Well, apparently no one told Dylan and Steph because they stayed together—sickeningly, disgustingly, happily together—for the next seven years. Seven! Who did that? It was like they were out to set some kind of world record or something.
But then, last week, word had spread that the epic union of Stylan had come to an end. No one knew why exactly—and quite frankly, I didn’t care. I had almost given up hope. Almost. But now was my chance. I just needed him to see me as something more than the nice girl next door. And what better opportunity than Senior Week when there would be parties and concerts and bonfires on the beach?
If that didn’t scream romance, I don’t know what did.
The only problem was, I hadn’t exactly planned on going. Truth be told, I’d made a bit of a stink about how lame it would be and how it was just one more way for the popular crowd to reign supreme over the rest of us losers.
I imagine that was one of the reasons that Amy was scowling at me over her muffin.
She was on some weird all all-natural diet that seemed to consist of a daily consumption of bizarre grains that I’d never heard of before. The other day she’d eaten a protein bar made out of cricket flour.
I tried a bite and yes, it was just as disgusting as it sounds.
Hopefully some of her current anger was due to the diet and not my announcement.
“You are acting like an idiot.” Little crumbs flew out of her mouth when she spoke.
I leaned over the table, casting a quick glance around to make sure no one could hear us. “Please, Amy. I really, really want to go.”
It’s not like I needed her permission or anything, but I did need her car. And more importantly, her driver’s license. I was probably the only senior who didn’t drive but as far as I knew I was also the only one heading to New York City for college in the fall, and who needed to drive in the city? That’s what subways were for.
She set down the muffin with a little too much force and it promptly crumbled into a million pieces. “Look, even if I didn’t think this was a useless, ridiculous plan—”
Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.
“I still wouldn’t be able to drive you to the Jersey shore. I’m going to visit my cousins in Maryland that week, remember?”
I fell back into my seat. Crap. I’d completely forgotten about that.
Some of Amy’s irritation over my plan seemed to thaw in the face of my pathetic sigh.
After a moment of silence, she offered, “Maybe one of the others is going?”
‘The others’ were our friends in the theater crowd. But her expression looked doubtful as she spoke and I just rolled my eyes. Out of everyone in the theater department, Amy and I were probably the least… how shall I put it? Clicky? They weren’t mean bullies or anything, they just had a tendency to stick to themselves. They were definitely not joiners.
Not that Amy and I were social butterflies but we were slightly more well-rounded in our social lives. We were known to go to the occasional non-drama party and took part in some other clubs. Like Amy and her art class and me on the school paper. So if we hadn’t even considered going to the uber-joiner, popular-kid-getaway that was Senior Week, odds were the others hadn’t either. As a rule, our school’s arts and drama crowd tended to look down on anything that had the slightest tinge of school spirit.
Normally, I turned my nose up at that kind of thing too, but this was different. This was my chance.
This was fate.
I made the mistake of using the F-word with Amy and I could see her biting her lip to keep from laughing. Taking my hands in hers, her bright red curls fell over her shoulder as she leaned in toward me. “No offense, Layla. I mean, you know I love you more than anyone in the world and I think you are the best but… if Dylan hasn’t noticed you by now, after you’ve been right in front of his face his entire life, what makes you think he’ll notice you now?”
I braced myself against a stab of pain at her words. She was right, of course, but sometimes I wished she would at least pretend to believe that I stood a chance. I didn’t need her to like Dylan or believe that he was perfect, I just needed her to believe in me and what I knew to be true.
That we were meant to be.
But she was still waiting for an answer and I knew she wouldn’t buy any more talk of fate or kismet. For an artist, Amy was terribly practical like that. So I found myself saying, “Because I’ll make him see me.”
She blinked a few times as if surprised by my answer. That was when I realized I sounded far more confident than I felt. Still, her sudden change in attitude was heartening. Amy even smiled a little. “Well, that’s more like it.” She let go of my hands and crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”
Uh, the plan?
“What are you going to say to him?” she asked. “If you go, I mean. Are you going to tell him once and for all how you feel?”
Amy’s brows rose and her lips pursed as she stared me down. It was a challenge, pure and simple. There was only one answer I could give if I wanted to face myself in the mirror or truly be able to say that I gave fate every chance. I never ever wanted to live with regrets. “Yes.” I took a deep breath and said it a little louder and with far more confidence than I felt. “Yes, I’m going to tell him. No matter what.”
