by Randi Rigby
Harper slowly opened her eyes, looking drugged. “Wow,” she said. “Why didn’t we do that sooner?”
I touched my forehead to hers. “You said you’d slug me.”
She chuckled. “Oh, right.” She wrapped her hands around my face and slowly kissed me again. “Thanks for ignoring me.”
“It’s what I do best.”
She whacked my shoulder; the floppy jacket sleeve muffled the landing. I laughed. “Ouch, what was that for?”
“You don’t want to make me a liar, do you?”
“You done?”
Nudging in close, she gently kissed the spot she’d just hit and looked up at me through her lashes. “Forgive me?”
“I always do.”
She snuggled in against me. “Thank heavens for that.”
15
Harper
I had an appointment with Ms. Fisk, the pageant director, first thing Saturday morning. All of the contestants were being given a briefing on the pageant schedule, and a dry run had been planned. I didn’t know the protocol, but showing up in sweats seemed like a no-go. Putting some effort into looking a little less like I just crawled out of bed, I broke out eyeshadow and lipstick for the second day in a row. I wore flared, white dress slacks and a black, short-sleeved turtleneck with my black-and-white leather mules. Thank heavens, my pretty prom hair still worked, even worn loose around my shoulders instead of the up-do it had been styled into the night before. Going this glam, for me, was highly unusual.
In my garment bag I hauled two changes of clothes: the sassy track outfit Mom declared perfect—it showed off my long legs and would be a good talking point—and my evening gown (minus the silicone bra inserts. I was just fine with what God had given me, or not given me, as Jasmine ruthlessly pointed out). There were coordinating shoes and accessories. And a lot of stuff to maintain the face and hair. I lugged it all in, already wishing the whole thing over.
My brain still felt a little fogged from lack of sleep and the somewhat dazed realization that Luke and I had kissed. He’d looked at me like he’d discovered an entirely new Harper Adams, someone he couldn’t live without. I’d replayed that moment in my mind over and over again. It still gave me chills. The actual feeling of his lips on mine—also a home run. Kissing Luke Drake was better than winning any race. A girl could get addicted.
The Miss Sweet Mountain pageant was being held in the banquet hall of the Victoria Hotel. Ms. Fisk had all seven contestants meet initially in a smaller room off to the side. Jasmine had already arrived and saved me a seat. She made a big event out of waving me over and flashing her sweetest smile. I immediately became suspicious there must be a Miss Congeniality prize at stake. Putting my belongings in a neat stack along with everyone else’s, I joined her.
I already knew five of the girls—we went to school together. Three of them were seniors, and Tessa Salinsky and Annie Carter, juniors. The other girl, Chloe Calvert, was new in town and just older than us. She’d graduated the year before and worked as a stylist at A Cut Above, one of the hair salons downtown. Obviously, she had an unfair advantage. Besides being older, she did hair professionally. Hers looked amazing. It was easy to picture her standing on a float come the Fourth of July.
Bree Hanover and Grace Wu were already seated at Jasmine’s table. Apparently, we seniors weren’t going to mix. As the last one to arrive, I’d squeaked in just under the gun. Ms. Fisk seemed to be making a note of this—the stupid thing hadn’t even started yet, and I’d already blown it. I smiled at everyone, trying my best to disguise my anguish. I’m giving up my Saturday for this. Let’s get this party started.
Immediately, I became horrified to learn the opening segment included a dance number. Being taller than everyone else guaranteed I’d be put in the center. Ms. Fisk dropped this bomb—along with something insipid about the importance of symmetry—and bustled right into outlining the choreography before I even had the chance to lodge a protest. Suddenly we were on stage, and she was counting out steps and imploring me to pay attention.
Jasmine’s smile couldn’t have been bigger. She’d taken dance classes for years. I suddenly felt like this was all part of her nefarious plan. She didn’t just want a buddy to hang with and boss around. She wanted to embarrass me. I swallowed my ire. With a glint in my eye, I pulled out my phone and started making notes. I took pictures. I recorded the music. I’d show her.
Ms. Fisk looked like someone who’d won several titles herself. With that posture, she could, no doubt, carry a stack of china on her head without dropping any. The amount of hairspray holding her A-line, blonde bob in place would’ve provided an effective cushion.
With the voice of authority, she ran a tight ship. She made us practice changing briskly in and out of our outfits several times. I got scolded twice for hopping onto the stage while still sliding my foot into a shoe.
“Composure, ladies, poise. There’s nothing more important to a queen,” Ms. Fisk said, her tone clipped, her stance very statuesque. She clasped her hands together elegantly. I stifled a yawn. Sleep, last night, had not come easy. “Don’t you agree, Ms. Adams?” Her tone leaned arctic. I think she thought I was bored. Which—strictly speaking—was true. But really, I was mostly tired.
If not for all her poise, I’d assume she was peeved.
