It Had to Be You

by Lizzy Charles

  “No, but I’d rather not be asked than go as a pity date.”

  “You’ll never be anyone’s pity date, Edelweiss.” I brush against her shoulder. “And that’s not why I’m asking you. Maybe we can go as friends?”

  “Friends?” She punches in the code to her dorm. “James, don’t waste the winter formal on me, not when there are so many girls you’ve been eyeing the last six weeks.”

  “Hey, I…” The words slam into the back of my throat. “That meant nothing.”

  “Just old habit?” That’s a hard edge in her eyes, one I don’t dare try to challenge right now.

  Obviously, I hurt her, and that knowledge cuts deep. I nod, stepping back and allowing her to pass into the girls’ dorm. There’s a long way to go before I can even come close to winning her back, but I’ll do whatever it takes for her to trust me again.

  I take a deep breath, wandering back down the stairs. To win her back? Well, my arsenal is empty, and somehow I doubt Creighton is going to be up to hearing me out. I tug out my phone and call the one guy who knows me best.

  “Dad?” I say the moment he answers. “You awake?”

  He chuckles. “Of course I’m awake. I think it’d be a bit more appropriate for me to be asking you that question, don’t you? Isn’t it a Saturday morning?”

  Normally I’d make some snide remark about how I’m always up early on Saturdays for practice, and on the days we don’t have practice I’m still hitting the gym by six thirty a.m. But instead, defeating words tumble out. “I guess so.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Dad. You don’t want to hear this, but I screwed up everything with Edel.”

  There’s a long silence before he answers. “Is she pregnant?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Thank God.” He exhales into the phone. There’s another long pause, and the space makes me antsy. “How about you talk, and I’ll listen until you’re done?”

  “Okay.” I spill out all the facts. How our relationship was fake, and why it was fake. I pace back and forth down the hallway while I confess that I did it to convince him I was serious about staying at Brockmore, and how I’m sorry for being so ignorant as to think a fake girlfriend would fix me.

  “Son,” he says when I’m finally done. “You know you could drop out of high school, get a girl pregnant, and work at a gas station, and I would always love you, right? I’m so sorry that you felt like you needed to be fake to gain my approval.”

  My eyes sting, and I cough, studying the cracks in the aging Sheetrock.

  “You still like Edelweiss.” It’s not a question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Listen close, James Matthew. After your mother’s death, I always worried that I wouldn’t be enough for you.” He takes a deep breath. “So much so that when you hit your teenage years, I thought you needed a motherly influence in a way I didn’t think I could provide, so I convinced myself you’d be best in Julie’s hands at Brockmore. Today I understand that I’m wrong. I shouldn’t have doubted that and sent you away to Brockmore. My love is enough, son. Let that knowledge be your firm foundation so you can look at Edelweiss and not doubt whether or not you deserve her love, because James, you are loved by me through your core.”

  It’s pretty much impossible to see through my wet eyes. Eventually, I cough out a “Thanks, Dad.”

  “So,” his voice is lighter, changing the tone. “Lucky for you, I messed up royally with your mother at the beginning of our relationship yet still managed to win her over. Tell me where you’re at with her, and we’ll hash out a plan to get you back in the game.”

  “Dad.” I wipe away the dampness below my eyelids. “You’re the best.”

  “We’ll figure this out together.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Edelweiss

  For the last week, James has somehow managed to work himself back into my life. The first day, he walked me to a class. On Tuesday, he took the table next to mine in the library, eventually shifting over to join me. Ever so slowly, he’s eased himself back into a miniature, more distant version of our old routine.

  And it sucks. My heart is constantly aching when he’s not around, and when he is, it’s just a painful reminder of what we’re not.

  Last night, when we walked back from the library, I almost told him how I felt. My heart felt like it would burst if I didn’t let out my secret. The pain of losing him felt more tolerable than the ache of longing to be with him.

