Just sex, Lynette had said. Not serious.
But how could sex not be serious? How could taking off your clothes in front of a guy and letting him touch you all over not be serious? Lynette and the others made it sound like a game of checkers.
It wasn’t as though Daphne were antisex. She loved it—or at least, she was pretty sure she would when she tried it. But to her it was something epic. Something that should be done on a deserted tropical beach or in a bedroom strewn with rose petals and lit by candles. Not in the dirt-strewn bed of a Dodge Ram or the auditorium’s fusty-smelling costume loft, in full view of any cockroaches or theater tech geeks. She didn’t want a cheap-sex kind of relationship. She wanted a guy who would look at her as if she was the most beautiful and amazing creature on the planet, who would pick her wildflowers and call her by a cute nickname and write her sweet little notes that he would tuck in secret places for her to find later. She wanted love—without all the smirks and cynicism. Real, unapologetic, romantic love.
Daphne’s anxiety must have shown in her expression, because suddenly Lynette was looking straight at her, her eyebrows raised into two perfectly plucked semicircles.
“What about you, Daff? Who have you been messing around with?” she asked. Or rather, demanded.
“Um … no one right now,” Daphne replied. Then she laughed. Not because it was funny—just to keep things light and make some extra noise.
“But isn’t there someone you like?” Lynette went on, one eyebrow now higher than the other.
“Well, yeah …” Daphne hunched slightly.
“I bet it’s the new guy,” Rachelle Waverly said. “I saw her waving at him in the hall today.”
“And Walt said they were totally flirting at Hawthorne’s Barbecue,” Sheri added.
Daphne just stood there, grinning stupidly, hoping that steam wasn’t rising from her face. She hated that they were talking about her as if she weren’t there. And she hated that they knew about her feelings for Luke. Not that it was a secret, necessarily, but there was no way they could understand how special her relationship with him was—or would be. She didn’t want them to twist it and spoil it with their small talk.
“You mean Luke?” Lynette seemed completely reinvigorated with this news. “Oh, my god! He’s, like, so preppy. I thought he was gay.”
“He came from a prep school!” Daphne said, a little too quickly and loudly.
Lynette held out her hands in mock surrender. “My bad. Obviously you would know whether he was gay or not.” She cracked up. The rest of the group started laughing hysterically.
Daphne giggled for the sake of solidarity, even though she didn’t think it was funny. And frankly, she didn’t really understand the comment.
“Look, there he is.” Megan Denson pointed across the courtyard. Daphne’s and seven other pairs of eyes followed her finger. Sure enough, there was Luke, standing next to the flagpole. He was rummaging through his backpack, pausing every now and then to glance around at the people scurrying past.
He’s looking for me, Daphne suddenly realized. He’s pretending to be busy while looking for me.
It was the sweetest thing ever.
“Mmm. He really is cute,” Lynette said, making her voice low and provocative. “So glad to hear he likes women. If you’re worried, Daff, I’d be happy to make sure.”
Again the group of girls burst out laughing.
“Ha, ha. No, that’s okay,” Daphne said with a lame chuckle. “Ha, ha, ha.”
“You should go talk to him, Daff,” Rachelle said tauntingly.
Daphne couldn’t help grinning. “Actually, we sort of have plans. So … bye, I guess! See y’all tomorrow!” She shouldered her book bag and walked away.
She knew they would continue to talk about her after she left, distorting her and Luke’s special connection and making it into something crude. But she couldn’t worry about that right now. Right now she was just dizzy with joy at the sight of him.
It was almost scary how Luke had become so important so quickly. To think that only a week earlier she’d been walking these school corridors, totally clueless about his existence. She’d eaten her meals without composing cute text messages in her head. And she’d lain in bed without wondering what he was doing and whether he was thinking of her, too.
This had to be true love. No other guy had ever made Daphne feel this way. All her other crushes had been stupid and babyish. But this felt real. Important, even—as if she were fated to be with Luke. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was inscribed on an ancient scroll somewhere.