Fortunately, I’d had a lot of experience with ticking people off unknowingly. My mother, for example, I ticked off like clockwork. I gave Ms. Fisk my sparkliest smile. “Absolutely.” And I nodded to show my enthusiasm and support.
“Good.” She eyed me narrowly and continued with her pep talk.
I wondered what Luke was doing right now. When he wasn’t with us, what did he do with his family? How weird was it that I’d never met any of them? He never talked about them, but still, they lived here. Sweet Mountain wasn’t that big. Maybe I’d passed them several times in the street or at the grocery store. I didn’t even know how many brothers or sisters he had.
The moment the torture from the dry run ended and we were released, I packed all my belongings back into the Fiat and decided to do something crazy and spontaneous. I stopped by Toppings and picked up a half-gallon of Luke’s favorite ice cream. Then I drove to his house at 2301 Bluebird Lane. Unlike the Heights, his neighborhood had a lot of mobile homes and run-down buildings. Maybe that was why he didn’t want anyone to know where he lived. Maybe it was a pride thing. I parked on the street, not quite as confident as I had been about my plan.
A few kids were skateboarding and riding bikes around in the unseasonably warm sunshine as I got out of the car. Wiping my hands on my slacks, I texted him. Don’t be mad, I miss you. Look out your front window. I got chocolate chip cookie dough from Toppings. If you take too long, I’ll eat it all.
His response was immediate. Where are you?
Your house.
Instantly, my phone rang. Luke. “Go home. Right now.” He sounded furious.
I flinched. “Okay.”
“Did Cal give you my address?”
“No.”
“How did you get it?” There was no trace of the tenderness from last night. I almost felt relieved he refused to come outside and do this face to face.
“I plead the Fifth.”
“Harper.”
“Won’t you please just come out so we can talk this over?” I begged.
“You’re still there?!”
“No. Yes. Fine, I’m leaving.”
I turned to walk back to the Fiat, but a man with unkempt hair and a scowl came storming out of the house and began shouting at me. “You! What are you doing here?!”
Startled, I whipped around and showed him my paper sack. “I’m a friend of Luke’s,” I blurted. “I was just bringing him some ice cream.”
“Luke doesn’t live here anymore,” he spat out.
Behind him, at the window, the pinched face of a woman peeked out from behind the front room curtains. I didn’t understand what was going on. “I’m sorry. I thought he did. I didn’t mean to dist
urb you.” I’d begun hastily backing up toward the car.
“If you see him, tell him I want my duffel bag back,” he growled. “It’s mine. He stole it from me.”
Trembling, I got in and locked the door. My hand shook so bad I could barely start the car. “Harper?” I’d forgotten Luke was still on the other end of the line. Fumbling, I reached to recover the phone I’d thrown on the passenger seat in my haste to leave. “Meet me . . . at the . . . school.” He sounded like he was out of breath.
“The school?”
“You heard me,” he said. And he hung up.
He sat on the curb, waiting in the empty parking lot when I pulled up, looking grim and gutted. I wanted to cry. When would I ever learn? Cal warned me not to push this. I wished more than anything I could turn back time. Or grow a brain. I’d need both to wipe the devastated look off Luke’s face. Taking a deep breath, I got out of the car. Fix this.
Inexplicably, I brought the ice cream. His head sank into his hands as I approached. “I’m sorry, Luke.” It didn’t begin to touch all the things churning through my heart, but it was a start. “I . . . didn’t know.”
He still hadn’t looked at me; his head remained buried deep in his hands. “I didn’t want you to know,” he finally said.
I sat down next to him on the curb. “I know.” I could feel the tears trickling down my cheeks. “I’m sorry.” I felt like I’d have to say it a million times more, and even then, it might not be enough.
We stayed like that for a long time. Him, fisting his bangs and staring at the ground. Me, afraid to move or speak—the ice cream no one wanted, melting inside its cardboard container. Finally, Luke sighed deeply. It seemed like he exhaled air he’d been holding onto for years. “That was Doug you met. He’s . . . the man my mom married.” Luke raised his head. The bruising evident in his blue eyes made me catch my breath. “He hates me. You probably noticed that,” he said, trying for a smile neither of us bought. “Anyway. Mom chose him. She always does.”
I’d never thought of Luke Drake as a little boy. He’d always been bigger than anyone on the playground from the first day I’d met him. Witnessing him now, so alone and hurting, I saw only a child who needed his mother to love him. Uncaring of my white dress pants, I knelt down on the pavement in front of him and took his head in my hands. My face, wet with tears, found his. I bent, and with trembling lips, tenderly kissed the scar on his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Luke,” I whispered. And I held him tight while he broke into sobs.
Finally, he quieted. At some point, he’d pulled me onto his lap, and we were a tangle of limbs. I listened gratefully to his even breathing—the storm had passed, and he’d come out the other side, whole. I’d make sure of that. Then, a thought occurred to me; a nudge at first, and then it became horrifying. “Where have you been staying?”
