Next I waltzed up to the fifty-something man and set the candy bar on the counter. “Is that everything?” he asked without looking up. A meticulously shaped beard lined his jaw, and he wore a white T-shirt under his wrinkle-free uniform.
“Yup.” Relax, Poppy. It’s a pack of gum.
He tilted up his chin and I saw my reflection in his glasses. My light blond hair had a bit of funky wave to it since it had been wet and partially air-dried, my dark eyes appeared extra large, and my nose stud did little to interfere with the whole “innocent girl” vibe. Good, good. He’d never guess I had a pack of gum in my umbrella. There was nothing to worry about.
“Okeydoke. That will be eighty-nine cents.”
I fished the coins out of my wallet and handed them to him. Steady does it.
“Want a receipt? Or a bag?” he asked, giving me a penny in change.
I shook my head and took the Butterfinger. Then I headed for the doors. Almost out of here . . . free and clear! My heart beat even harder behind my ribs, and a wonderful feeling of invincibility surged through my veins.
“Hey, wait just a minute.”
Startled, I froze midstride and peered over my shoulder. The humidity hit me like a hammer to my knees. He gestured for me to come back. Keep walking; don’t stop, I told myself. But if I ignored him, he’d think me rude at best and guilty of something at worst.
“What?” I asked from the doorway.
“I forgot to ask if you’d like to donate to the Hurricane Phillipa Relief Fund. It’s a dollar, and you get to write your name on one of these.” He held up a card shaped like a heart. Autographed hearts hung behind the counter and spilled onto the wall by the pop dispensers. Just say “Maybe next time,” I told myself.
“Sure, why not.” While we exchanged money, the heart-shaped card, and the Sharpie, I kept asking myself why I hadn’t kept walking. I would’ve been outside already; I could’ve made it out with the gum. It probably only took a minute to complete the transaction, but it felt like hours. I handed him the signed card.
He did a double take. “Poppy? So you’re . . .” A languid yet genuinely happy-looking smile crept across his pale face. “You’re my daughter Bridgette’s new friend.”
Oh, God. Great, just great. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there, and now I was being chatted up by—of all people—Bridgette Josephs’ dad.
“I thought it might be you,” he said, leaning forward. “She mentioned you had a . . . nose ring. Anyhow, we’ve heard quite a bit about you these past few days.”
The color must have drained from my face, because he quickly added, “All good, of course. All good.”
A nervous laugh trickled out of my mouth. Just wait till tomorrow, I thought to myself. Then you’ll get an earful about how unwonderful I really am. “Well,” I said, “that’s sweet of her.”
“Poppy, thanks for coming in,” he said. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you in the near future. If it’s okay with your folks, maybe you can come with us to Six Flags sometime.”
Before shutting my wallet, I slid another dollar across the counter. “For the relief fund.” I tapped the heart-shaped card I’d signed. “Don’t need another one of those, though.”
I’d love to blame my philanthropic spirit for my donation—my double donation—but as I stepped outside, I couldn’t help wondering if perhaps some small part of me felt that helping hurricane victims would somehow make me feel better about myself.
The rain had tempered to a staccato sprinkle. I opened my umbrella, and the pack of gum tumbled out and plopped into a puddle on the asphalt. I tried to rescue it, but the water soaked through the packaging. I tossed the soggy mess into the first garbage can I passed. The gum was gone, as was the high I felt when I stole it.
I promised myself I wouldn’t lift anything ever again.
By the time I got home, the darkest clouds had moved on and strokes of early evening sunlight rained down on me. Yet I was no closer to knowing what to do about the Bridgette and Gabe ordeal. Maybe I just needed to sleep on it. Right. I’d set my alarm a half hour earlier and get to Calvary High early enough to talk to Bridgette and give her the opportunity to take down the banner.
After finishing my homework and having a brief Butterfinger break, I hit the sack. But at eleven thirty, even after back-burnering my concerns about Bridgette, I couldn’t fall asleep. Jazz music permeated the walls from Mom’s office, where she’d undoubtedly work into the wee hours of the night.
