said, “Please.”
“Thank you, Andy. It was nice talking with you.”
While Grier waited for the next interviewee to come in, she thought about the look on Andy’s face and wondered about the real truth behind why this was so important to her.
Dear Andy,
Will u b my girl?
____Yes ____ No
Note from Kyle Summers
Second Grade – Timbell Creek Elementary
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Andy didn’t bother to wait for her mother.
She stormed out of the Inn, click clacking down the sidewalk in her ridiculously high heels and, waiting until she had rounded the corner out of sight, tossing them in the shrubbery by the sidewalk.
She had never felt so stupid in her entire life. What had she been thinking to enter such a lame-butt contest anyway? It wasn’t as if she really gave a pile of cow poop about ever actually going on a date with George, Duke of Wherever. He was probably a total zero anyway.
All she cared about was GETTING OUT OF THIS TOWN. Away from her mom. And her dad. And their infernal fussing over her.
Entering this contest was exactly the kind of thing her mom would have done at age sixteen, according to her dad’s recollection, anyway.
Sometimes, Andy wanted to be exactly like her. And others, she wanted to run from the very thought. This was one of those times.
But somewhere down deep in the mess of all this, she wanted to show her dad that she could do the things that her mom did. That she was every bit as pretty. That she was her mother’s daughter.
But then that was crazy, wasn’t it? Because this morning during every minute of sitting in that room, all she had wanted was to get up and run, as far and as fast as she could from the whole thing.
A horn tooted behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Kyle idling up in his rattly old Ford pickup. He leaned across the seat and rolled down the window.
“Hey, Andy! What are you doing?”
“Walking. What does it look like?”
“You’re in the middle of town. Barefoot. In an evening dress.”
“It’s not an evening dress,” she said.
“Cocktail dress. Whatever. Where have you been?”
“None of your business.”
He revved the engine and rolled on ahead, then pulled over at an angle, swinging the door open. “Get in,” he said. “We’ll go get ice cream.”
“I don’t want any ice cream.”
“You always want ice cream.”
“I don’t want any now.”
“Andy, come on, get in.”
She glanced over her shoulder, saw her mother’s convertible pulling up behind them, and said, “Go! Go!”
“What is wrong with you?” Kyle said, eyeing the low neckline of her dress and then jerking his gaze up when she gave him a pointed look. “Where have you been?” he asked.
“At the Inn,” she said. “Can you just go?”
He gunned the truck, and they took off. “Don’t tell me you were there for that stupid George, Duke of—”
“Stop!” she said.
He started to laugh. “You really entered that, Andy?”
“It’s none of your business whether I entered it or not.”
“Are you kidding me? You? Why in the world would you care about some ridiculous date with a—”
“A date with a duke sounds like a pretty good thing to me right about now,” Andy said.
“Since when?” he said.
“Since you became such a jerk?”
“Andy. Ever since I started playing football—”
“You don’t have time for anything you used to have time for.”
“I lift weights and run track so I don’t get out of shape.”
“And hang out with the cheerleaders,” Andy said.
“You’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Andy, I asked you to come to the games last fall.”
“I didn’t want to come to the games. I hate football.”
“Well, I need a scholarship for college. Unlike you, mine’s not paid for.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair. You haven’t picked up on that yet.”
They glared at each other, while Andy swam in a pool of mixed emotions. Fondness for the boy she had known since she was six years old and the first day of kindergarten. Frustration for the jock he had become since school had started in the fall and he’d become such a big football star. Whatever it was they’d been to each other all these years was no longer there. And it was just high time they both accepted it.
A car laid on the horn behind them.
Andy glanced back to see her mother barreling down on them.
“My mom’s still behind us. Go! I don’t want to talk to her right now.”
Kyle swung a right on Cherry Street, hit the gas and the old truck shuddered once, then bolted forward. He hung a left on Amherst Way. Andy glanced back. Her mother had missed the turn.
“Yay,” she said, sinking back against the seat.
“So why are you running from your mom?”
“Because she makes me crazy,” Andy said.
“A person could call you Sybil where she’s concerned.”
Andy shrugged at this. “It is kind of like that.”
“What did your dad say about you going to that thing?”
“What do you think he said?”
“No.”
“Doesn’t matter what he said.”
“Since when?”
“Since I decided it’s time I grew up.”
He looked at her and then said, “Why don’t we go to a movie tomorrow night?”
“I’m sure you already have plans with your cheerleader friends.”
“I don’t have plans. If I did, I wouldn’t have asked you.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, now that you think I might be going out with a duke, you’re all hot after me.”
He laughed. “Who says you’re gonna win?”
“I say I’m gonna win. And for your information, I’m busy tomorrow night.”
Kyle turned into her driveway. The brakes squeaked. “I’ll get out here,” Andy said, popping open the door.
“I can drive you up, Andy,” Kyle began.
“No need. See you, Kyle,” she said, hopping out and walking barefoot down the paved road. She had to try her very hardest not to look back.
“Winners, I am convinced, imagine their dreams first. They want it with all their heart and expect it to come true. There is, I believe, no other way to live.”
– Kyle Summers’ favorite Joe Montana quote
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kyle turned off the engine to the Jeep and let it coast down the gravel driveway, flicking off the headlights just before he rounded the curve to the trailer.
It was late, after eleven now. His dad would have fallen asleep hours ago in the recliner chair where he’d spent every night in front of the TV for as long as Kyle could remember, watching shows guaranteed to rot the brain. He rolled to a stop next to his dad’s truck and pushed in the parking brake.
H
e dropped his head against the back of the seat. He dreaded going inside. Dreaded his dad waking up and asking where he’d been. It was the same question he asked every time Kyle came home. A question they both knew the answer to. It didn’t matter where he was as long as it wasn’t here.
Blowing out a sigh, he opened the door and slid out, crossing the mostly dirt yard to the trailer door. Through a window, he saw his dad in the chair, wished that for once he could make it to his room without waking him.
He turned the knob and slowly pulled the door open. The hinge squeaked, and his dad sat upright, shaking himself awake. “Kyle. What time is it?”
“Six or so.”
His dad stared at him for a moment, then raised the chair to an upright position. “I must have dozed off.” He still wore the blue Dickey pants and shirt he wore each day to the textile factory where he’d worked for the past twenty years. His hair, once as dark as Kyle’s, had gone mostly gray while Kyle was still in elementary school. It seemed like one day, all of a sudden, his dad had just become old, his shoulders no longer straight, but stooped. His skin wrinkling like balled up tissue paper.
“You had dinner?”
“I’m not hungry,” Kyle said, sure there wasn’t anything in the frig even if he had been.
“All right, then.”
“Got some studying to do,” Kyle said, catching the scent of b.o. as he walked by his dad’s chair. He wondered how many days it had been since he’d showered. A feeling of disgust rolled up inside him. Kyle pushed it back and headed down the short hallway to his room at the end of the sixty-five foot trailer.
He closed the thin, fake wood door behind him, flicked on the lamp next to his twin bed. The dark paneled walls were covered with posters of football heroes, Walter Payton, Jerry Rice, Joe Montana and Eli Manning. Today’s heroes didn’t do much for him. It was the legends that interested him. Because that’s what he wanted to be one day. A legend.
On a rectangular table in the far corner of the room sat the trophies he’d won throughout his years of sandlot football, then junior varsity and now varsity.
Jane Austen Girl - A Timbell Creek Contemporary Romance Page 9