Maybe This Time

by Kasie West

  “How much does your dad pay you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Like, do you buy your own suits?” I shook my head. “Never mind. It’s none of my business. Just go”—I nodded toward the phone I knew was in his pocket—“work.”

  “And you call me a jerk,” he said before he turned and walked back outside.

  I took a deep breath, stung. But he was right. I’d been a big jerk. To him. I hated who I was around him—this insecure, small version of myself. I hated that I knew, deep inside, it was because I cared what he thought about my talent, my work, my creativity … me.

  For once I had an empty tray and not an immediate need to fill it. On the roof, a chic woman in a business suit was speaking into a microphone about how grateful she was for the continued support of the hospital. Micah was standing with a tray by one of the drink stations. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Andrew slip inside the building. Trying not to draw attention to myself, I went inside as well.

  I didn’t see Andrew right away, but unless he took the elevator down, there were only two places he could be—in the bathrooms at the end of one hall or the kitchen at the end of the other hall.

  I hoped he wasn’t in the kitchen, so I turned left and waited. Only a few minutes had passed when the door to the bathroom swung open and Andrew walked out. He startled slightly when he saw me but then put on a guarded expression.

  “So,” I started, feeling a pang of nerves. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I know you work. Your pictures are amazing and you put a lot of thought into them.”

  “Why?” was all he said.

  “You were right.” I clasped my hands together. “I was being a jerk and it’s not me.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Well, it wasn’t before you came around.”

  “Are you blaming me?”

  I sighed. “No. I’m trying to be a bigger person.”

  “Did you mean the bigger person?”

  I crossed my arms. “No. I didn’t. I meant that I want to be better.”

  “Better than what?”

  “Better than I’ve been, Andrew. Okay? Are we good?” I held out my hand.

  He stared at it. “What are you doing? Are you trying to shake my hand?” He laughed.

  I laughed too. “Yes.” I used my left hand to reach out and lift his right arm so that I could shake his hand. “There. Now it’s official.”

  “What’s official?”

  “We’re friends again.”

  “Did we stop being friends? Or start for that matter?”

  “You’re not going to bother me anymore,” I declared. “We shook hands. Now I’ll just think your goading is adorable. Like Micah does.” If I kept telling myself that, it would be true. I would be the secure, happy version of myself, even around Andrew.

  “Soph, don’t challenge me like this.” He gave me a half smirk.

  “Not a challenge. I need to get back to work.” I picked up the tray that I had set on the ground and went back outside where the same woman with a microphone was still talking about the same gratitude.

  Micah joined me by the wall closest to the door. “It’s dessert time,” she said.

  “I’m ready.”

  Lance was in the kitchen talking to Mr. Williams as we came inside. Jett was drizzling chocolate over some slices of layered cake and Micah’s dad was drizzling strawberry glaze over other slices.

  “Hey, flower girl,” Lance said to me. “I’m impressed. You didn’t drop a single dish.”

  “You just jinxed me. Take it back,” I said.

  “Take it back? I don’t think it works that way.”

  Micah giggled. “It does in her world, Lance.”

  “Okay, I take it back.”

  “Thank you.”

  We filled our trays with the dessert plates. As we walked back outside, Andrew took a picture of the three of us.

  “I’m going to start charging you for those,” Micah said.

  “And I’ll gladly pay,” he answered.

  Instead of rolling my eyes, I smiled. He was looking right at me and I said, “Adorable.”

  He laughed.

  “What?” Micah said as we continued walking toward the tables.

  “Nothing.”

  “You two are giving me whiplash.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  We separated to our respective tables and I began placing cake in front of people.

  The wine lady said, “I want a chocolate piece, not a vanilla. Or do I need to get the young man over here to do that?”

  “No, I can do that.” I placed a piece of chocolate down.

  “No, I changed my mind,” she said. “I want vanilla instead.”

  I picked up the chocolate and placed a vanilla down.

  “Come to think of it, I don’t want cake at all. I want a caffè macchiato. Do you know what that is?”

  She could tell I wasn’t from the city. One look and she knew. She thought I was dumb. And I kind of felt dumb because I actually didn’t know what a caffè macchiato was. “I’m not sure if they offer that, but if they do, it’s at—”

  “The drink station?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And do you have to be a certain age to fill that as well?”

  Remain calm, Sophie. “No, I can check for you as soon as I finish serving the cake.” I moved on to the next person.

  “I’m sorry,” the man sitting next to the wine lady mouthed. I wasn’t sure if it was her husband or just someone who knew rude when he saw it.

  I smiled and gave him the biggest piece of cake on my tray.

  At the next table, when I set my last plate down in front of an older man, his glass caught on the lip of it and wine spilled. At first I thought I had caused the accident, but when he picked up the glass and dropped his fork to the ground, I realized he was drunk.

  I bent down to pick up the fork and felt a hand brush my leg. The man gave me a creepy smile as I stood. I pointed his own fork at him. “Please keep your hands to yourself.”

  “Or else what?” he slurred.

  “Or else I’ll get security to escort you out.”