Sneaking into Mom’s bathroom, I opened her medicine cabinet. Thankfully, she stocked it with plenty of sleeping pills. I popped one into my mouth and swallowed it down with water straight from the faucet. Then I snuggled into my bed and tried to relax. Little by little, my muscles loosened up, but thoughts chaotically whirred around in my mind. I concentrated on bringing the happy ones to the forefront, like how my yoga teacher back at Flatirons had instructed us to do. The pride that filled me after Mom had complimented my essay, the way Mary Jane and Whitney would laugh at my jokes, how David actually had waited around to drive me home, and the rush I’d felt when sliding the gum down my umbrella.
I loved that feeling—how one minute I could be doing something as mundane as window-shopping at the mall or picking something up from a grocery or convenience store, and the next minute I was in the midst of a heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping escapade.
I couldn’t wait for the next heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping escapade.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Seriously, Mom, we’ve got to get going,” I said, collecting her pumps.
Rubbing her temple, Mom looked up from the couch, where she’d been lounging all morning. “I’m glad you’re so zealous to get to school, but I have the worst headache. I’m going to need some coffee.” She lifted her feet off the ottoman and stretched her arms in the air. “I’ve been eager to try that little coffee shop on Second Street.”
“But—”
“I’ll get you one of those raspberry drinks you love.”
Clearly she wasn’t going to change her mind. I dropped the shoes at her feet and hurried to her office to fetch her briefcase. Twenty minutes later, Mom’s Volvo pulled up to a wannabe Starbucks. About a dozen cars sat in the dinky parking lot. I panicked. “Can’t you just get a coffee at a gas station?” I asked.
“Oh, don’t be silly,” Mom said. “This will just take a moment. I promise you won’t be late to school.” As we walked into the shop, she lowered her sunglasses and quirked her left eyebrow. “Since when have you been so bent on being to school early?”
“It’s just that I need to talk to someone. Before school starts. It’s important.” Oh, shit. There had to be twenty people in line, and the lone goateed guy behind the counter was more into chitchatting than concocting drinks, bagging up muffins, and sending patrons on their merry little way. When Mom finally dropped me off by the Calvary High sign, I only had fifteen minutes till morning service began.
I decided to tell Bridgette the truth—that I’d already asked Gabe and he’d accepted and I was too caught up in her empowered “out with the old and in with the new” moment to burst her bubble, blah blah blah. She might still be mad at me, but it was, I felt, the best I could do at this point. I waved good-bye to Mom and flew up the stairs and into the school, flinging greetings here and there as I sought out Bridgette Josephs.
Oh, no. Gabe was heading straight for me, straight for his locker, straight for Bridgette’s banner. I hadn’t bargained on meeting up with Gabe first, but I couldn’t let him get by. I jogged over to him and presented him with a huge smile, frantically juggling my thoughts. “Gabe, listen. I’m excited about going to Sadie’s with you . . .”
He snaked his arm around me, and his caramel-colored eyes gleamed. “Me too.” A group of girls rubbernecked as they walked by. Though I hated to admit it, there was a time I would’ve been drawn into the whole “Oh my God, the cutest boy at Calvary High is touching me!” mentality, but the fleeting thrill barely regis
tered in my senses. Sure, Gabe Valdez might be pretty; but he was, I was sad to say, terminally uninteresting.
It was strange for a moment of clarity to hit me while Gabe’s arm rested on my shoulder and I was under major damage-control stress. Then another strange thought hit me: David had said Gabe was “dull as ditchwater”—something we agreed about.
“But I think it would mean a lot more to Bridgette if you, um, went with her,” I said.
Gabe dropped his arm to his side and squinted at me. “I’m confused. You want to go with me, don’t you?”
I gave a lukewarm chuckle. “Of course. I just feel bad for Bridgette, that’s all.” I lowered my voice. “She finds you . . . interesting . . . you know.”
“I’ve known Bridgette Josephs for a long time, and she always manages to bounce back. So stop worrying about her.”
Shit, he was not making this easy. “Well, okay, the reason I’m—”
“Hey, Gabe! Been to your locker yet?” Andrew slapped him on his back. “Come on.”