Amy’s face broke into a wide grin. “Well then, that changes things.” Jumping up from her bench, she reached out and grabbed my arm, tugging me toward the cafeteria door. “Come on then, let’s figure out how to get you to the beach.”
Finding a ride was easier said than done. Amy helped, despite her many and varied lectures on why this was a bad idea.
To clarify, she approved of me sharing my feelings but thought I was stupid to go to Senior Week to do it.
“He lives next door, why do you have to drive to Jersey just to say I like you?”
Seriously? It was like the whole concept of romance was lost on this one. Probably for the best. We evened each other out like that. I was the romantic, she was the practical one. Just like she was loud and I was quiet. She wore trendy clothes, and I wore hippie-ish clothes—not for fashion reasons, mainly just because I liked to be comfortable and nothing was comfier than loose-fitting tank tops and long, swaying skirts. The biggest difference between us was in our looks. With her vivid red hair, curvy figure, and form-fitting clothes, Amy stood out. She welcomed attention and thrived on being in the spotlight.
I, on the other hand, had a tendency to fade into the woodwork. I was short, petite, and had long plain brown hair that acted like a shield most of the time. The ironic part was, though she loved the spotlight in real life, I was the one determined to make it big on Broadway. I was the actress, the singer, and dancer. I was the triple threat. Amy, meanwhile, acted in the school plays but her true love was art so she was far more interested in the backstage roles like costume and set design.
She gave me a ride home after school—I might not drive but I was a senior, there was no way in hell I was taking the school bus. We were still half a block away when I heard it. Band practice. I couldn’t help but grin, even though Amy was rolling her eyes. I was leaning forward in my seat by the time she rolled to a stop in front of my house which was right next to Dylan’s. My parents hated Dylan’s band with a vengeance. Well, more like they hated that the band practiced in the Yates’s garage next door.
But I loved it.
I scrambled to undo my seat belt and ignored Amy’s pleading to just tell Dylan how I felt already so we could all move on with our lives.
“Thanks for the ride,” I called as I slammed the door mid-speech.
I loved Amy but she just didn’t understand.
The band was all there, obviously, and for the first time in a long time Stephanie was not. Do not squeal for joy, Layla James. Do not do it.
It’s not like I didn’t like Stephanie. It was hard not to like her, she was a sweet girl. Annoyingly pretty, perhaps, and way too chipper for my liking, but nice. Sooo nice
. Unbearably nice.
But today Little Miss Sunshine was nowhere to be seen. It was just the guys in the band and they were finishing up one of their songs. I walked toward the open garage slowly.
This was my chance. None of my friends could drive me to the beach, but maybe, just maybe, I could get a ride from Dylan. We were neighbors, after all. And he’s the one who asked if I was going.
I heard Amy’s car start to pull away and went into panic mode. My eyes flickered toward my own front door, which looked incredibly appealing.
Man up, Layla. There were two weeks left before high school was over forever and mere months before I went off to New York for college at NYU. What did I have to lose?
I recognized the song they were playing—it was a fast-paced number that they always played at their shows. And yes, I had been to every one of their shows. Dylan looked adorable as ever on his bass but he was so focused on the instrument in his hands that he didn’t see me coming up the drive. The singer, Brent, a former student of Midland High was doing his typical talk-singing thing that he did, which ended up making him sound like a bad version of Bob Dylan. The song was almost over, I recognized the last verse. I slowed my approach so I’d reach the garage at the perfect time.
But then the lead guitar came to a sudden stop and so did my heart. The lead guitarist had spotted me. Oh no, not now.
“Lay lady lay!” Jack Abrams shouted that stupid nickname into his mic so the entire neighborhood could hear my humiliation.
Jack was my least favorite member of the band. Every girl wanted him, every guy wanted to be him…. And he knew it. So cool, so smug, so arrogant, he was pretty much everything I disliked in a guy. Also? He made me nervous. Not just because he was Mr. Too Cool for School but because insisted on calling attention to me with that stupid nickname every time he saw me.