She crossed the courtyard in a few bounces and landed at his side. “Hi!” she said.
Luke looked up at her and smiled. “Hi.”
“Whatcha looking for?” She pointed to his backpack.
“My cell phone.” His forehead creased into a helpless expression. “It always ends up at the bottom.”
She giggled. “You expecting a call?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve met a lot of people so far.” He grinned a rather sad, lopsided grin and Daphne instantly felt foolish. Why did she have to ask him such a stupid question?
“But I did have a nice call yesterday,” he added, looking right at her and widening his smile.
Daphne’s heart seemed to swell inside her like one of those sponge toys that pop into animal shapes when you add water. One adorable grin from Luke and sproinggg! Instant giraffe.
“Ah! Found it.” He pulled a sleek smartphone out of his bag and held it up.
“Wow, that’s a nice one!” Daphne exclaimed. She was suddenly aware of her own phone—a three-year-old hand-me-down from her dad in the front pocket of her messenger bag. It was practically two cans attached with a string. Everybody seemed to have nicer phones—nicer everything—than she did.
Luke’s phone let out an electronic hip-hop tune as it powered up. “So let’s go,” he said, slipping it back into his pack. “Where is this place anyway?”
“Just follow me.” She ambled in the direction of downtown, pulling him with her smile. Luke returned the grin and fell into step beside her.
“So does this place have root beer floats?” Luke asked as they crossed Jefferson Street toward the center of town. The chatter and traffic sounds of school dismissal had faded to a low drone.
“Yeah.” Daphne’s eyes swiveled up to the cloudy sky. “I mean … I think so. It’s been a while since I’ve been there. But I’m pretty sure I’ve had one before. I think I’ve had one of everything. My dad used to take us all the time when he …” She paused. She had been about to say when he lived with us but decided not to. It sounded so pitiful. Plus, it still hurt to admit out loud that he’d left. “… when we were little,” she concluded. That was better. She’d tell Luke the truth eventually, but not today. Today was going to be all about fun.
As they crossed the small footbridge over Chandler Creek, she caught sight of their dim reflection in the water below. There they were. The two of them. Side by side. Her big mass of dark tresses and red T-shirt, and his russet-colored hair and green button-down. The images were all wavy, almost dreamlike. Daphne hadn’t even realized she was smiling until she saw her white teeth shining back at her on the rippling surface.
Luke stopped, rested his forearms on the wooden rail of the bridge, and gazed upstream. “Wow. This place is so cool,” he said, gesturing toward the water, the live oaks on the shore, and the cluster of nineteenth-century storefronts on the street beyond. “Small but nice. Like Mayberry or something.”
“It is,” Daphne agreed. She’d never fully appreciated how special her town was, but Luke was right. For some reason, it seemed extrapretty right now. She loved the way patches of light danced on the ripples below and the way the live oaks bowed reverently toward the water. Beyond the trees she could see the very tops of Main Street’s buildings, with their dates of completion etched below their curvy rooflines: 1898. 1901. 1903. The smell of brisket from Hawthorne’s Barbecue comingled with the
scents of caliche and pecan buds and fresh grackle poop. There was even a sound track of local noise to go with the postcard-pretty scene: the trickling of the creek in its limestone bed, the whir of unseen cicadas, and the creaking of the weather vane atop the old, restored Grayson house, now used for the chamber of commerce.
“Hey, lookee here.”
She looked at Luke and found him completely bent over. He picked something up off the worn planks and held it up between his thumb and forefinger. A tarnished penny.
“That’s lucky,” she remarked.
“For you,” he said, holding it out to her.
Daphne glanced from Luke’s aqua eyes to Lincoln’s somber profile cushioned within his open hand. It was so sweet! Maybe even symbolic. Today a penny … Soon, a bouquet of flowers … And after that, on some beautiful day, perhaps in this very same spot, a promise ring …
“Thanks,” she said. Her fingertips brushed against his palm as she took the coin, and a warm sensation skittered up her arm.
