*
By Monday, I was aching for some one-on-one time with Sarah. We had a lot to talk about. Rather, I had a lot of unanswered questions. We hadn’t spoken to each other since the Homecoming dance, which meant we’d been unable to debrief on our evening together at her house. As much as I preferred to avoid conflict, by Monday morning, having slept only a handful of hours during the past three nights combined, I was such an exhausted mess I felt willing to confront Sarah just to get some clarity and move on.
Well, not move on, exactly, but at least get an understanding of where we stood. No matter what happened, I would never be able to move on from Sarah.
Our assigned seating in English and Earth Science meant we wouldn’t have any time to converse during our shared classes, so we wouldn’t be able to connect until snack, lunch, or after school. We never saw each other during snack because our classes beforehand were at opposite ends of school. Sarah usually shared lunch in the quad with half a dozen friends, so that was out. And after school, we had tennis. My only opportunity would be right after sixth period before either of us had to show up for tennis shortly thereafter.
As I entered the quad, Sarah and Olivia slid into opposite bench seats at one of the picnic tables. Olivia was on the tennis team, Homecoming court, and had been part of the limo clan. They each pulled a textbook out of their backpacks and started conversing. An uneasy calm settled over me and I decided it was now or never. I strode purposefully over to them. Sarah was the first to notice me. The trepidation in her eyes as I approached made me wonder if she was afraid I’d tell Olivia—and others—about our night in her bedroom. Or maybe she was anxious about hurting my feelings and ending our friendship. Or perhaps she was afraid of what she felt for me.
That last thought was so hair-brained I couldn’t believe I’d conjured it. For God’s sake, this was the same girl whose adorable and adoring boyfriend had been crowned Homecoming King and was majorly crushed on by nearly all unattached—and some attached—females at Claiborne. Feared what she felt for me! Give me a break.
I tried for nonchalance as I approached. “Good afternoon, Princess,” I said to Olivia during a lull in their conversation, watching Sarah watching me. As Olivia looked up, I offered a wobbly curtsy.
“Good afternoon, my loyal subject,” Olivia responded good-naturedly.
I nodded and turned to Sarah, offering the same curtsy. “Your Highness.”
Sarah rolled her eyes in Olivia’s direction, pretending to be bored, but delivered a smile.
“Chemistry?” I nodded toward their textbooks, knowing they were in that class together.
“Ugh. I’m at a complete loss as to how she understands any of it,” Olivia said, tilting her head in Sarah’s direction. “She’s helping me cram before our match. You don’t need her too, do you?”
If you only knew. I bit back the honest reply and couldn’t help but be amused by Olivia’s unwittingly loaded question. I gave Sarah a mischievous smile and watched as she arched her left eyebrow. Though curious, she also seemed wary. Thankfully, Olivia read my playful look as relating to schoolwork and she answered her own question.
“Never mind. Of course you don’t, seeing as you two are neck-and-neck for the top smarty-pants award.”
Given my apprehension of two minutes ago, I didn’t know why Olivia’s commentary struck such a funny bone, but I bit my lip as I delivered another frisky smile, inwardly laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Yes, I could imagine being neck-and-neck with Sarah. In fact, I suddenly envisioned just that, and it gave me a little rush of delight. I glanced at Sarah, who was now studying me with concern, probably wondering what had gotten into me.
“Don’t you look like the cat that ate the canary. Do tell.” Olivia wagged her eyebrows at me.
I shook myself out of my reverie and got back to the business at hand. I needed to know if Sarah and I were still friends. As wonderful as it was, daydreaming about her wouldn’t give me an answer.
“No, no, no,” I said. “Don’t be silly. I promise not to steal your study partner.” I shifted my eyes to Sarah. “But I was hoping I could borrow you for a minute?”
“If this is about Kip, you better not be holding out on us, girl,” Olivia warned playfully.
“Nice girls don’t kiss and tell,” I replied with a wink, trying to silently communicate to Sarah to relax, to convey that I didn’t intend to share our secret.
