Sass & Serendipity

by Ziegler, Jennifer

  “What?” Gabby’s face felt hot and prickly. “Why are you talking to me like that? I’m on your side. I’m pissed off at her.”

  “So you’re mad. Whatever. That’s your reaction to everything.”

  “Of course I’m mad! She’s always pulling stuff like this. Welcome to my life.”

  “Have you ever thought that maybe one of the reasons you get so angry with her is because she’s willing to take risks that you aren’t? She’s not too scared to feel things—to feel for people, and even tell them about it.”

  “And I am?”

  Mule’s silence was answer enough.

  “This is ridiculous! You’re actually defending her, after what she did to you? The girl wouldn’t even give you the time of day a few weeks ago. Do you know what she used to call you behind your back? Nerd King. Isn’t that sweet?”

  Mule reached over and slammed his fist down on the coffee table, causing papers and pencils and empty fountain-drink cups to jump. “Stop it!”

  Gabby stared at him in mute disbelief. Over the years she’d seen a whole variety pack of expressions on Mule’s face, but this was by far the worst. Rutted and streaked with red, his eyes like tiny coin slots. He looked so … non-Mule-like.

  “What I need right now,” he growled through his teeth, “is an understanding friend. And since you obviously don’t know how to be one, I think you should just leave.”

  Gabby shook her head. “You don’t mean that.”

  Tossing his guitar aside, Mule sprang up from the sofa and stalked to the door, opening it wide. “Awfully nice of you to come by and cheer me up, Gab,” he said. “Time for you to move your ass on out of here.”

  She wavered in place for a second, blinking hard. “Fine!” she said, and marched past him into the annoyingly bright sunshine. The door shut with a loud wham behind her, like an exclamation point.

  Gabby stood there on the creaky porch, replaying the previous two minutes in her head and trying to pinpoint the precise second it all went wrong. But she couldn’t figure it out. What had she done, exactly? Why was he so mad at her?

  Maybe she shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, her mom was happier without her. Her dad was happier without her. And now Mule had literally tossed her out of his house—and maybe his life.

  Gabby often said she didn’t need people, and she really hoped that was true. Because right now, she had no one.

  Daphne studied her right hand. Ten minutes into her prom date and she’d already messed up her manicure by repeatedly chomping down on her nails. But she couldn’t help it. It was the most important night of her life—the night that would undo the worst night of her life—so she was understandably nervous.

  As happy as she was with the dress, Daphne felt awkward sitting down in it. The skirt poufed up several inches from her lap and made rustling noises every time Luke drove over a bump. Meanwhile, her overuse of hair spray was filling the car’s interior with fumes, and the safety belt threatened to crush her corsage. (Not that she minded too much, since it was made out of the same scary-looking flower she’d rejected for the boutonniere—the tropical monster with the little spiky things sticking out from the center.)

  Neither of them talked. Over the past couple of days they’d spoken on the phone a lot, mainly discussing all the last-minute prom preparations. But now there didn’t seem to be much to say, and the topics Daphne came up with were too tied to excruciating past events.

  Meanwhile, Luke seemed to be concentrating on driving. He was ultracareful with stops and checked the mirrors every few seconds, and he never got his parents’ green SUV up past thirty miles an hour. Daphne felt as if some dotty fairy godmother had converted their coach out of a turtle instead of a pumpkin.

  She wondered where Luke could be taking her for dinner. The whole time he’d been very secretive about it, saying it was a surprise. Maybe the Rushing Water Inn? Of course. That was probably it. And he’d remember to order two chicken cordon bleus. She couldn’t wait to see him in the candlelight.

  Just then, Luke pulled off the road into an empty gravel lot.

  “What’s wrong? Car trouble?” she asked.

  “Nope. We’re here,” he said, smiling sneakily as he cut the engine.

  “But … where are we?”

  “It’s time for dinner.” He reached into the backseat and lifted up a cooler. “I thought we would have a picnic.”