  The man put on a faux-serious face and deliberately folded his hands in his lap. I really didn’t care if he was joking around or not, as long as he didn’t touch me.

  I left, without looking back. Once inside, I pressed my back against the closest wall and used my empty tray to fan myself. It had been a long, tiring night.

  I knew I should go back outside but I didn’t feel like moving. But then I saw Jett Hart and Mr. Williams coming out of the kitchen. And they clearly saw me, leaning against the wall on an unscheduled break. Jett gave me his standard look but thankfully kept talking.

  “You’d fit in well here,” he was saying to Micah’s dad. “City life looks good on you. I’ve already gotten three business cards from guests tonight. If you get three referrals from every event, you’ll be booked for …” His voice trailed off as they went outside to the roof to visit with the guests.

  I tried to take in what I’d just heard. Mr. Williams would never leave Rockside. It didn’t matter what Jett Hart said. Right?

  I followed them out to see if I could hear Mr. Williams’s response, but they had already disappeared into the crowd. The crowd that was now mostly out of their seats, mingling, dancing, drinking.

  I saw Micah standing at the railing, looking out over the city lights. I started toward her when the wine lady approached me. Great. I hadn’t gotten her caffè macchiato and now I was going to hear about it.

  But instead of her normal haughty expression, she wore a curious one. “Was that Jett Hart?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said warily.

  “So does that mean this catering company is part of his program?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She smiled wide and began digging through her purse. She came up with a small card that she held out for me. “Give this to him, will you? My sister owns a catering company about thirty
minutes west of here that could use someone like him. She applied for his program but hasn’t heard back.”

  I gestured to where Jett had disappeared into the throng. “He’s here. You should find him.”

  “I’ll try, but in case he’s too busy, you’ll be my backup.” She pressed the card into my hand. “Thank you!”

  I nodded.

  With that, she flashed me a smile and went on her way, probably to look for Jett.

  I furrowed my brow and continued toward Micah by the railing.

  “Who was that?” Micah asked.

  I held up the business card. “Some lady who wants Jett to work with her sister. She was rude to me all night but apparently didn’t realize it at all. She thought it was perfectly normal to ask me for a favor without saying anything about her behavior.”

  “Welcome to the world of waitressing.”

  I tucked the card into my pocket and watched lines of headlights and taillights move along the highway in the distance like a string of Christmas lights.

  “Oh, by the way,” I said, “you’re never going to guess what I overheard Jett Hart saying to your dad.”

  “What?” Micah asked.

  “He said he thought the city was where he belonged, or something to that effect.”

  Micah nodded. “Yeah, he said the same to me.”

  “He did?” I frowned. “Is this the way he works? How he helps you grow your business? He just takes you out of the small town and plops you into the city and voilà, instant growth?”

  She rubbed her arms as though she were cold. Suddenly, I also felt a slight cooling in the air, a reminder that summer was coming to an end. “Maybe,” Micah said.

  “I mean, you’d either be constantly driving to and from events or have to move here. And living here would cost at least thirty percent more than Rockside, which would just be a wash,” I pointed out. “And besides, could you imagine living here?”

  I looked back toward the crowd on the rooftop and, for the first time tonight, realized just how diverse it was. Very different from our little town. “Maybe …” I began.

  “Maybe what?” Micah asked when I didn’t continue.

  “Maybe Jett’s right. Maybe this place would be better for your business. You wouldn’t have to deal with the Hobbs or the Smiths.” Both those families had refused to hire Mr. Williams for events and everyone knew why.

  “There are racist people everywhere,” Micah said.

  “I know, but you’d have more options here.”

  Before she could respond, Andrew came over and leaned on the rail on the opposite side of her. “What’s so interesting over here?” he asked us.

  “Nothing,” Micah said. “Just taking a little break before cleanup.”

  Andrew nodded my way. “You handled that drunk guy well earlier.”

  I lifted my chin. “You think big-city parties hold a monopoly on drunk guys? I would argue that country drunk guys are even drunker and more handsy. So yes, I know how to hold my own.”

  “Because everything about the country is worse than everything about the city,” Micah said.

  “What?” I asked.

  Micah turned to me, her mouth tight. “You’re already checked out, aren’t you?” she said. “You have stars in your eyes and a fire at your back. Is that why you stopped telling me things?”

  My stomach clenched. What was she saying? “No—no, I’m not checked out,” I stammered. “I’ve just been a bad friend, I’m sorry. We’ll talk, let’s talk. Just not …” I looked at Andrew. “Now.”

  She shook her head. “Whatever. I’m tired. I’m going to get started on the cleanup.” With that, she walked away.

  I stared after her, tempted to follow, but I knew my best friend needed some time. I’d give her that.

  “What was that about?” Andrew asked.

  “Me. It was about me.” I owed Micah a major apology and a best-friend talking session. It would all work out. I’d make sure of that.

  “So was she right?” Andrew asked. “Is everything about the city better than everything about the country?”

  I turned my attention back to the lights in the distance, thinking about his question. “No. The stars are way better in the country. City stars are pretty lame.”

  He looked up as if he needed proof of this. “I’d agree with you on that.”

