by Julia Day
He unfolded from his desk and faced the door. I ripped off my ponytail holder, combed my fingers through my hair, and channeled Elizabeth Bennet.
Chairs squawked and notebooks fluttered as I walked to the front, but no one said a word. Not sure if my classmates were stunned by my appearance or just used to being mute in the presence of Ms. Barrie.
Probably both.
With a curt nod at our teacher, I said, “Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Volume two, chapter eleven. An improvisation.”
There was an odd stillness in the room—a quiet so complete it was as if everyone held their breath.
Ash turned, stiff and forbidding. His gaze landed first on my face, swept down my body, and raised to my face again. There was no change in his expression, except in his eyes. They widened with shock. The good kind.
The shock went both ways, because he looked really good to me too. He wore black jeans and a dress shirt, pristine white and molded to the muscles of his chest and arms. If this was his interpretation of the twenty-first-century gentleman’s best clothing, I approved. Ash—the gorgeous, modern Darcy.
A fine, tall person, handsome features …
The silence stretched, the classroom faded, and we simply stared, studying each other. Was this how Elizabeth felt? Overwhelmed by the sight of him as she fought to resist?
“Eden, you look amazing.”
Pride flowed warm and sweet through my veins. I liked the compliment better than I should have. “Thanks, but you didn’t come here to say that.”
“No, I didn’t. It’s just … I’ve come to say how much I ardently admire and adore you.”
It was the most predictable way to begin this scene, and I hadn’t expected it at all. “You admire me?”
“Insane but true.” He moved closer, until we were nearly toe to toe, his spring-fresh scent washing over me. “Go with me to the homecoming dance.”
“Homecoming?” I repeated. Why had I been downgraded from prom to a dance? “Is this a joke?”
“I wouldn’t joke about asking you out.”
“Then where did you get the idea that I might be interested in you?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, one brow arching until it disappeared behind the hair tumbling over his forehead. “If we’re in the same room, you’re watching me.”
“You can’t know that unless you’re watching back.”
“You take the same classes I do.”
“Like all college-bound seniors at this school.”
“You’ve shown up in the media center on Mondays when I’ve been there with my study group.”
Whoa. He’d noticed that last year? “Pure coincidence, although it’s predictably arrogant that you thought you were the cause.” I looked up at him with Lizzy’s haughty disdain. “I’m sorry, Ash. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I won’t go out with you.”
“You’re turning me down? Without even thinking about it?”
“I don’t have to. I wouldn’t date you if you were the only guy asking.”
“I am the only guy asking.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Nobody else would dare.”
His claim shuddered through me. Murray Fielder had dared, and it’d been a disaster. Had Ash forgotten, or had he used dare on purpose? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Remorse clouded his eyes. “I don’t want to say.”
Well, he would have to. This was the climax of the scene. He couldn’t back down. I wouldn’t let that happen. “Coward.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just say it, Ash. Or do we need to wait until you text your mommy for permission to speak?”
“Fine, Eden.” Humiliation hardened his face. “You avoid the rest of us. You’re the last one in the classroom and the first to leave. You dress like a street person and shut down conversations by swearing. If no one asks you out, it’s because you won’t let us forget you’re trailer trash.”
Even though I’d been anticipating something like this, the reality of his last statement punched me in the gut. I took a quick step back and stumbled. Ash’s arm whipped out and locked around my waist, his hand warm and steady at the small of my back. I reached for him, my fingers connecting with the solid muscle of his upper arm. We stood in a near embrace, breathing hard.
Trailer trash? I thought I’d been prepared for whatever he might say, but I was wrong. Ash had gone off script, and I could hardly take the pain.
How can someone go off script in an improv?
No, this wasn’t an improv anymore. It was Ash and Eden, shredding each other. “I would’ve never guessed you had the balls to say that. But as charming as this discovery is, it doesn’t change my decision. I’d rather stay home alone than dance with an arrogant asshole like you.”
The warm pressure left my waist as he slowly disentangled his arm. “My mistake,” he said, his voice soft yet distinct. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. Have a nice life.”
The squeak of his shoes was the only sound in the room. He stalked to the open door and leaned against its frame. I looked at my hands, my hair swinging forward to curtain my face.
When the class broke into applause, I flinched. I’d forgotten where I was and that they were there.
I looked at Ash, visible to me but not to the rest of the class. He stood in profile, head thrown back, breathing through his mouth.
What had we done?
“Eden,” Ms. Barrie said. I blinked at her. She motioned me over.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Are you all right?” Her tone was quiet and concerned.
I nodded, not meeting her gaze.
“Go to your seat then.” She turned and called, “Ash?”
Her voice sent a jolt through him. He ducked his head and turned back to the room.
I shuffled to my seat, slipped on the plaid shirt, and tried to convince myself that this grade had been worth the cost.
* * *
There was an assembly before lunch to ensure that students understood the perils of saturated fat. On our return from the auditorium, Mundy spewed a nonstop stream of consciousness, oblivious to my lack of participation.
“The MIM was fabulous. It seemed real.”