  Daphne looked out the window. Sure enough, they were across the street from Monroe Park. There was hardly anyone there. Just a couple of middle schoolers in the far corner kicking around a soccer ball. “Oh,” she said, trying to sound pleased. “Great.”

  She probably shouldn’t feel so let down. After all, she’d daydreamed about their having romantic picnics in the park. But it was prom; it was the night they would face up to all the teasing and show everyone they were together. For something this big she wanted to feel more like Cinderella the princess instead of Cinderella the scullery maid.

  She followed him to the park and across the grounds to one of the picnic tables. Her heels sank into the dirt, and gusts of wind kept lifting the back of her dress, revealing the netted slip underneath. But Daphne stuffed down her disappointment. Instead, she focused on how beautiful the evening was. The sun was low on the horizon, streaming through the nearby trees and throwing streaks of orange and pink across a deep turquoise sky. Except for the clouds of mosquitoes newly hatched from the nearby creek, it really was a dreamy setting.

  They sat down at the table and Luke immediately began pulling wrapped sandwiches and sodas out of the cooler.

  “We have tuna, turkey and Swiss, and PB and J. Whatever you like.” He grinned awkwardly as he lined them up on the tabletop. “Pick your poison.”

  Daphne selected what appeared to be a turkey sandwich, figuring it was the least messy option, and a can of Sprite. She smiled back at him and took a bite.

  Luke looked so handsome in his tux. He hadn’t bothered to match the cummerbund and tie to her dress, explaining that he’d borrowed the suit from his dad. But at least the silvery gray color was nice and sleek and didn’t clash with the boutonniere she’d pinned on him. She really loved how the flower brought out the rosy tint in his soft curvy mouth, and the way his eyes stood out even more on his face since he’d combed back his wavy hair with a bit of gel.

  “This is nice, isn’t it?” Luke gestured about the park. “No crowds. No waiting. Lots of fresh air.”

  “Yeah,” Daphne said, waving a bug out of her face.

  By now the middle schoolers had stopped their game and were pointing at them and snickering. It reminded Daphne too much of Tracy’s party, so she leaned sideways, letting Luke’s neatly coiffed head block her view of them.

  Everything was quiet, except for the sounds of their chewing and the drone of the cicadas in the trees above. She searched her mind for something to say before the silence felt too long or squirmy. But once again, she couldn’t think of a good subject.

  Just then, a rustling came from the nearby weeds and a duck waddled out, appraising them with a tilt of its head.

  “Well, hello,” Daphne said to the duck. That gave her an idea—a great way to break the tension. “You know, I do an awesome duck,” she said to Luke. “Want to hear?”

  “Um … sure.”

  Daphne slouched down, folded her arms into wings, and retracted her head slightly. Then she let loose with a whole series of nasal-sounding quacks, ending with her bursting out laughing.

  She couldn’t tell who looked more startled, Luke or the duck.

  “That’s funny,” Luke said, even though it was clear he thought the opposite.

  Daphne felt foolish. “It’s just something I do,” she said with a shrug. “Not all the time or anything, just … for fun.”

  Luke nodded and gazed off toward the sunset. He swallowed hard, making his neck bulge out like a bullfrog. Daphne had a fleeting urge to do her best frog noises but decided not to. Luke just wasn’t loosened up enough for joking a
round like that.

  She chomped on her left thumbnail and again tried to come up with a nonstressful conversation starter, something besides school or parties or his move. Or anything animal-related.

  “So … where do you think you’ll go to college?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” Luke said, lifting his shoulders. “There’s still time for me to figure that out.”

  “You’ll probably want to go to a small college, right? I mean, you like small towns and all, so I’m guessing you won’t want one of those superhuge universities, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  They lapsed into another silence. This time even the cicadas went quiet.

  “So what do you think you’ll study?”

  He shook his head. “Beats me. What about you?”

  “I don’t know, either.” She thought about what Mule said. “But it will probably have something to do with people. I think … I think maybe I’m good with people. Do you?”