  I watched him take in the dark sky for a moment. Then I retrieved the business card from my pocket. “Here.”

  “What’s this?”

  “That wine lady has a sister.” The card spoke for itself. It read Country Catering with a picture of a chef hat on it. “For your dad. She applied for the program, I guess.”

  “Oh.” He seemed to read every word on the card twice.

  “It would probably be too close to this year’s mentee, though, yeah?”

  “Maybe. But we once did two years in nearly the same place.”

  “Well then you’ll have to put in a good word for wine lady’s sister.” Maybe Andrew Hart would be closer than I thought in four months.

  He smiled and finally put the card in his pocket.

  I grabbed hold of the railing, then leaned back and looked up at the sky once more. I felt it again: the slight cool tinge in the air that meant fall was coming soon. “Oh!” I said, pulling myself upright. “You know what else is better in the country than in the city? Our Fall Festival. It’s the best.”

  “Let me guess,” Andrew said. “You work the Fall Festival. Are there actually flowers there?”

  “There are. And a huge corn maze. And a band,” I added. “Usually a decent one even.” That was to say: not Kyle’s band. “And so much food.”

  “I guess that’s our next date, then.” Andrew looked at me when he said it but his eyes quickly moved back to the view.

  “I better”—I pointed over my shoulder—“find Micah.”

  “Good luck.”

  When I found Micah, she was in the kitchen laughing with Jett and her dad. I stood for a while, waiting for my chance to talk to her, but instead Jett assigned cleanup chores and we went our separate ways. By the time we were done cleaning up, Micah was back to her bubbly self and I asked her to sleep over at my house the following weekend. She agreed that we needed a sleepover. Hopefully that would fix everything.

  WILDFLOWER

  A flower that grows in the wild or is exactly as it would appear if found growing in nature, unaided. In some places, it is illegal to pluck a wildflower in nature, but even wildflowers can be grown in captivity. Tamed.

  There was something about the Fall Festival that I loved more than all the other events. Maybe it was the weather: the leaves bright with color, the stifling heat of summer finally gone. Maybe it was that the festival took place on Mr. Hancock’s farm—twenty acres of animals and apple trees and cornfields. Maybe it was the smell of a million foods being fried at once, or that I got to wear a sweater. Whatever it was, it was perfect.

  I carried a tin of wildflowers in one arm and a small bale of hay in the other. I headed toward the food court section of the event, which consisted of a semicircle of food booths bordering thirty picnic tables.

  “You actually do own a pair of jeans,” Andrew said. He stepped away from a food booth, lifting his phone and snapping my picture. “This one is for proof.”

  “And you own a pair of cowboy boots.” I stared in shock at his footwear. “When did that happen?”

  “Micah took me shopping last week and insisted.”

  “She’s hard to say no to.”

  Micah and I were in a good place. After the Birmingham benefit, we’d had our slumber party. I’d apologized for being so checked out and for not telling her about what had happened with Andrew and with Kyle. She’d helped me discover, with an extensive list of pros and cons, that Andrew and I could absolutely not work, at least not beyond friends. And everything was all right.

  “She is.” He put his hands in his pockets and his eyes went to the tin as I placed it on a table. “Nice flowers.”r />
  “See, here’s the problem. I’m never going to believe that compliment now. You’ve shot yourself in the foot too many times with that one.”

  He smiled. “Fair enough. But for the record, I meant it.” He looked around. “So this is your favorite event, huh?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “You said something like that at the benefit in August.”

  “Oh, right. Yes, it’s my favorite.”

  Jett Hart was at his booth examining the knobs on a deep fryer alongside Mr. Williams. “Is your dad actually going to fry something tonight?” I asked in disbelief.

  “I guess Mr. Williams is making his famous mac-and-cheese balls. He’s teaching my dad.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Well, you’ll have to try them,” I said. “They’re pretty much the best.”

  Micah came over in a pair of cowboy boots exactly the same as Andrew’s. She draped her arm over his shoulder and said, “Friends, what are we talking about?”

  “Fried mac and cheese,” I said.

  “My dad makes the best,” she said.

  “That’s what I’ve been told,” Andrew responded.

  I glanced around at the sprawling grounds. “We should all attempt the maze later,” I said.

  Micah looked at the entrance to the maze in the distance. “Hopefully I’ll have time. I have to work more than you do tonight.”

  “That’s true,” I said.

  She patted Andrew’s cheek. “And Andrew has lots of pictures to take.” She looked over her shoulder. “I better go. My dad needs help.”

  “See you later,” I said.

  She joined her dad and Jett at their booth, where I watched her unpack gallon-sized bags of bread crumbs.

  “Is everything okay with you two?” Andrew asked, catching me off guard.

  “Yes … isn’t it?” I turned to him. “Did she say something to you?”

  “No, she didn’t. It’s just at the benefit, you guys …”

  “Oh, yeah.” I kept forgetting he’d witnessed that. “We made up.”

  “Good.”

  “Yoo-hoo!” I heard from behind me. “Sophie!”

  I took a deep breath and turned around. My mom was waving at me from across the way.