Breaking the Plan: Mill Street Series #1

by Calla, Jessica

  “True.”

  When the music volume increased, Taryn lifted her chopsticks and acted like a conductor, swinging the little sticks around in the air. “This is a crescendo,” she yelled, as the loud, demanding music filled the room.

  “Crescendo. Got it.”

  When the music quieted again, she went back to eating. “I’m going to regret all this food tomorrow.”

  I didn’t think she had anything to worry about in the weight department. “Me too,” I teased. My skinniness was my worst enemy sometimes.

  She laughed. “You couldn’t keep weight on if you tried.”

  I balled up my napkin and threw it at her. “Wanna know a secret about me?”

  Her green eyes grew wide as she nodded. I took a scoop of rice, making her wait.

  “Come on!” she yelled.

  I hooked my finger, indicating for her to come closer. She did, and I whispered, “Josh shot me up with steroids a couple of times.”

  “No!” she gasped.

  “Supposedly it was legal, natural stuff. I don’t know. I never told Vi. You can’t say anything.” I leaned closer even though I didn’t have to. “Just three times, last year. I went through a phase where I wanted to get bigger, so he called someone he knew. But you know how I am on alcohol?”

  She huffed. “All too well.”

  “That’s how I was on the ‘roids, so Josh cut me off.”

  “Good. You don’t need that shit in your body.”

  “I hate being so skinny.” Another internal thought that escaped.

  “Why?” she asked.

  I’d never really thought about it, but I knew the answer as soon as it flashed through my mind. “Pure vanity. I want people to see me for more than my brains, I guess.”

  She laughed. “Funny. Substitute ‘brains’ for ‘body’ and that’s the story of my life.”

  I lifted an eyebrow as I took another bite. “You were blessed with the good looks, that’s for sure.”

  “Are you flirting with me as I shove pork fried rice down my throat?”

  I held back an inappropriate thought about her shoving things down her throat and said, “Apparently so.”

  She looked me up and down. “I think you look great. Exactly how you’re supposed to.”

  We smiled at each other, then she quickly looked away, busying herself by rearranging the cartons on the coffee table. “Honestly?” she said. “I expected you to be a drunken disaster after seeing that Instagram post earlier. I was a wreck worrying about you.”

  “You were?”

  She tossed the chopsticks into the mess on the table. “Well, yeah. I didn’t want you doing anything crazy. Josh is useless at keeping an eye on you.”

  “He’s not as tough as you, that’s for sure.”

  “Good thing you had Vi Clone to keep you distracted.”

  I chuckled. “Vi Clone, ha. Yeah, she kept me in line until you got there. I mostly talked to her to avoid punching the wall.”

  “Oh, Ollie,” she sighed. “Maybe that counts as progress then.”

  I held the box of dumplings to her. “Want the last one?”

  She grabbed a chopstick and stabbed it, tossing it into her mouth.

  “Your Chinese food eating skills are unmatched, Bella.”

  She winked, then her phone rang. Her face drained of color as she looked at the screen. It was late for a call, and I didn’t like her freaked out look. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I, uh, have to take this.” Then she stood and disappeared into her room.

  * * *

  Taryn

  I slammed my door and whisper-shouted into the phone. “What do you mean I have to be in Philadelphia tomorrow morning?”

  “Ashton went to rehab about two hours ago. You’re runner-up.” The tone that Lucille, the pageant coordinator, spoke in relayed that she was annoyed I was questioning her. “Most runner-ups love to get a call like this. Not that we’re happy that Ashton’s in rehab, but to be in the Miss Lovely America competition is an honor. It’s televised! And you’re right in Jersey anyway so you can make it here in no time.”

  An honor? More like a nightmare. National television? Hair, makeup, and promo in the morning? “But I’ve had no notice. I just ate four cartons of Chinese food, Lucille.” I ran my hands over my bulging stomach, thinking of getting into a bikini. “Fuck no.”