  Luke looked right at her, and his lips slowly curved into a smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I mean, you sure made me feel welcome.”

  Daphne grinned. Finally, she was making progress.

  “You know, I was thinking …” Luke leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “What if we just blew off prom? We could do something else—just the two of us. Without all those other jerks.”

  “But … didn’t you already buy the tickets?”

  “Nah. I was going to get them at the door.”

  A sudden realization swept through her, tightening her gut. “You can’t go through with it, can you?” she said. “That’s why we’re here. You don’t want to risk being seen with me.”

  Luke opened his mouth as if he was going to protest, then quickly closed it. Guilt weighed down his features.

  “It was your idea for us to go together. Remember?” Daphne said, her voice rising. “You wanted to show them all.”

  “I know. I thought I could do it, but … Look, the guys really teased me about your little speech at the party. If they see us together, they’ll probably start up all over again. You have no idea what it’s like.” He stopped, noticing the glare on Daphne’s face. “Okay. I guess you do know. But it’s not the same. I’m new. Everything I do counts big-time. If I’m going to spend another year here, I need friends. Right?”

  “I thought you said you didn’t really think they were your friends. That you didn’t feel like one of them.”

  He shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t like them all that much. But it beats not having anyone. And it’s not like there’s a lot of people in this town. I don’t have a lot of friend options.”

  “But you have me, right?” she asked, her voice shaky. “What about me?”

  “Um … sure,” he said, seeming confused. “I like you. Really. I just can’t risk everything for you. If you’re my friend, you’ll understand.”

  Daphne glanced around. Everything felt suddenly unreal, as if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole into a bizarre, parallel world. The sky seemed full of cartoon colors. Even the duck looked as if it were shaking its head in pity.

  “Can’t we just be a secret for a while?” he said, placing his hand on hers. “At least until things get better? Until everyone has totally forgotten the whole thing? We could still hang out, you know, away from everyone.”

  So he did want to be with her. But only if no one saw.

  She stared hard at him, studying his face in the psychedelic sunset. She’d thought he was a gentleman. She’d thought he was sweet and loyal and old-fashioned. But he wasn’t. He was just lonely and whiny—and kind of boring. He wasn’t even Luke. Sure, he looked the same, but he wasn’t the ultrasensitive, superromantic guy she’d been daydreaming about. In fact, he didn’t even seem all that cute anymore. He wasn’t ugly, just … okay. Although his eyes were too wide and scared-looking. And he had that annoying silent laugh, a mere smile and shoulder jiggle.

  Mule was right. She didn’t love him. She just wanted love. She wanted to be adored by the Luke of her dreams.

  Luke let out a groan and pressed his fingers to his temples, the same way Daphne’s mom did whenever one of her migraines started. “You know, you’re right. I’m being dumb,” he said. “Let’s just go. I asked you, so I should take you.”

  “Oh, well … how can I refuse?” Daphne said, placing a fluttering hand over her heart.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just mixed up.”

  “Forget it. You already chickened out. It’s obvious you don’t want to go with me.”

  “But I do like you. I do want to be with you—just not there.”

  Daphne shook her head. “Not good enough. Besides, I don’t want to be with you. Not anymore.” As she heard the sentences come out of her mouth, Daphne realized she meant every word. She wasn’t just saying them to hurt Luke. She was really, truly over him.

  She got to her feet, packed up her sandwich wrappings, and tossed them into a nearby trash can.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “We’re done here,” she said. “I’m leaving.”

  “Wait. I’m sorry. We could still—”

  “Don’t be sorry. I made a mistake. I thought going out with you tonight would totally erase what happened at the party. That things could go back to the way they were before. But that won’t happen. Things are different. I’m different.” She picked up her purse and tucked it under her arm. “So you’re off the hook. No more me. No more teasing. You don’t even have to drive me home.”