None of the other guys would do this. They never stopped to pick up pennies or take in the wonder of their surroundings. All they cared about were their trucks and the score of the latest football game. Once again Daphne had an overwhelming sense that this was significant—part of her personal history in the making. Someday she and Luke would be sitting on a porch, holding hands and watching the sunset, and Luke would say, “Remember the first time we went to Quick’s Pharmacy?”
And the penny would be in a little frame hanging on their wall.
They started walking again, past the post office and the new white brick library that had been completed the summer before. Eventually they reached the limestone facade of Quick’s Pharmacy.
“So this is it,” she said, gesturing toward the large, curved display window. Inside, on a shelf covered in red felt, lay an assortment of products. Shaving cream, toothpaste, baby lotion, aspirin, shoe polish, cotton swabs, Wrigley’s spearmint gum, and a Day-Glo green water pistol. Propped in the corner was the soda fountain menu. Shake or malt (chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry) … $4.00! Brown cow … $3.00! Soda … $2.00! Alma’s pimiento cheese sandwich … $4.50! Pie of the day … $3.50/slice!
The door chimes tinkled as Daphne and Luke stepped from the sidewalk into the air-conditioned interior. They paused just inside the entrance, letting their eyes adjust to the dim light.
“This is awesome,” Luke said.
“Yeah.” Daphne took a deep breath of cold, stale-smelling air. She felt as if she were seeing the place for the first time, and she found herself gazing in wonder at the pressed-tin ceiling and the curvy chrome barstools at the nearby counter.
How was it that she’d never noticed how wonderful this place was before? So quaint and charming. The perfect backdrop for a classic romance.
They passed shelves stacked with hair products and headache remedies and sat down on two stools.
“Well, hello there, darlin’!” Mr. Mason emerged from behind a display of sewing notions and stepped through a wooden gate to the area behind the counter.
Daphne smiled. Gabby always hated when men called them darling or sweetheart or doll. She said it was sexist and demeaning. But Daphne liked it. She even thought it was polite, in an old-Southern-gentleman sort of way.
“Haven’t seen you for a while now,” Mr. Mason went on. “You sure are growing up fast. I hardly recognized you.”
Daphne grinned and laughed. Ironically, she thought Mr. Mason hadn’t changed at all. Perhaps his hair and trim beard were a little whiter, and his belly seemed to strain against the buttons of his checkered shirt a bit more, but otherwise he looked the same as he always had.
“What can I get y’all?” he asked.
“Um …” Daphne looked quizzically at Luke.
He shrugged. “How about some floats?”
“Maybe we could share one?” she suggested. “I’m not all that hungry.”
It was a total lie. She was so hungry she could probably drink a whole one by herself. But she wanted to complete that traditional portrait: the two of them sitting together with the soda glass between them, their bodies making the shape of a heart as they bent forward to sip from their straws.
“Okay. Uh … one root beer float, please,” Luke said.
“With two straws,” Daphne added, swiveling back and forth on her stool.
“Coming right up.” Mr. Mason gave a quick nod and then headed for the soda machine at the opposite end of the counter.
Daphne looked over at Luke and smiled. He smiled back—not a stiff, awkward one or a cocky smirk, but a warm, gentle one. A real smile. Her left tennis shoe tapped against the railing at the base of the bar. It was tough to keep still while her insides seemed to be doing one of her cheer routines, the hard one with all the flips and the pyramid building. She wondered if Luke was feeling it too—this sense that Fate was in play, that powerful forces were nudging them together. Of course he felt it. How could he not?
All of a sudden the sound of muffled hip-hop music welled up close by. It seemed inappropriate for the setting, wrecking the illusion that they’d tiptoed back in time.
Luke rummaged in his backpack and pulled out his phone, silencing it with a finger tap. “Hello?” he said, pressing it to his ear. He turned on his stool so that he faced the back of the store. “No. Just grabbing a snack … Oh, yeah. Sure … Okay. See you in a sec.” He lowered his hand and tossed the phone back into his bag. “I’ve got to go,” he said, swiveling back toward Daphne.