  “You signed a contract,” she barked. “You will be in Philadelphia tomorrow morning at six o’clock with your wardrobe and your assistant to represent the great State of New Jersey, or you will be in breach of that contract. Do I make myself clear?”

  A million thoughts ran through my mind. Six o’clock was in less than six hours, and it took two hours to get to Philly, longer if I took a train. That gave me four hours to get my crap together. I squeezed my eyes closed, thinking of an excuse but not finding one. “Oh, fine,” I sputtered.

  “Very well.” Her voice sounded a lot calmer. “I’m emailing you further instructions and forms you can fill out prior to arriving.”

  When we disconnected, I immediate called my mother. Since they were cleaning overnight these days, I knew she wouldn’t answer. By the time she got the message, it would be six a.m.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered, grabbing random things from my dresser and tossing them into a bag.

  A knock on the door startled me.

  “Are you okay?” Oliver asked.

  His voice gave me an inkling of hope. I flung the door open. “No,” I said, dragging him in.

  He looked at me with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have a situation.” Then I started hyperventilating. I was going to be on television tomorrow night, for at least the opening and one round. I didn’t know the songs or choreography. I didn’t know anything. When was the last time I’d waxed? Where the heck were my hot rollers?

  “Sit,” Ollie demanded, pulling me out of my hysteria. “Breathe. You’re going to pass out.”

  I did as he said and sat on the edge of my bed. He squatted in front of me, his eyes full of concern. I’d have to take five minutes to explain to him.

  Twisting my hands in my lap, I looked around the room. “I don’t know how much Vi tells you, but I almost had to drop out last year.”

  “I remember. She was worried about getting the apartment because your status with financial aid was shaky.”

  “I was able to stay because I got some loans and scholarship money.”

  “Okay—”

  “Please.” I held up a hand. “I’m going to blurt this out and let you be all shocked, but I only have a couple of minutes to spare.”

  “Tell me.” He held his hands on my knees, steadying me or steadying him. I didn’t know which.

  “My scholarship money came from the Miss Lovely New Jersey pageant. I was runner-up.” I didn’t look at his face because I didn’t want to see him smirk or make fun of me for actually being the cliché he probably thought I was. I’d just complained about people seeing me only for my body.

  After a deep breath, I rambled out everything I needed to tell him. “As runner-up, I got the money I needed to come back for senior year and didn’t have to do anything else, pageant-wise. But since the winner went to rehab, apparently I have to stand in or be sued, and I’m supposed to be in Philadelphia by six o’clock to be the Miss Lovely New Jersey contestant for the actual national competition, which airs tomorrow night.”

  Silence. I braved a look at him, expecting to see him doubled over in laughter, but he was still looking at me, same as he had before.

  “You’re not going to make fun of me for being in a beauty pageant?” My cheeks warmed. “Or are you in shock?”

  “Your being Lovely Miss New Jersey doesn’t surprise me at all.” He trailed his eyes down my face and over my chest, to our hands, which were joined together in my lap.

  “Miss Lovely New Jersey,” I corrected him.

  He cleared his throat, gave my thighs a pat, and stood up. “How can I help?”
>
  I squinted up at him and then hid my face in my hands. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  “Um, going to Philly?”

  Peeking through my fingers, I saw him looking down at me. He was serious. I jumped up and threw my arms around him. “Thank you so much. Do you believe they threatened to sue me if I didn’t show? I had no idea how I would get down there, and…” My words trailed off as I noticed that my body was pressed against his, his arms around my waist.

  “It’s okay, and I know a couple of lawyers. Do you think I’d let anyone sue you?” He held me still. “But I’m happy to take you to the pageant. On Sundays, I usually sit around with Josh and male bond over football. I’d much rather be around a bunch of hot chicks. And you’re growing on me.” His voice shook. Our nearness seemed to have the same effect on him that it had on me. Like it wasn’t right to be so close, so in contact with each other, but that we didn’t want to let go either.

  When the comfortableness finally turned to awkwardness, I pulled away. “Can you stay here tonight? I need to do about fifty things in the next three hours.”