I jammed my fists in my pockets and ignored the crowd, the noise, and Mundy. The scene hadn’t been real. It was fiction, people. Jane Austen wrote it two hundred years ago. It was her premise. Her emotions. Ash and I had merely been the vessels.
Except it hadn’t felt like pretend. The words just flowed, and some of the things we’d said had crossed the line.
“When Ash caught you with one hand and you hung on? That was intense. It’s a wonder someone didn’t tell you to get a room.”
“Shut up, Mundy.” My whole body ached. I didn’t want to be here.
“Your dialog was perfect. I can hardly believe it was unscripted.”
“Stop.”
“The bit about coward/trailer trash? Amazing. Your expressions were angry and hopeless at the same time. Academy Award performances.”
“Shut the hell up.”
She whirled around and looked uncertain. “What?”
I halted, staring at her with blazing eyes. “Could you try to tune in?”
“Wow, uh—”
“Ash and I said horrible things to each other, and I hated it.”
“I didn’t realize—”
“Now that you do, could you drop it?”
“Okay. Sorry.” She gave me a pained smile. “If it helps, you looked stunning.”
“Mundy.” I shook my head at her, annoyed but also relieved that she’d raised the other touchy subject. “The makeover was a bad idea, and I wish I hadn’t let you talk me into it. For the rest of the year, it’ll hang over me. I’ll be stared at every day, while people wonder when I’ll appear next in Heather’s body. I don’t want that kind of attention ever again. Got it?”
She nodded solemnly.
I exhaled a noisy breath, glad that was
behind us, although she was right about something. I had felt angry and hopeless when he’d called me trailer trash, and it still gnawed at me. The MIM wasn’t really over yet. I wanted to apologize to Ash, and I needed him to apologize to me.
“Ash is about to walk by.”
I spun around and searched the crowd until I found him. It was clear that he’d seen me, for his gaze was focused carefully on the sidewalk. His Indian friends surrounded him on three sides, like a walking fortress. As they passed Mundy, he glanced my way, the tension in his face mirroring mine.
“Ash, we need to talk.”
Everybody froze.
“I don’t think that would be wise.” His voice was tight.
Maybe not, but I wasn’t backing down now. “Three p.m. today.”
“I always have study group on Mondays.”
“I know.”
When he faced me, his friends closed ranks around him. There was a long silence. I kept my expression blank, unwilling for them to see how much this meant to me.
Upala murmured, “Let’s go.”
He shook his head, as if rousing from a dream. “Where?”
“Same place,” I said, not wanting the others to know.
He gave one sharp nod, spun on his heel, and charged up the stone staircase leading to the building’s side entrance. His entourage followed.
“Wow,” Mundy said. “That was … bold.”
I’d call it crazy, but it had to be done. Now, if he would just show up.
* * *
It was quiet in the park, too early for school kids to have gotten here yet and too late for babies needing naps.
The gazebo was empty, as I’d hoped. I plopped on the floor, my back against a pillar, sitting directly opposite the steps.
I’d walked. He had a car. How come I was here and he wasn’t? Had he thought better of meeting with me?
I glanced at my arm. The scratches looked human-inflicted and painful. It was a good thing that Mundy had lent me her bracelet.
Closing my eyes, I tried to relax, weary beyond belief.
The slamming of a car door startled me awake. There was a minute of silence. A soft tread on the steps. He hesitated at the top, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the shade.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hello.” He crossed the space and dropped to the floor a couple of feet away. We both faced the entrance, staring at the trees that dotted the park.
“Ms. Barrie spoke to me on the way out of class,” I said. “We’ll get an A.”
“I could’ve found that out tomorrow.”
Anxiety rolled over me. His tone reflected the same dazed regret I felt. “I’m about to be honest with you, and I want you to be honest with me.”
“We started that game earlier today.”
Crap, he didn’t have to make this any harder than it already was. “Please, Ash.”
“Fine.” He shifted uncomfortably.
“When I said no hard feelings, I lied.”
“Got that.”
“The MIM became personal.”
“Like you said before, Ms. Barrie expected us to dig deep. We’re both used to doing whatever it takes for our grades.” His voice was tinged with bitterness. “I should’ve refused to say those things. It’s not who I am.”
“I don’t think you’re a coward.”
His head turned until our gazes met. “I don’t think you’re trailer trash.”
The comment made my eyes burn. We had to get through this, but it was tough. “You sure about that? Plenty of people do.”
“Not me. You’re too … complete.”
It was a strange word, and I liked it a lot.
“I’m sorry.” We said it in unison and looked away.
It grew quiet again, except for the sound of laughter in the distance. We didn’t speak. Just sat there.
He stirred. I turned toward him and waited for him to turn toward me. He didn’t.
Guess it would be left to me to keep this happy conversation flowing. “I haven’t heard from Heather in over four years.”
“Who?” He looked bewildered.
“My trashy bio mother.”
He winced. “Do you know where she is?”
“She didn’t leave a forwarding address.” I shrugged. “The improv was more effective than anything we could’ve scripted.”