  Thankfully, he saved us both. He must have sensed it coming, because the moment I opened my mouth he made an excuse that Gavin needed some help with his final lit essay and had to get back to his room.

  I scroll through his most recent texts when he asks my opinion about the nominees for next year’s football captain.

  Yup. Definitely friend-zoned.

  I must have sighed, because Tuti hops off her bed. “That’s it,” she says. “I’ve had enough. It’s time for you to start living again.” She grabs my journal and tosses it toward me. “What else does it say on that list of yours?”

  Oh God. Not this thing. I throw it right in the trash.

  “Fine.” She snatches it out of my trash bin and dares to open it. I shrug. Whatever. There’s nothing in there that’s more humiliating than what I’ve already endured.

  “Girl, how did you even come up with sixty-two things to do before going to college? And look, you’ve only checked off half of them. We need to do something about that.” She glances through the pages once again. “There. Number eighteen: go to a dance in a beautiful dress.” Tuti rolls her eyes. “And you claim you don’t want to go to the winter formal tonight?”

  “Tuti, I’m not up to it.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Tuti pulls out her own silver, flowing gown from the garment bag in her closet. “After all this moping around—yes, moping—you owe me. I will not let you miss this, and I don’t care if you are dateless, you’re going.”

  “Says the girl who doesn’t have to walk into the ballroom alone. Even Ainsley is going with Gavin, and Charlotte’s going with…” Actually, I have no idea who Charlotte decided to pair up with—evidence that I’ve been too stuffed into my own drama. It’s time for this to change. I need to learn to be an amazing friend like these girls are for me.

  “Oliver.” Tuti brushes out her hair for the one-hundredth time. It’s sleek, straight, and gorgeous. “He’s president of the drama club. They aren’t serious, just friends.”

  “Well, are you excited to go on a real date with Jordan?” Because whatever that is, it’s serious, even if it hasn’t played out past a look.

  She sticks out her tongue at me instead of answering. I love how her playfulness makes the room feel like a playground. “Where’s your dress?”

  “I don’t have one.” I plunge my hands into my Brockmore hoodie.

  “Why not? A formal gown was listed on the school supplies.”

  “We didn’t want to go overweight on my luggage, and I figured if I was asked to the Winter Ball I’d buy one.”

  “I still can’t believe he hasn’t asked you yet.”

  My tongue stings as I nip it with my teeth, not wanting to tell her the truth. “Maybe he’s already asked someone else?”

  “Well, forget him then.” She plucks through a few items in my closet, tugging out my favorite sundress. “Nope. This won’t do.”

  “Tuti, I’m not going.”

  “All of us are going with friends anyway. What will it take to get you to go?”

  “A date and a dress.”

  She taps her desk while she thinks. “What if Jordan takes both of us?”

  “No.” I flop down onto my bed. Being a third wheel is not my style. I’d rather take another English final.

  “Yes. People do this all the time. Jordan will be thrilled to have you tag along.”

  Doubtful.

  “There, message sent.” She props her phone up while she presses out her gown. Not even a full minute passes bef
ore he responds. “He’s in.”

  “Tuti, I’d rather go to the ball alone than as a third wheel.”

  “Then come alone! Please. Tomorrow’s our last night on campus together before I have to fly back to Washington for a month and you go visit your parents in Monaco.”

  “We can Skype.”

  “Please, Edelweiss.” She pulls me to my feet. “I won’t have any fun knowing you’re binge-watching Gilmore Girls and cheering for Rory to get together with Logan when we all know she should end up with Jess.”

  “Ugh. Jess is so not her type. Why can’t you see that?”

  “Please. I’m serious. I want you there.” She squeezes my hands. “You’ve had a ridiculous semester. Let’s end it on a high note. I need you there.” Her cheeks flush. “Be my wing girl, okay?”

  There’s an urgency in her brown doe eyes that I can’t say no to. She’s done so much for me this semester. If I said no, I’d be the worst friend in the world. “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “If you need me, I’m there.”