“What’s the deal?” Gabe asked, shifting his gaze between his best buddy and me. As we walked to Gabe’s locker, I bit my lower lip, steeling myself for the inevitable disaster that was about to unfold.
Mary Jane was frozen in the middle of the hall, one hand planted on her hip and the other reaching out, palm upward. She wore a white blouse that fluttered celestially around her shoulders and a tragic expression on her pretty face. The sides of her hair were coiled loosely into a silver barrette at the nape of her neck. She looked like a freakin’ Roman goddess statue. Then her lips came to life, shattering the statuesque vibe. “Bless her heart,” she said, staring above Gabe’s locker.
A crowd had already gathered, and the banner was attracting the attention of more and more passersby. I realized I’d been holding my breath and inhaled deeply to replenish my oxygen. Next, I popped a piece of gum in my mouth, wishing the chomping, smacking action would magically whisk away all my nervousness.
Ellen shook her head. “Even if he hadn’t already agreed to go with you, Gabe would never say yes to Bridgette.” I doubted she realized Gabe was standing right behind her. Awkward, yes. But the fact that Bridgette herself had arrived just in time to hear made it tremendously uncomfortable.
I swallowed, and though I desperately wanted to run away, I knew I couldn’t.
Bridgette tucked her reddish lips into a thin—almost invisible—line. From her spiral-curled hair to her coordinating blouse and skirt, she’d obviously taken extra care to look her best. Her posture awkward and rigid, she squeezed her hands into fists and blinked in steady rhythm, her eyes glued on Gabe. “You’re going to the dance with Poppy?”
Gabe shifted his backpack to the opposite shoulder and grinned at Bridgette, then at me, then at Bridgette again. “I am,” he said casually. “She asked me after school yesterday.”
Though I wasn’t looking directly at Bridgette, her negative energy all but slammed me against the wall, knocking the breath out of me.
“But I’m flattered you’d think of me, Bridgette,” Gabe said. Surprisingly, he sounded genuine, and I had to give the boy props.
“You snooze, you lose,” quipped Whitney, patting Bridgette on the back. “Gabe’s taken. But there are lots of guys who still haven’t been asked. Six or seven, at least. See? You just have to look on the bright side.”
Bridgette made a bizarre growling noise and writhed away from Whitney.
“Looking on the bright side only gives you crow’s feet,” said Ellen, spinning on her kitten heels. “But to each her own, right? Well, it’s time for morning service. Come on, Poppy.”
I’d already been mean to Bridgette; why did everybody else feel the need to? I finally got the nerve to look Bridgette in the eye. She looked like she wanted to punch my lights out. How could I blame her? “You knew the whole time,” Bridgette said, her voice surprisingly even.
My mind struggled to come up with the right words to say. “Yes. I did.”
“The whole school knows you have a crush on Gabe, Bridgette. You only throw yourself at him every chance you get,” said Mary Jane with a giggle. I realized this was her idea of sticking up for me, but I wished people would give Bridgette a break. Couldn’t they see the girl was humiliated?
Bridgette’s mouth twitched and her eyes narrowed. Two of her Good News Choir cronies sidled up to her. I felt the need to do something quick, before things got uglier. “I’m so sorry, Bridgette,” I said. “I tried to get here early to talk to you, but my mom decided to try out a coffee shop and it was so crowded and the barista was a total numbskull—”
With a single militant step, Whitney closed the space between herself and Bridgette and lifted her chin. “She said she’s sorry, Bridgette. Game over.”
Bridgette hopped back and then reached up above Gabe’s locker. She ripped the banner down in one fatal swoop, narrowly missing her choir friend’s head. Without looking at me—or at anyone, really—Bridgette balled up the banner, shaking her head the whole time.
Bridgette turned to me and Gabe and said, “Well, I hope the two of you have a very memorable night.” Next, she hurled the paper ball at us and then turned so abruptly, she knocked the books out of some poor freshman’s hands. As Bridgette stomped away in the opposite direction of the auditorium, her freakishly long, curled hair streamed behind her.
“Amazing Grace” played over the speakers, and little by little, the number of spectators diminished as they headed off to morning service. Gabe passed the books he’d picked up back to the wide-eyed freshman.