“If I wasn’t freaking out about this midterm, you’d be so busted right now. Get out of my face before I slam this shut and tickle it out of you,” Olivia said with a mock threat, closing the textbook around where her fingers marked the current page.
Sarah turned to Olivia with a shrug and stood. “Be right back.”
We walked into an empty corridor and each leaned a shoulder against a locker, facing the other. Sarah crossed her arms and spoke in a stony voice.
“What did happen with you and Kip?”
I looked at her like she was from Mars. “What does that matter?”
She took a moment before responding. “It matters.”
“Nothing. Nothing happened with me and Kip. I don’t care about that. I care about—”
“Did he kiss you?”
“For God’s sake, Sarah, I don’t care about that. I care about us. I care about where things stand between us.” I thought it would be harder for me to say that, but she was making me angry. My exasperation made it sound as though I didn’t care about us at all.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Why was she playing dumb? Did she somehow forget what we did at her house three nights ago? Was it so unimportant that it failed to register? So run-of-the-mill? So unexciting and ordinary? Suddenly my gumption to have this conversation wavered. Just because I hadn’t been sleeping because of it didn’t mean she wasn’t sleeping like a baby. Maybe kissing girls was something she did. Often. I dialed it back a notch and took a deep breath.
“With study groups and midterms and our tennis schedule this week, we’re not going to have any time together, and I…and I guess I just wanted…some. Time with you. To maybe have a conversation.”
“Are you saying you’re not coming on Saturday?”
Saturday? Oh, right. The fund-raiser. “Do you still want me to?”
“There you are,” I heard Dirk say from behind Sarah. “Olivia said I’d find you here.” God, this guy really had crummy timing.
Ignore him and answer the question! Not that it’d make me feel any better. Sarah was so friendly and practiced at the art of socializing, she’d never renege on an invitation, even if she desperately wanted to.
Sarah turned her back to me so she was facing him as he approached.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hiya, sweets,” he said as he gave her a quick kiss on the lips. He peered past Sarah to me. “Hey, good lookin’,” he said with a smile as he casually rested his arm across Sarah’s shoulders.
“Your Majesty.” I gave him my unpracticed, off-center curtsy.
“You coming over tomorrow?” Dirk asked Sarah. Before she could respond, he enlightened me. “Precalc study group. You’re invited if you want to help your underachieving classmates.” He grinned, having alluded to my being in Calculus. Dirk’s grades were top-notch and he was in two AP courses. He was no slouch in the classroom or on the football field. I didn’t want to contemplate other ways in which his performance wasn’t lacking.
“You’re in Calculus, too,” I told Sarah, wondering why she’d be in that study group.
“I got suckered into helping the underachievers.” She playfully poked Dirk in his side.
My, aren’t they cute?
“Lucky you,” I said, offering Dirk a weak smile. I glanced at Sarah before taking my leave. “See you in the locker room.”
So much for quality time.
Chapter Eight
Midterms week was hell and not because of the course load. I was coming out of my skin. Each school day passed at the speed of quicks
and, slowly swallowing me, allowing me no respite. If Sarah and I were okay, couldn’t she simply say that? She was so good at reading me—couldn’t she see how miserable I was in this limbo? Couldn’t she give me a smile and a wink? Or put me out of my misery by telling me to go to hell? Why was she making me feel so unhinged?
The few times we shared looks that week, it was like she was silently questioning me. And since that was what I was doing to her, we were stalemated. It was awful. Part of me longed for the days when I didn’t let anyone get close enough to hurt me. Another part knew this girl had irrevocably changed me, and that if our friendship was over and memories of her were all I’d be able to take with me into the future, I would do it all over again.
It didn’t help that days passed without the details she’d promised would arrive before Saturday’s fund-raiser. Friday afternoon, with still no word from Sarah and no understanding of what I was to wear the next night, I began to wonder if I’d imagined the invitation. After my mom picked me up from school and we got home, a nondescript package sat waiting for me from a return address I didn’t recognize. It was a sizable cardboard box, which held a large black apparel box, a small apparel box, and a shoebox. A handwritten card with my name on it was attached to the largest of the boxes. I opened and read the card.
