I was still smiling when he stopped singing and kissed me, right there on the dance floor in front of everybody I knew.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” I speared a piece of banana pancake with my fork.
“I know,” Teresa said. “Everything just seemed so rushed, you know? I wasn’t thinking it would happen right then—he kind of sprang it on me that Thursday night, and it was too late to call you when I got home, and then in the morning I was so rushed . . . I mean, we’d both been kind of leaning that way for a while, but I was just assuming we’d deal with it when I got back.” She took a sip of her coffee and smiled across the table at me, looking ridiculously tanned and relaxed for someone who’d been on a transatlantic flight less than twelve hours earlier. “But I guess he was in more of a hurry. For obvious reasons.”
I blushed and smiled down at my plate. Even though my one-month anniversary with Jason was coming up soon, our relationship still felt new. That was a weird feeling for me. Usually by the time I’d been with a guy for a whole month, I was starting to get restless. But not this time.
“So you’re really okay with this?” I asked for about the fifth time in five minutes. Of course I’d e-mailed Teresa as soon as I was home from the wedding to let her know what had happened. And we’d talked a couple of times on the phone, though the time difference and the international charges had kept those conversations short. But this was our first chance to hash it out face-to-face. We were in a quiet booth at a local diner having breakfast.
“Of course,” she answered. “I mean, sure, it’s a little weird. But what’s life without weirdness? Especially life around you two?”
I grinned. “Oh, come on. Sure, Jason’s a little weird. But me?”
“You two are a perfect match.” She chuckled. “Much better than he and I were, that’s for sure.”
“But that’s the part I don’t get.” I reached for the syrup. “You two always got along so well. I don’t think I ever saw you fight.”
She shrugged. “We were friends,” she said. “We really get along that way. That’s probably why neither of us worked up the energy to break up for so long. But I knew for a long time that he was never going to be the guy to make my ears tingle, you know what I mean?”
“Sure,” I replied. “He wasn’t your thumpity-thump guy.” At her confused look, I explained, “That’s Camille’s term for it.”
“Oh. Well, anyway, it turns out he was feeling the same way all along. So when he realized he’d found someone else who did make him feel that way . . .” She gave me a meaningful look.
“I still feel kind of guilty about that,” I admitted, stirring my food around with my fork. “Like I, you know, stole him from you or something.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said briskly. “This is me you’re talking to, remember? Besides, it’s like I said. You two are so perfect together it’s disgusting.”
I grinned. But her comment reminded me of something that had been bugging me. “You know, a lot of people have been saying that,” I said. “But I don’t get it. How did I miss it for so long? Most of the time you two were dating, I just thought he was Mr. Annoying.”
“Maybe that was because he was off-limits,” Teresa suggested, leaning her elbows on the table. “Your subconscious translated your attraction to him into disgust.”
“Who let you take that psych class last semester?” I joked. But I was still a bit perplexed. How had I missed the obvious for so long? Wasn’t I the one who was always sizing up every guy I met and picturing myself with him?
Well, maybe not so much anymore . . . Jason and I had seen each other almost every day for the past month, starting with the blissfully quiet and peaceful two weeks when Camille and Bob had been away on their honeymoon. I hardly even noticed other guys anymore, and when Zoom had called once he got out of the hospital to see if I wanted to get together, I’d let him down easy—and with no regrets or second thoughts. I was like a whole new Ava. A one-guy Ava. It was kind of a nice feeling.
“So what do you two have planned for your one-month anniversary?” Teresa asked, leaning back in the squeaky vinyl booth.
“He won’t tell me,” I said. “Says it’s a surprise.”
Just then Teresa’s phone buzzed. She dug it out of her purse, and her face lit up when she saw the number. “Oh, it’s Helmut!” she said, sounding almost giddy. “Do you mind?”
“Go for it.” I smiled as she jumped out of the booth and hurried across to a private spot near the restrooms. We’d been so busy talking about my love life that I’d only heard a little about hers so far. But her eyes had danced and her voice had gone all soft when she’d told me about Helmut, a cute German guy she’d met during her internship. It was nice to see her that way for a change. I tended to go all goofy with any new guy—from Lance to Zoom to Oliver to Kwan to whoever. But Teresa wasn’t that way. If Helmut was making her light up like that, he had to be pretty special.
“Hey, there you are. Are you trying to hide from me back here?”
It was Jason. I felt myself light up too as he slid into the booth beside me. “Nope,” I said, giving him a kiss. “Just aiming for some privacy.”
He glanced around, looking adorably anxious. His hair looked perfect as always, and he was wearing a green T-shirt I’d given him that brought out the color of his eyes.
“Where’s, uh, you know, Teresa?” he asked.
“Over there.” I nodded toward the corner where she was huddled over the phone with her back to us, totally oblivious to his arrival. “She’ll be back in a minute.”
“I really hope she’s okay with this,” he said, sounding nervous. “You know—us.”
“She is,” I assured him. Then I reached over and wrapped my arms around him. “She totally is.”