For the first time all morning, I laid my eyes on David Hillcrest. He stood about ten feet behind us, his hands tucked into his pockets. Though he wore an ensemble made up of a red polo, pressed tan chinos, and shiny brown shoes, his hair stuck up on one side in the most adorable way, and he hadn’t shaved. Something about the concerned yet calm look in his green eyes made me want to run to him, to fling myself into his arms.
“So are you coming? . . . Poppy, it’s time for the service. You coming?” It took me a minute to realize Gabe was talking to me.
“Naw, go ahead. I think . . . I need to talk to Bridgette,” I said, nodding in the direction in which she’d stomped off.
“Okay, I’ll save you a place,” my Sadie Hawkins date said. Finally he left, leaving David and me alone.
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked.
“Long enough.” David sidled up to me and leaned against a locker.
“Yeah, well, that went exactly as planned,” I said, trying—unsuccessfully—to laugh at myself.
He nodded understandingly. “You want my advice?”
I wiped a stubborn tear off my cheek. Why the hell was I crying? It wasn’t that big of a deal. Bridgette would get over it. It might take another two years, but she would. I nodded. “I figure the son of a preacher would have some freakin’ good advice.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Next time, don’t ask anyone besides me to a school dance.” He paused and then held up his pointer finger. “Or any event that is traditionally attended by couples.”
My mouth fell open, and I couldn’t decide whether to slug him or laugh.
“What?” he said, acting all offended. “If you’d have just asked me, none of this would’ve happened.”
“Well, thanks a lot for the guilt trip. You really are a shithead, you know that?”
He laughed. “Oh, good. There’s the Poppy we all know and love.”
“I’ve got to talk to her.”
“Go for it.”
I made it several feet down the hall before he said, “I bet she’s in the gym. It’s pretty quiet in there when morning service is going on, and she’s not brazen enough to leave school grounds.”
“Okay, and if she really is in the gym, I’m going to pretend it’s not creepy or anything that you called it that way.”
He gave me this mysterious grin and then jogged off toward the auditorium.
At the gym doors, I paused to
mentally rehearse what I’d say to Bridgette. I decided to start with an apology and then go with the flow.
Bridgette turned her back on me the instant I stepped into the gym. I walked over to her and sat on the bottom row of bleachers. “I’m probably the last person you want to see,” I said.
She shrugged. “Maybe not the last person, but definitely the second- or third-to-last.”
“Well, that’s good, I think. I really am sorry, Bridgette. I didn’t realize how much you like Gabe. I don’t even know him very well, and I’m sure as hell not in love with him or anything. I swear I wasn’t trying to steal him from you, and I feel terrible about letting you go ahead and ask him even though I already had.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” When she faced me, her bloodshot eyes glistened with moisture. “Sure, coming to school this morning and finding out you already asked Gabe to the dance and didn’t have the decency to share that with me wasn’t exactly fun.” She sighed and picked at the bleacher absentmindedly. “But it’s not about being the laughingstock of Calvary High. It’s not even about Gabe—who yes, I do, or did, like very much.” Her eyes closed—her lids swiped with shimmery mint green shadow—and when they reopened, they rolled away from me. “It’s about Mary Jane. It’s not enough that God blessed her with money and style and unparalleled beauty. She takes away everything that makes me happy.”
“But Mary Jane had nothing to do with it, Bridgette. She wasn’t even there when I asked him.”
“Whose idea was it for you to ask Gabe? You said yourself you don’t know him very well.” I hesitated and she nodded knowingly. “If I ever want something, she does everything in her power to keep me from getting it. Even you.” She shook her head in apparent disbelief.
“Me? What do you mean?”
“Before you first came to Calvary, Mary Jane signed up to be a student hostess too. It’s a pretty good deal—you get a credit and brownie points with the teachers, and you can be late to classes with no questions asked. But my attendance record gave me leverage, and it ticked her off when I got the position. I told her you and I were going to the library together that night—okay, so I was kind of bragging about it. But anyway, I know that’s why she took you shopping that particular afternoon, right after your first day of school. She could see that we were becoming fast friends, and nothing makes her happier than to see me friendless and boyfriendless. And miserable.”
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