  Daphne headed across the park, wobbling a bit in her heels. As she reached the road she glanced back, wondering whether Luke might come after her. But he was still sitting there, gazing down at his half-eaten tuna melt, looking kind of forlorn. The soccer kids had already gone home. Even the duck had wandered off.

  She supposed she should feel sad or angry, only she didn’t. It was like … finishing a story. There’d been thrills and surprises and some not-so-great turns of events, but now it was over. If anything, she felt sorry for the guy. She really hoped he would find his place here. Just like she had.

  “Stupid!” Gabby yelled. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

  She was so stupid.

  She gazed through the window of the Jetta yet again, hoping she wouldn’t see what she’d seen earlier, hoping it had all been a bad hallucination brought on by her rushed dinner of Dr Pepper and movie theater hot dogs. But no such luck. There they were: her keys, hanging from the car ignition. And every single door was locked tight.

  Why, Universe? Why? She’d already worked a double shift at the cinema since so many of the usual Saturday staffers had taken the day off for prom. She’d even stayed late to help with the broken popcorn machine, making certain she’d avoid seeing Daphne get dolled up for her date with that twit. Now all she wanted was to change into her pajamas and watch some mindless crap on TV, preferably some reality show featuring dim-witted egomaniacs whose lives were even more screwed up than hers.

  Only she was the dimwit. She hadn’t even realized what she’d done until she’d tried to unlock the front door with her cell phone.

  Now what?

  She wandered around the house, trying every window, including the one above the dryer, Daphne’s favorite escape hatch. But they were all locked tight, thanks to her own recent safety check. Yay, Gabby! Such a responsible girl!

  She tried the front door one last time, jiggling the handle every which way and trying to pick the lock with a spring she’d pulled out of one of her pens. But all she managed to do was spill the contents of her purse all over the porch and get splotches of blue ink on her hands.

  “Damn it!” Gabby threw down her makeshift pick and plunked down on the front step.

  There was no one she could call. Not her parents. Not Daphne. Not Mule—definitely not Mule. She’d rather sleep on the porch than call him up. It wasn’t that she was mad at him so much as … guarded. Too scared of doing even more damage to the friendship or relationship or whatever-ship she had with him.
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  Why did she even bother having a cell phone if there was no one she could call? It was kind of pathetic.

  Lately Gabby had felt haunted by her aloneness, as if it were a shadowy entity. She had Nobody. Nobody was part of her life, stalking her from place to place, peering over her shoulder, sitting with her during meals, and—quite possibly—making her lock her stupid keys in her stupid car.

  “Now what?” she asked Nobody.

  As if guided by an unseen force, her gaze wandered across the grounds toward Applewhite Manor.

  “Right. Okay,” she said.

  She pulled herself to her feet and lumbered across the lawn.

  “This could be a bad idea,” she said to Nobody. Raising her fist, she gave a tentative knock.

  A vague sense of déjà vu came over her as she stood there in the hazy evening light. Glancing around the porch, she found herself reliving Prentiss’s kiss and wishing there were some photos or footage of the incident, something she could study so she could more accurately view those moments and figure out what they meant.

  The door opened and Prentiss appeared on the threshold, silhouetted by the soft peachy light of the foyer.

  For some reason, Gabby smiled. “Hi,” she said. “I did something stupid, and … I need help.”

  “I was stupid,” Daphne said. “I’m sorry.”

  Mule stood in the doorway to his house, frowning and scratching his messy curls. “What the heck …?” He stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind him. “What are you doing here? What happened to you?”

  Daphne teetered on the porch planks. One of her heels had come off on the walk over, and her perfectly upswept hairdo had come undone yet still defied gravity due to the sheer power of hair spray. Making things worse, she’d also tripped and fallen—probably because of her differing shoe elevations—and ended up muddying the bottom of her dress. She must look like a zombie homecoming queen.

  “I’m fine,” she said, scratching a mosquito bite on her arm.

  “What do you mean you’re fine? You look awful.” Mule’s face was all crimped with concern. It was nice to see. “Did that guy … Did he …?” His hands balled into fists.