  He nodded. “I’m all yours. I have clothes in Vi’s room. Whatever you need, let me know. Put me to work, Bella.”

  I was going to owe him, big time, but I was so grateful for his help that I didn’t care. “My first issue is that I have to get in a bathing suit and I just ate a shit ton of Chinese. Maybe I’ll go for a run.”

  He lifted his brows and pointed to my window. “Tar, it’s after midnight.”

  I grabbed my gut and squeezed it, shaking it to show him. “Look at this? General Tso, really? What was I thinking? I don’t know what else to do, Ollie.”

  “Wait one sec.” He ran out of the room, returning a few seconds later with a water bottle. “Drink. The salt from the Chinese will make you bloated if you don’t drink enough.”

  I unscrewed the top and drank.

  “What’s the next issue?” he asked, as I chugged the water. “Give it to me straight. I’m a problem solver.” He pulled out his phone and a stylus.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking notes. Tackling problems usually requires a list of some sort.”

  “You’re such a nerd.”

  “So you’ve said. You’ll thank me in the morning. Now what do we need to do?”

  His notetaking actually eased my anxiety somehow. I crossed my arms and paced, thinking out loud. “I have to pack a wardrobe. Take a shower. Obviously, I have no time for a wax, so I’ll have to do my best in that department. I’ll need to spray tan from a bottle.” I stopped at my closet and slid open the doors. “I’ll have to find my hot rollers.”

  He walked next to my bed and bent down. When he stood up again, he was holding the case of hot rollers. “Found them.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taking a second to smile as he placed them on my dresser.

  “Hot rollers, check,” he said, dramatically marking his phone with the stylus. “Next?”

  “Ah, I need a gown.” I ran back to my closet. I kept two hidden in the back in case I needed to go to a spur of the moment event—a black halter dress, with a tight skirt and a slit up the side, and a green, satin, full coverage, cap-sleeved dress.

  I held them out for Ollie. “Which do you like?”

  He rubbed his five o’clock shadow as he studied them. He pointed to the black. “Where’s the rest of that?”

  I laughed, spinning the hanger. “It has no back.”

  He groaned something and muttered, “Damn, that’s hot.” Then he pointed to the green dress. “But that’s sophisticated.”

  “Final answer?”

  He looked between me and the dresses. “Since your hotness is obvious, I’d go with the green.”

  The heat of my blush crawled down to my chest. “Are you saying I’m not sophisticated?” I reached back in the closet for the plastic travel cover to zip over the green dress.

  “I’m saying that the sophistication is more of a hidden gem about you. And the green matches your eyes.” He gulped and looked away.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I handed him the gown and the plastic zip-up cover. “Pack this for me?”

  He fake-saluted me with his cast. “Can I ask a question?”

  I took a quick inventory of my makeup case and zipped it up. “Sure.”

  “What do you do for a talent?”

  I gasped. “Oh my God. Thanks for reminding me.” I scurried to my bed and bent down, pulling out the black, plastic case from underneath. “Flute.”

  He chuckled. “You play the flute? That’s where the classical music knowledge comes from? How did I not know that?”

  His eyes pierced mine, like he was seeing me for the first time. I guess in a way he was. Not that being a beauty pageant contestant was “me,” so to speak. “Vi can keep a secret.”

  “I guess so.” He disappeared with my dress and hot rollers while I finished packing my makeup. When he returned, he had another water bottle that he held out to me. “I’m making a pile of things you need to take. Let’s rest for an hour or so, then you can shower before we leave.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Yes. You need to rest. I’m setting an alarm.” He pulled out the stylus again.

  But when I saw his phone, I grabbed it away. The crack split it vertically, right between him and Vi on the lock screen photo. “What happened?”

  Oliver grimaced. “I kind of threw it.”

  I dropped my arms to the side and sagged. “Oh, Ollie. Vi’s Instagram post?”

  “At least I didn’t punch a wall?”

  “Here I am being a self-absorbed asshole when tonight was supposed to be about taking care of you.”