“What? Why?” Daphne winced at the whine in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. Things had been so perfect, and now this.
“I’m stupid. I just totally forgot I was supposed to do something with the guys. Could we … try this again sometime?”
His eyes were so droopy and sorrowful, she couldn’t help feeling a little better. Besides, he wanted to meet up with her again. That couldn’t be bad.
“Sure,” she said, making herself grin.
“Here.” He fished a wad of bills out of his front pocket and placed a ten on the countertop.
“But that’s too much,” she protested.
Luke waved his hand as if erasing her words. “Don’t worry about it. Just take it.”
“All right.”
“Okay then …” Luke slid off his stool and draped his pack over his right shoulder. He paused, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. Was he going to kiss her?
She leaned forward slightly and lifted her chin, correcting the flight path between his lips and hers. But to her disappointment, he extended his right hand. A handshake?
Of course. She supposed it was proper for a first date at a soda fountain.
She managed a flimsy smile and slipped her palm into his grasp. Only instead of pumping it up and down, he simply held it. Then he slowly pulled her toward him and pressed his mouth to her forehead. At first Daphne was disappointed. It seemed odd—like a kiss her dad would give her. But as his lips lingered against her skin, she shut her eyes and enjoyed the feel of it. It was romantic, even, in an old-fashioned way. Conservative, but full of the promise of something bigger later.
After a while his hand and lips let go. Daphne opened her eyes, hoping to catch a smile on his face, but he was already heading out the door. She watched him stride down the sidewalk. The spot where he’d kissed her tickled a bit, as if it were giving off sparks, and she wondered if it could have left a mark, like Harry Potter’s scar or the glittery bubble shape made when Glinda kissed Dorothy.
“Here you go!”
A frosty glass suddenly appeared in front of her. Mr. Mason plopped a straw into either side of the float, said, “Y’all enjoy it now,” and ambled off toward the back.
Daphne pulled out one of the straws and licked off the ice cream before setting it down on the counter. Then she twirled around on the stool, sipping from the remaining straw.
She had too many emotions inside her, all scampering about and wrestling each other. The excitement over the kiss … T
he regret that he had to go … The joy that came with things like root beer floats and lucky pennies … But mainly she just felt restless. She was ready to officially start her happily-ever-after with Luke.
She could already see it. He would walk her to and from her classes, carrying her books the whole way, and all the girls in school would envy her. He’d invite her over to meet his mother and watch Jane Eyre on TV. He’d meet her dad and the two of them would become like father and son. Then her dad would come visit more often and maybe even move back to town.
He was her handsome prince who had come to rescue her from her dreary, ordinary life. The only one who saw how special she really was. Just like Cinderella, but without the magical ball.
She whirled around on the stool and sat leaning against the bar, kicking her feet out in front of her. Through the window she could see Mrs. Plata sweeping the sidewalk in front of the gift shop. Next door was Shelly’s Boutique, with its strangely posed mannequins and tinted lighting. In the corner of the display window stood a piece of posterboard with the word PROM! in iridescent orange letters.… And next to that stood a mannequin wearing the most beautiful dress Daphne had ever seen. Bright pink—the same shade as cotton candy and teacup roses and kissable lips. The color of romance and all things feminine. Her color.
Daphne’s mouth let go of the straw and curled into a wide grin.
Maybe there would be a magical ball after all.
“Yes, hi. Do you still have the apartment available? The one advertised online last Sunday? No? Well, do you have anything else? I see. Thanks anyway.”
Gabby hung up her cell phone and glanced back down at the page of For Rent ads she’d printed that morning, neatly folded and dotted here and there with circles she’d drawn in red Sharpie. Picking up her pen, she drew an X through the two-bedroom, two-bath condo off 290. That made four noes—if you didn’t count the guy who’d seemed drunk and kept asking what kind of shoes she had on; she’d no’d that one, too. Now her only hope was to wrangle a raise out of Mr. Pinkwater when he got back from his dinner break. And “hope” and “Pinkwater” rarely belonged in the same sentence.
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