A car will be by at 6:30 PM to pick you up. If the shoes don’t fit, call my father’s assistant, Carol, at (323) 555-1100, and another pair will be couriered to you.
Looking forward.
—S
I pulled off the top to the largest box first, pushed red tissue paper aside, removed the black fabric beneath, then stood as I held it up by its shoulders. I recognized the dress immediately as it fell open and stopped before hitting the floor. It was the elegant, sleek number Sarah had me try on at Nordstrom. I’d been right: I’d never wear something like it. I’d wear the very thing itself.
Inside the smaller apparel box lay a beautiful black cashmere wrap. The shoebox contained a pair of diamond-embossed patent Ferragamos on a slingback pump finished with a grosgrain bow. The entire outfit screamed of a sophistication and class I didn’t possess, and I hadn’t a clue as to how I’d pull off such a look. I also didn’t have the time, money, or transportation to search for alternatives. As I took in the thoughtful ensemble, I wondered if Sarah and I might get through this after all.
A black Mercedes sedan pulled up in front of my house at exactly 6:30 PM on Saturday. The driver opened the rear door and waited. Aside from greeting me with a polite “Good evening, Miss Warner” and telling me his name, he drove me in silence to the Grand Biltmore Hotel in Downtown L.A. The uniformed doorman who opened my door upon arrival directed me to the elevator bank and told me to proceed to the Paragon restaurant, located on the top floor.
As I exited the elevator, my jaw nearly fell open. The restaurant was elegantly decorated with A-line fabric backdrops of fuchsia, brown, and ivory panels. Large floral bouquets and columns of tasteful balloons reigned throughout. Near the entrance were exquisitely designed pyramids of appetizers on small round tables. Waiters and waitresses in fancy uniforms wandered between the tables and guests holding silver trays of champagne, wine, and more appetizers. Beyond this section lay dining tables that each had three ivory balloons rising from the center, small centerpiece bouquets, and crystal tea-light candleholders. The guests, primarily over fifty years old, were richly attired, the men in tuxedos and the women in variously colored gowns and dresses. I was far and away the youngest of the hundreds of people I could see.
After taking a few steps, I stopped and searched my surroundings, hoping for a glimpse of Sarah. Amid the sea of predominately black-and-white attire, without the benefit of knowing the color of her outfit or standing atop a table, staircase, or ladder, I couldn’t locate her. Several unsuccessful scans of the room later, I started to make my way into the crowd to continue my search when a thirty-something man stopped me midstride.
“Excuse me,” he said as he grabbed my forearm. I settled my gaze at his hand on my arm, and then looked pointedly at him. He didn’t take the hint, merely moving the hand from my forearm to the back of my elbow. “I didn’t think this shindig would be particularly enjoyable, but you, my dear, have made my attendance very worthwhile.” He grinned and held out his hand, finally removing his claim to my arm. “Preston Butterfield. Of the Scarsdale Butterfields.” He said this as if I’d be impressed, but it only made me think of an upscale candy, perhaps something I’d find on tonight’s dessert menu. And like a candy, Preston seemed covered in a sticky sweetness I didn’t want to get on myself. Nothing about him seemed genuine. “And you, besides gorgeous, are?”
I took his hand and donned a polite smile. “Cassidy Warner.” I didn’t want the shortened version of my name to be forever tainted by his saying of it. He turned my hand over and made a display of kissing my knuckles, which seemed like a move an overconfident person makes when mistakenly believing he’s suave. As he straightened himself, he pulled my hand toward him and gathered it in both of his while he softly caressed the back of my wrist.
“Cassidy, it’s my great pleasure to meet you. May I take your entrance as a sign that you’re flying solo at this event?”
Preston was making me feel claustrophobic and in need of a shower. I supposed some girls would find him attractive enough, with his dimpled chin, strong jaw, light-brown eyes, and dirty-blond hair. Yet I felt I’d walked onto a movie set with the male lead accidentally saying his lines to me instead of to his female co-star. He sounded as authentic as a politician. I nearly turned around to see if a teleprompter lurked behind me.