  “Well, thank God, because…” She gets down on her hands and knees and pulls out a giant box from under my bed. One I didn’t put there. “I may have snooped through your closet a few days ago and—rightfully—grew concerned at your lack of gown.”

  “What did you do?”

  She tugs off the lid of the box and unwraps the tissue paper. Inside there’s a blue gown with a scooping sweetheart neck. “Charlotte guessed your size, and we ordered it online. Don’t worry about the price. It’s my gift to you.”

  I carefully take the dress out, pressing it to my form. The baby-blue fabric flows down and the hem flutters against the floor. It’s absolutely gorgeous. “It’s totally my style. I love it.”

  “We forgot to order shoes, though.”

  “My ballet flats will work fine with this.” The gown will cover up my feet anyway. “Thank you, Tuti. This means the world to me.”

  “See. I wasn’t kidding about how much I want you there. Now, if you would only stop hiding in our room and start wandering the halls, I bet you anything James will ask you out.”

  “If he really wanted to ask me, he would have this afternoon when he walked me to my world lit final.” I know I shouldn’t have been disappointed, especially since he asked me a week ago, but every time James is near, my heart races and my palms itch, hoping to hold his hand. The fact he didn’t ask proves that he only asked the first time out of guilt.

  “He walked you to class? Edelweiss, wake up! I’ve known James for almost three years now, and I can guarantee he’s never tried this hard to get a girl.”

  “That’s because they chase him.”

  “He likes you.”

  No. He’s antsy every time he’s near me, and when he speaks, it’s almost like he’s struggling to tolerate me. “Jordan likes you, too.” There’s a topic change she won’t be able to handle.

  She tosses her hands in the air. “Who has time for boyfriends anyway? Did you know that the moment you get a boyfriend you lose subscribers? And these are female subscribers! Not an option for me. My channel supports my tuition at Brockmore and every subscriber counts. If I want to stay out from under my parents’ noses, then I need to work. Come on. Let’s try on your dress and figure out what way to take your makeup tonight.”

  …

  A promise is a promise, and I won’t let Tuti down.

  I glance over the rail down three floors to the atrium below. The event planners the council hired held to their promise to make everything delicate, warm, and gorgeous. LED candles and white roses decorate the grand stairway, leading the way into the ballroom, transforming Brockmore into an enchanted castle.

  Creighton must have had a huge budget for this formal for decoration, photography, and gourmet catering: steak, chicken, and a vegan risotto. It seems way over the top for high school, but in student council, she mentioned it’s essential to appease parents who expect Brockmore to represent a “higher society.”

  I hid in my room until I was sure all the students had descended the grand stairway. Going to a dance alone is one thing, but walking down for the couples’ photos is a bit more torture than I’m willing to inflict on my psyche.

  The two photographers wander among the crowd of students below. Their umbrella lights are turned off at the base of the stairway and now they snap candid group photos while they wait for the ballroom doors to open. Beautiful corsages and boutonnieres pepper everyone’s formal attire, except for my girls. They took a different route, wearing a piece of jewelry that starts on their left wrists and spirals up their forearms to their elbows with small beaded flowers speckling the chain to match their gowns. Ainsley’s flowers are a deep green, matching the green ombré top of her gown; Charlotte’s pale-pink flowers are a gentle complement to the blushed slinky number she’s using to highlight those killer hips; and Tuti’s silver gown makes the white flowers on her forearm pop.

  My arm is notably bare. I rub my skin. Now this is a challenge I never wrote down on that damn list. Staring down at my arm and swallowing the fact that I’ll be the only girl at the dance without a date and a corsage feels like I’m asking myself to climb Mount Everest.

  A small part of me screams to abandon ship. But if traveling the world and being a student at Brockmore have taught me anything, it’s how to shake things off.

  My friends bought me a gown. I have friends. Real friends who look after me. Sitting in my room would be refusing to live. Yes, James may be in some corner wrapped up in a girl, but letting that drive me back into my room would be cowardly.