  “Honestly...” he said, taking the phone from my hands. “I’m glad I can take care of you for a while. I’m sick of myself.”

  Sad Ollie was starting to break my heart a little. “I’m not sick of you.”

  He touched my chin. “Thanks, Bella.”

  My stomach twisted at the way he said my new nickname. Sweet, sad, thankful. Wanting to hug him, I resisted and swallowed the emotion down. “Do you want to sleep in Vi’s room, or do you want to take the couch?”

  He stuck the phone in his back pocket. “I’ll take the couch. Sleep, okay? In an hour, I’ll wake you up.”

  I nodded. “Good idea. You’re smart.”

  “So I’ve heard.” As he opened the door and started to walk out, I called him back. He spun in the doorway. “Yep?”

  “I can’t thank you enough for helping me. Not many people would.” Even though he had some image of me as the popular girl, there was nobody besides Vi, and possibly Rachel, who was close enough to me to confide in about this and ask for help.

  “Team Olivyn, right?” he said.

  “Team Olivyn for the win,” I repeated.

  I smiled as he closed the door, wishing I didn’t like Team Olivyn as much as I did.

  Chapter Seven

  Oliver

  I walked Taryn, her hot rollers, her gown, her flute, and her makeup bag—which was the size of a small suitcase—into the convention center at exactly 5:59 a.m. I would have gotten her there sooner if she hadn’t needed to stop at every rest area to use the ladies’ room. But as we walked in, I mentally patted myself on the back for completing the first challenge of the day, with a minute to spare no less.

  A middle-aged lady with a name tag that read “Lucille” rushed up to us and directed Taryn toward the dressing rooms. I followed, looking around in awe like I was in another world, making eye contact with any other guy I could find and exchanging manly shrugs like, “Why am I doing this on a football Sunday?”

  It wasn’t the worst Sunday I’d ever had.

  Once we reached the dressing room, Taryn made me stand outside while she brought half her stuff in, then came out to collect the other half. Her hair was up in hot rollers, except for the one that had fallen out when she’d fallen asleep somewhere on the New Jersey Turnpike. I’d hidden the roller in the glove compartment and
hadn’t told her so she wouldn’t freak out.

  Even with no makeup and her hot rollers clanging around her face, she looked amazing. When she’d pulled out the Vanilla Bean love lotion and started moisturizing her legs in the front seat of my car somewhere in central Jersey, I’d had to tell her to stop.

  “What?” she’d asked. “I can’t be dry.”

  “Please. Not the Vanilla Bean.” I’d shifted in the driver’s seat, my dick waking up to the smell. “I can’t have you doing that while I’m driving. We’ll crash—”

  “Okay, okay,” she’d said, with an eye roll.

  When she put it away, I’d said, “Thank you.” But the scent had lingered in the car.

  Outside the dressing room, I still smelled the damn vanilla as women pushed past in various stages of dress. All tall. All beautiful. One winked at me, and I shifted uncomfortably.

  “We did it,” I told Taryn. “We’re here. You have everything you need to compete.”

  She nodded, biting her bottom lip. “Thank you, Nerdilicious.”

  I held up a fist to fist bump her. “You are the best Lovely Miss Jersey ever.”

  She tapped her knuckles with mine. “Miss Lovely New Jersey. I’m only here because Ashton dropped—”

  I held up a hand to stop her. “This is an opportunity, right? If you make the top ten, you’ll get more scholarship money.”

  She scoffed, moving closer to me as another woman rushed by. “I just hope to get through this and not make a fool of myself.”

  “I have no doubt that you’ll be great.” I tilted my head and touched her arm. “You’re playing your flute for me, one way or the other. You promised on the way down.”

  “I did?” She laughed, her face close to mine as if we were shielding ourselves from the craziness happening around us. “You can’t hold me to that.”

  “I had no idea you and Vi practiced together. I’m certainly holding you to it.” Mentioning Vi reminded me to behave. I took a step back and shoved my hands in my pockets.

  “Taryn!” someone yelled from behind me.