“I’m, uh, I’m meeting someone, actually.” I removed my hand from his and took the opportunity to peer past his shoulder into the crowd behind him. Where was Sarah?
“Ah, well, we’re all meeting someone tonight, aren’t we? That’s part of the point of such a gathering, after all. You and I have just met, for example, and I’m so glad we have. Tell me, Cassidy—one sec.” Preston spied a waiter passing by with a tray of filled champagne glasses. “Excuse me, sir?” Preston called out to him. The waiter stopped in front of Preston, who grabbed two glasses from the tray. He thanked the waiter, who nodded and continued on his way.
Preston held out a glass of champagne to me. “For you, my dear.”
“No, thank you.” It would be just my luck to have the police storm the place at that very moment and ruin the entire event because they inadvertently served alcohol to a minor. That would be a great start to meeting Sarah’s father and patching things up with her.
“Please.” Preston pressed. He was aptly named.
I shook my head and crossed my arms in front of my waist to thwart any attempt by him at forcing a glass into my hand. “I don’t drink.”
“Of course. My apologies.” Preston bowed his head slightly and placed the drinks on a nearby table.
To avoid further interaction, I took the opportunity of his finally being out of my personal space to make my move. As he re-approached, I nodded and pivoted away from him.
“It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Butterfield, but if you’ll excuse me, I—”
Instead of allowing me to slip by, Preston grabbed my hand. He placed his arm around my waist and steered me away from the dining tables toward one of the balconies overlooking the city.
“Please, Cassidy. Call me Preston. I’d be honored if you would allow me to be your escort this evening, at least until you find your date.”
I stopped allowing myself to be pushed toward the window. He wasn’t making it easy. I had to literally twist my body to move out of his grip in order to stop our momentum.
“Preston, that’s very kind of you, but I really do need to find my friend. She’s expecting me.” I’m sure the smile I’d plastered on my face appeared as fake as it felt.
He didn’t seem to notice. Rather, his face lit up at the pronoun. He placed his hands in front of him, palms up and toward me, in a gesture of mock defeat. “Tell you what.” He dropped hi
s hands. “Describe her to me, and we’ll search for her together.”
The idea of describing Sarah to this asshole held no appeal. Even the thought of him seeing her made me slightly nauseous. If he purported to be this interested in me, he’d surely need the handkerchief from his tuxedo jacket pocket to capture the drool he’d manufacture upon seeing Sarah in whatever dress she was wearing tonight.
“I’m sure I’ll find her, but thank you.”
Preston slid his arm around my waist and once again tried to steer me forward. “Nonsense. It’s the least I can do.”
No. The least you could do is keep your damned hands to yourself.
I stopped our forward progress. “No. Thank you.” There was an unfamiliar edge to my voice. I pushed his arm off me. I wasn’t smiling even fake smiles anymore.
I heard a man bellow from a few yards away. “Ah, there you are, Preston!” Preston and I turned to face the newcomer. In step behind the approaching, extremely handsome, dark-haired man was Sarah. The man grabbed Preston’s hand in a firm, double-handed shake and forced Preston’s attention to him. “Your father swore you were milling about. Come, we were just talking about you.”
As my good-looking savior physically pushed Preston into the crowd, behind Preston’s back he surreptitiously gestured the cut-off sign at his neck while rolling his eyes at me, finally waving to me in a manner that said he’d ensure I’d be safe from Preston hereafter. As they departed, Sarah slid up next to me and purposefully led me into the ladies’ room. We entered a makeup and lounge area that was separated from the stalls and sinks.
“Are you all right?” Sarah turned me around and eyed me with concern.
I was not all right. I was in a mild state of shock. Seeing Sarah brought about a wave of relief and anger. She’d purposefully put me in a position she knew I’d be uncomfortable with, yet she’d not only forewarned me about the possibility of a Preston-like encounter, she’d saved me from it. Well, she and that man who’d whisked Preston away. I didn’t know whether to yell at her or hug her.
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