  And I was raised to be strong.

  My phone vibrates in my clutch, a text from Tuti. Are you coming?

  Wouldn’t waste the beautiful dress you bought. Be down soon.

  Gear up, Edelweiss. Climb the mountain and shut up.

  I take a deep breath and force myself down the side stairs that lead to the top of the grand stairway.

  Still, my heart thumps with each step. Take your shoulders away from your ears. Breathe. But when I reach the landing of the grand stairway, not a head even shifts in my direction, because at that exact second the doors to the ballroom are whisked open and the sea of students below drift into the Winter Ball. Perfect timing. I glide my hand down the rail while I skip down the steps as fast as possible, my footsteps pattering on the marble floor.

  “Do you want your picture taken for the blog, miss?” A photographer in the corner of the room calls out. “I haven’t moved my lights into the ballroom yet,” he explains. “I can just flick one on and get a quick shot if you want to grab your partner.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Are you sure? We’re contracted to get photos of all the students up on the Brockmore blog in their formal wear.”

  “Maybe you can hit me up on the dance floor with my friends?”

  A bead of sweat forms on his guy’s temple, and his cheeks suddenly flush deep red. That’s right. I’m single.

  “Absolutely. I’ll make sure to snag one with your friends later.”

  “Thank you.” And I thought I’d only have to deal with my own embarrassment of being dateless. I force myself to keep my head high as I walk into the ballroom, for both of our sakes, but I don’t even make it through the doors without being struck silly by the gorgeousness of the space that’s always locked to students.

  Beautiful blue-and-golden wallpaper wraps up the walls. The floor-to-ceiling windows are draped in gold. On the tour Mom thought the three chandeliers were a bit much, but with them lit and the popping flames in the fireplaces on mirroring walls, they give off the warmest, golden glow. In all its grandeur, somehow the room doesn’t feel overdone. More like the room is an entity on its own. Grand yet somehow delicate and warm. Absolutely breathtaking.

  “Welcome to the one hundredth and twenty-second Brockmore Winter Ball.” Headmistress Creighton speaks into the microphone in the middle of the dance floor, dressed in a lavender gown. “What a magical evening this is, a
nd, may I say, you all clean up quite lovely.” A light, nervous laughter bubbles through the crowd. “Per tradition, we will open with a waltz before we share our meal.”

  A coupled waltz? They did not explicitly outline this in the student handbook. Burning panic swirls through my heart. I figured I’d just avoid the dance floor during slow dances, then blend in when the music picked up. Okay, maybe if I take a seat at one of the back tables in the shadows, I’ll survive this without being noticed.

  The lead violinist of the string quartet in the corner nods, and the group pulls their bows across the strings to make a warm, upbeat tune resonate through the room.

  One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

  Jordan leads Tuti onto the dance floor, and they step into the rhythm like they’re professionals. Only the freshmen seem to fumble their steps a bit.

  Then, just beyond the dancers on the other side of the room, I see him. His tuxedo hugs his shoulders just right. He looks so good I could melt. Where is his date?

  He smiles at me, and with one grin he unwinds all the knots in my back. I shrug effortlessly, smiling back, hoping he’ll come over to me. It takes him less than ten seconds to reach my side.

  “Hey.” I nudge his dress shoe with my toe.

  He tucks a hand in his pocket and glances out at the dance floor. Out from his pocket he pulls a box, opening it to reveal a slight chain with beads of baby-blue flowers. The same style of jewelry that Tuti, Ainsley, and Charlotte are all wearing wrapped up their arm.

  This. Was. Planned. My mouth runs dry as I gaze down at the black box.

  The hardwood floor creaks as he shifts. “May I have this dance?”

  I study him for a beat, wondering if this is worth the pain that may follow. But there’s something about him that’s been so constant and good. There’s no way I can say no again. “Yes,” I whisper.

  He removes the chain, linking its ends around my wrist in a bracelet and twisting the chain up my arm to fasten it just over my elbow.