“Agreed.” He rose to his feet. “Is it okay if we never talk about this again?”
“Fine with me.”
When he held out his hand, I grasped it tightly and let him pull me up.
Neither of us let go. His fingers stayed wrapped around mine. Warm. Strong. We stood there, inches apart, staring into each other’s eyes.
“Eden, you are…”
What? I am … what?
“You’re not what I imagined.” He released my hand and gestured vaguely. “I’m glad you did this—cleared the air. It was good.”
I nodded. The praise felt nice.
“Can I give you a ride home?”
I would accept his offer this time. In this heat, I didn’t want to walk the mile to where Marnie worked. “Do you know the nursing home on the east side of town?”
“Sure.” His smile was relaxed. “Let’s go.”
11
Ancient Formals
I pushed through the main entrance of the high school and halted at the top of the steps, yielding to a burst of optimism, especially on a day like today, with the weather hinting at autumn’s approach. Mild temperature. Light breeze. Carolina blue sky with picture-perfect clouds.
It had been over a week since the MIM. Mundy’s makeover hadn’t stuck; that was too much effort. But Ash and I had hung onto civility, and I had a glimmer of hope about a scholarship that my father couldn’t screw up.
I was feeling good.
Below me, on the front schoolyard, rested a wooden bench. A plaque proclaimed that it had been somebody’s old Eagle Scout project. Remarkably, its softly weathered boards had remained relatively uncarved and ungraffitied since.
Mundy sat in the center of the bench, head bent over a book. I detoured in her direction.
“Hi,” I said, and waited until she looked up. “Why are you here this late?”
“Waiting on my dad to take me home.” She scooted over and patted the empty space next to her.
I plopped down. “What are you reading?”
“Lord of the Flies.”
“Why?”
“It was time.” She flipped the book shut and slid it into her bag. “The homecoming dance is two weeks from Friday.”
Oddly, the transition from an island full of malicious kids to a gym full of snarky classmates made perfect sense to me. “I update the master calendar on the high school web site. I know when dances take place.”
“What do you plan to wear?”
Uh-oh. School dances and I didn’t mix. “I’m not going.”
“Why not?”
“Zero interest.” I’d attended a dance with my friend Jordan our sophomore year and hated it from the moment I walked into the gym. It was loud, crowded, and stank of raging sweat.
“You’ll go this year.”
The confidence in her tone sent a tickle of wariness down my spine. “Why would I do that?”
“To prevent me from doing something inappropriate.”
Not possible. There weren’t enough hours in the day. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, but I’m new. I’m bound to mess up if you’re not there.”
“You’re bound to mess up whether I’m there or not.”
“See, I knew it. You’ll come.” She tossed her head smugly.
That’s not what I said. But Mundy was right. I would go, because I was uneasy about what she might do—and proud that she’d invited me. “You have other people you could hang out with at the dance. Why ask me?”
Her gratified expression faded into something more pensive. “I’ve been around a lot of different kids since I moved here. One thing they all have in commo
n is how much they enjoy talking about their problems. Complaining has become a major-league sport. But their problems are so trivial compared to yours. Life could be crushing you, yet it doesn’t. You have real reasons to complain, and you don’t. That’s what I want to be a part of.”
I looked at the sky, blinking at the moisture stinging in my eyes. “Got it.”
“Good.” She gave a little laugh. “So we’re going to the dance. What do kids here wear? Jeans?”
I’d given in with hardly a fight. “Girls wear dresses. Guys wear sports jackets.”
“Great. Who will we dance with?”
I shook my head decisively. “I might show up, but I won’t dance.”
“Why not? Are you afraid no one will ask?”
“I don’t fear things that will never happen.”
“If you wear something strapless, guys will ask just to get a better look.”
Holy crap. She never gave up. “I’m not letting a guy at this school get that close to me, on the dance floor or anywhere else.”
A motorcycle rumbled to a stop in the parking lot. The biker, encased from head to toe in shiny black gear, looked our way. Mundy stood and gathered her things. “There’s Cam. Gotta go.” She squeezed my shoulder. “It’s a date. We’ll take my car, and you can sleep over afterwards at my house.”
A whole night off? I hadn’t had one of those since school started. “Sleep over?”
“It’ll be fun. Okay?”
“Okay.”
* * *
I got home from school as my father was walking out the front door, wrapping on a tool belt. “Hey,” I said, stopping in surprise when he didn’t move out of my way.
“Mr. Cooper wants to know if you could come in this weekend.”
“What for?”
“He needs help with something he calls quick stuff.”
“You probably mean QuickBooks.”
“Yeah.”
I knew it well enough, but how much time could I spare? A few hours?
Dad caught my upper arm with his rough, thick fingers. “Please, Eden.”
“Fine. Sure.” What was this really about? Why did he care so much? Maybe he was struggling to keep himself together at work, and I was insurance. It would be worth finding out. “I could come in Saturday and see what he needs. But no promises, Dad. If it’s complicated, he might need a professional.”