He smiled and leaned forward to kiss me. My heart went thumpity-thump, my ears tingled, and I felt that spark flare up as strongly as ever. What had I ever seen in all those other guys, anyway? It was as if they’d never really existed. Jason was the only guy in the world for me now. No joke.
About the Author
Catherine Hapka has some experience with pink bridesmaid dresses . . . but luckily, she looks just fine in pink. She has written more than one hundred and fifty books for children and young adults. In addition to reading and writing, she enjoys horseback riding, animals of all kinds, gardening, music, and traveling. She lives on a small farm in Chester County, Pennsylvania, with a horse, three goats, a small flock of chickens, and too many cats.
LOL at this sneak peek of
Party Games
By Whitney Lyles
A new Romantic Comedy from Simon Pulse
The energy in the reception hall felt charged. Dance floor in full bloom, the buzz of conversation hummed against lively music. Waiters in black ties darted throughout the ballroom, balancing trays spiked with bubbling champagne flutes. Sara Sullivan hardly noticed the giddy group of bridesmaids that had gathered in a corner near the stage.
It was only about the millionth time in her fifteen-year-old life that she’d attended a party where she was neither guest nor hostess. Her exact title was “assistant to the event planner”—the event planner being her mother. At this particular party it had been hard to focus on assisting with anything. She’d practically abandoned her responsibilities as she became fully enraptured with the cutest guy she’d ever seen in her life.
From the back of the reception hall she gazed at dark curls, sun-kissed skin, a perfectly chiseled jaw, and sculpted broad shoulders. He had the rare combination of dark hair and blue eyes, and she swore his eyelashes cast a shadow over his cheeks. He was new in the band and he stood out like a palm tree in Alaska. Much younger than the rest of his bandmates, he looked like he didn’t belong in the band-issued suit he wore. The only thing that seemed to fit him was the guitar he held.
A crackle came from her headset. She waited to hear her mother’s voice, but there was nothing.
“Mom?”
&n
bsp; No reply.
Odd, she thought. She wondered if Cute New Guitar Guy liked girls who wore headsets. She felt so dorky sometimes.
When she glanced back at the stage, he was watching her. She didn’t give her eyes a chance to introduce themselves to his, and quickly looked at the clipboard she held. Why was she so shy and weird when it came to cute boys? Now she looked antisocial with a headset. A confident smile with lingering eye contact would’ve been nice. No, instead she had to be the nervous-looking chick with wire pinching the sides of her caramel-colored bangs.
“I can’t find your mother anywhere.” The agitated voice took Sara by surprise. Sara turned to face the mother of the bride. One look at her and Sara knew the woman had come with trouble. A vein spidered down the side of her temple, slithering beneath the high collar of her taupe sequined gown, and her pointy eyebrows were all scrunched up.
“I am not watching a ten-thousand-dollar cake end up all over the soles of that man’s Air Jordans.” She threw a thumb over her shoulder. “I don’t care who he is.”
A crowd had gathered near the cake. In spite of Sara’s five-two frame, she could still make out the tip of the bride’s veil somewhere inside the fray. She had no idea what was going on, but she headed toward the crowd, the mother of the bride marching closely behind her.
“Mom, you there?” Sara spoke into the microphone on her headset. “Potential RM. I repeat, potential RM.” They had all kinds of codes, but RM was code for disaster. It actually stood for Regina Manfrankler. Sara and her mother had made up the code last year after the ambitious Regina Manfrankler had shown up at the wedding of her ex-boyfriend equipped with three cans of red spray paint she’d reserved for the entire wedding party.
Sara and Leah found her tagging the white bridal limo with THE GROOM HAS A SMALL . . . They stopped her before she divulged the details, then covered her words with streamers and whipped cream. Sara had been pretty certain that what Regina had planned to say didn’t involve the groom’s bank account.
Sara made her way to the group, and as far as she could tell, everyone looked happy. A smile covered the bride’s face as she shimmied with the music. The yellow bridesmaids’ dresses swished with each step. So what could the problem be? It wasn’t until Sara was up close that she noticed the potential RM. On his back, legs spinning around the floor like the top of a Black Hawk was the tallest man Sara had ever seen in her fifteen years on earth. His name was Mickey Piper. In the world of basketball he was famous. He was also the best man at this wedding.
Sara didn’t care if he had ten pairs of sneakers and a video game in his name. All she cared about was that he was break-dancing within a millimeter of the wedding cake. This wasn’t any old cake. This was a delicacy adorned with rare edible flowers that had been delivered from the south of France—a pastry chef’s masterpiece that boasted real diamonds atop the bride and groom figurines. Sara and her mother had spent more time making sure this cake turned out okay than most girls spend picking out homecoming gowns. He must be stopped at once.
But how? This was not her kind of crisis. Her list of responsibilities included bustling the bride’s dress and making sure each guest left with a wedding favor. This was clearly a crisis reserved for someone with more experience. She tried her mother again. Still nothing. She watched Mickey Piper for a moment. She knew it was twisted but she couldn’t help but wonder if the videographer was catching all this. How often did famous basketball players break-dance at weddings?