He was another senior but he’d transferred to our school last year and for a reason I could never understand, Dylan had befriended him and the two of them had started up the band, which was an instant hit among our peers. In my opinion, their popularity had more to do with Dylan than the actual music but whatever the reason, they were Midland High’s version of The Beatles.
Jack was grinning at me now. No, not grinning. Smirking. I don’t know what I ever did to him but whenever I’m around he seems to go out of his way to make me miserable. Like now. I snuck a glance at Dylan but he was still frowning down at the equipment as he fiddled with a dial on an amp.
“Are you our new groupie?” Jack asked.
Yup. It was official. I hated him. I shifted my bookbag on my shoulder and glanced from him to the others, looking for a little help. In return I got a friendly wave from Herman, the other senior who played drums, and a nod of acknowledgement from Brent.
“I just wanted to hear you guys play,” I said, my voice irritatingly weak and shaky.
Lame. So lame. But it was the best I could come up with short of, “I was hoping to weasel my way into a ride from Dylan and, oh yeah, maybe see if he wanted to make out while I’m at it.”
Jack’s smirk got smirkier, if that was possible.
Dylan finally seemed to notice my presence and he lifted his head and looked right at me. God, he was hot. He tossed his head a bit so his shaggy blond hair wasn’t in his eyes and gave me a smile that was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.
Breathe, Layla.
“Hey, Laynie.” See? Now there was an appropriate nickname and one that I absolutely adored since Dylan was the only one who ever called me that.
“Hi.” I shuffled my feet a bit, willing Jack to stop smirking at me and Dylan to continue speaking.
Dylan’s face lit up like he just thought of something awesome. “Hey, Laynie, you going to the beach next week?”
My heart did a galloping move. He brought it up! Again. This was destiny. And clearly he cared whether I was going, so much so that he asked me twice. Twice! Wait til Amy heard that one. “Yeah, I think I’ll go.” Swallowing thickly, I forced out the next words. “I still need to find a ride though.”
Dylan’s look of disappointment was equally heartening and disappointing. I mean, it wasn’t like he leapt to give me a ride, but for all I knew he wasn’t driving or his car was full already. And he looked really disappointed so… that was something.
“Bummer,” he said.
Offer me a ride. Offer me a ride. Offer me a ride. I’d never had success with telepathy to date but it never hurt to try. Where there’s a will there’s a way.
Jack, who was still watching me with that stupid mocking grin, started playing some chords on his guitar, a not-so-subtle hint that chat time was over.
“See ya, Laynie,” Dylan said as I started to back away.
My “bye” was drowned out by Jack’s guitar but his parting, “Don’t run away, lay lady lay!” shouted into his mic could most likely be heard for blocks around.
I ignored him, like I always did, but I could feel his smirk following me as I cut across the lawn to my house.
To keep reading, check out Senior Week Crush
About the Author
MAGGIE DALLEN IS a big city girl living in Montana. She writes romantic comedies in a range of genres including young adult, historical, contemporary, and fantasy. An unapologetic addict of all things romance, she loves to connect with fellow avid readers. Subscribe to her newsletter at http://eepurl.com/bFEVsL
LINKS & OTHER WORKS
Facebook: facebook.com/MaggieDallenAuthor
Twitter: twitter.com/Mag_Dallen
Website: maggiedallen.com
Check out Maggie’s other books:
Barely a Fairy Tale Series
Cinderella Blackmail
Snow White Espionage
Rose Red Rebellion
Beauty & The Heist
Starting from Zero Series
Love Times Two
Less Than Three
The Plus One
Chance Romance Series
The Accidental Engagement
The Accidental Boyfriend
The Accidental Elopement
What the critics say about Maggie’s books!
"What an absolutely delightful romantic romp....The Accidental Engagement is such a lighthearted, simply fun read. I could easily picture this as a romantic comedy movie...I would definitely recommend this for anyone who loves to... well, fall in love. Indulge yourself and enjoy."
—KEEPER BOOKSHELF
"A fun read, I recommend The Accidental Engagement for any romance reader looking for something sweet."
—HARLEQUIN JUNKIE
"I loved every minute of this story and couldn’t put it down until the very last page...I can’t wait to see what Maggie Dallen has in store for her other characters...Maggie Dallen is now on my must-read list."
—EYE ON ROMANCE
The Prom Kiss Page 16