She’d witnessed her fair share of wedding idiots. When your mother is an event planner, brides gone wild and in-laws who hate each other are part of everyday life. But this was celebrity clientele here. She couldn’t part the crowd, step inside, and grab one of his ankles. One nudge from his size twenty-two sneaker could blast her to a chandelier. This could end up in the tabloids if handled wrong. Her heart skipped a beat when the cake wobbled. She thought fast, then whipped around to face the mother of the bride.
“Give me one minute.”
Sara felt nervous as she headed for the band, and not just because of Cute New Guitar Guy. She had no idea if her little impromptu plan to save the cake was going to work. She’d worked with this cover band at many weddings and knew the lead singer, Kenny, well enough. He was cool for someone in his twenties, and he was really easy to work with. She stopped at the side of the stage and waved her arms. Kenny was too wrapped up in belting out Justin Timberlake to notice her. Then the guitarist’s blue eyes landed on hers, and even in the midst of crisis she couldn’t help but feel a buzz of warm, tingly excitement. Good thing it was a drum solo, because this gave Cute New Guitar Guy the opportunity to help her.
“I need Kenny!” She had to shout because the music was so loud she thought he wouldn’t hear her. He gave her a very nonchalant thumbs-up, as if he was used to helping out in the middle of songs. He edged in close to Kenny, made eye contact with the lead singer, then subtly nodded toward Sara.
Once she had Kenny’s undivided attention, she mouthed, “CONGA LINE NOW. BEST MAN MUST LEAD.”
Kenny closed in on his microphone. “Who’s in the mood for a conga line?” His voice boomed over the crowd. There were a few howls from the dance floor. “Grab the waist of the closest person, and let’s shake it up! I wanna see everyone on the dance floor! And I mean everyone! Where are the new Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox?” he sang. “I want the newlyweds in this conga line!”
She watched the bride scream, pull up her skirts, and jump to the front of the line. Her dress moved right along with the bridesmaids’ as they began to dance around the room. “And where’s the best man? Best man, I want you out there too,” Kenny’s voice sang through the microphone. “Everyone follow the best man.”
Sara didn’t have a chance to run for her life before Mickey Piper plucked her from the floor like a daisy and grabbed hold of her waist as he made her the head of the line. Her first thought was that she must look like a petrified leprechaun next to him. The man was seven-two, which was a solid two feet taller than her minuscule frame.
“The conga line is the bomb!” Mickey shouted so loud she thought her ears would burst. When she’d suggested the conga line to Kenny, she never imagined that she’d end up in it. She tried to wiggle free, but his hands felt nailed to her waist. All she could do was move. Her biggest fear was that if she stopped, everyone would fall like dominoes behind her and she’d end up like gum beneath his shoe.
She didn’t dance. She knew it was just the conga line, but she’d been watching things like this from the sidelines for years—not participating. Was she supposed to hop? Or did she trot? She took a few hops and felt her headset slip from the right side of her head. It dangled at an awkward angle over her forehead, and for a moment she was blind. She still held her clipboard. With one hand she grappled with the headset, but the moving train behind her pushed hard, and she only managed to get it away from her face. Somewhere in trying to fix the headset, her bangs had gotten caught in the wire, and her hair stuck up like weeds. She was the Easter Bunny with a lopsided ear.
She caught a glimpse of the caterer’s son, Blake. He was usually the only other person her age working at events, and he thrived on flirtatiously teasing her. One glimpse of his delighted smile, and she knew that he had enough material to make fun of her for the rest of the summer. She thought she might die.
Clearly, hopping was not how it was done. She tried kicking each foot from side to side. All she could do was pray the song ended soon. She wished she’d run for her life before this hoops-throwing giant with a death grip got ahold of her. As they rounded the corner of the dance floor, her eyes landed on something truly nightmarish. Cute New Guitar Guy’s gaze was aimed directly at her. A sly smile covered his face, and he nodded when their eyes caught. Hopping around the room like a moronic square dancer with a floppy headset and bangs standing on end would go down as one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.
Well, at least the cake had been saved. She hoped that the next time Mickey Piper
chose to do the helicopter, he did it on the dance floor, away from all the expensive stuff. She felt her bangs flopping around and wondered if the situation could get any worse.
The first thing she did when the song ended was straighten her headset and fix her hair. Then she got as far away from Mickey Piper as she possibly could. She couldn’t make eye contact with anyone in the room for fear of dying of embarrassment. It was hard to believe that it had only been minutes ago that she’d been praying for Cute New Guitar Guy to be around all summer. Now she sort of hoped she never saw him again. It was a good time to check in with her mother. Escape was welcome.
It would take a lot for her mother to ignore an RM alert. Sara imagined all kinds of catastrophes. Maybe that the filet mignon the bride had carefully selected had been confused by the caterer, and lobster covered each plate. Sara could still remember the bride explaining that her parents were deathly allergic to shellfish. The scent alone could trigger something called anaphylactic shock. Maybe her mom was desperately trying to come up with steaks in the last minutes before dinner, and that’s why she hadn’t answered.
There had to be a major explanation.
Something Borrowed Page 15