He sighed. “Here.”
“You’ve been sleeping in the parking lot?”
He slowly smiled and shook his head. “No. The school. Coach gave me a key.”
My mind blanked. There weren’t any living quarters at Sweet Mountain High that I knew of. I mentally raced through all the corridors and wings. “Are you sleeping in the nurse’s station?”
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” he said. “But I’d probably get caught. It’s too close to the front doors where all the security lights are. I’ve been bunking out on the mats in the weight room.”
I blinked. “The weight room?” I scrambled to my feet and spun on my heel, hands on my hips, black smudges from the residue of oily cars and dirt on the pavement now all over my pants.
He stared at me.
“Luke Drake, do you mean to tell me you’ve been homeless for who knows how long and hiding out in the school when we have a perfectly good guest room at our house?! You could’ve stayed in the pool house for that matter.” I felt my temper rising. “Why didn’t you say something? Does Cal know?”
“No. I didn’t want anyone to know.”
I glared at him. “Too bad.” I pulled out my phone.
“Harp,” he protested.
“Mom, we need to talk. Is Dad around? Perfect. Luke and I are on our way.”
“Harper.” He tried again.
“Go get your stuff, Luke,” I ordered. He wasn’t the only one around here who could be bossy.
16
Luke
Dr. Adams insisted on me staying in the pool house. He didn’t even hesitate—he wondered if he should go with me to my old house to get the rest of my belongings, but I told him I had everything I needed. The last thing I wanted was for him to have a run-in with Doug.
Mrs. Adams immediately went into her no-nonsense organization mode. She stripped the sheets off the bed, wanting to freshen them. The pool house had a separate bedroom and bath, living room, and a small kitchen. In the front was a fairly elaborate setup specifically for pool use, with shower stalls, a changing area, and lots of towels and hooks for drying. She had Harper and me load the kitchen fridge with drinks and snacks, and she brought in a bouquet of fresh flowers from her garden and set them on the counter. Harper, leaning against me, her lips pursed, then offered to dump a bunch of Cal’s sweaty socks on the bedroom floor to make it even homier.
I tried to pay rent, but they wouldn’t hear of it. “You’re family, Luke,” Mrs. Adams said, shaking her head. “I only wish you’d come to us sooner.”
The huge lump in my throat made it difficult to talk, but I still managed to thank them. My whole life they’d made space for me and filled holes no one else would. I should’ve expected this—their ready acceptance to welcome me into their home—but feeling unwanted was a hard habit to break.
Cal didn’t show up until mid-afternoon. When he finally did put in an appearance, it was with Jasmine, and something seemed . . . off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. They were clingy as ever. Jasmine was still her smug self—if anything, maybe even more so than usual. But Cal seemed a little cagey. And he kept plucking self-consciously at the top of his right-hand sleeve just below his shoulder. I wouldn’t have noticed, but he caught me staring at him once when he did it, and the tips of his ears went red. That only happened when he was really embarrassed.
Harper also kept staring at him, puzzled. She had everyone rolling with her impression of Ms. Fisk, the Miss Sweet Mountain pageant director, throwing herself into it with her usual gusto and flair for mimicry. But hidden in the distracted moments while we swiped at tears and she waited for us to collectively catch our breath, her attention turned laser-focused on her twin.
No one said anything about me having moved into the pool house while Jasmine was around, for which I was grateful. She was an outsider and not one I trusted—I definitely didn’t want to share my dirty laundry with her. Instead, the conversation turned to track and then baseball. Mrs. Adams hadn’t been able to make it to one of our games since Coach benched Cal. Cal obviously hadn’t told his parents yet. Harper stared at the ground, uncomfortable. Cal kept trying to change the subject. I ended up answering most of the parental questions, but when Dr. Adams asked Cal where his batting average was at these days, I stopped.
“It could be better,” Cal shrugged, wiping his hands up and down on his jeans and then getting to his feet. “I promised Jasmine ice cream. Anybody else want some?”
A look passed between his mom and dad. Cal wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all his parents, but they seemed willing to push pause on getting to the bottom of it until they could be alone with their son. Baseball was dropped, and we all followed Cal into the kitchen.
Cal and Jasmine left shortly after that. Jasmine had her party to get ready for, and Cal had offered to help. “You guys are coming, right?” Jasmine said.
Harper’s smile looked slightly pained. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good. Toodles.” Jasmine did an airy wave with her fingers over her shoulder.
“Seriously? Who says ‘toodles’?” Harper grimaced as we heard them back out of the driveway.
Mrs. Adam
s tugged on Harper’s sleeve. “What’s wrong with Cal?”
She made a face. “Jasmine.”
Mrs. Adams crossed her arms. “Care to elaborate?”
“She says ‘toodles,’ Mom. I should think it’s obvious.” Harper grabbed my hand and began immediately pulling me toward the laundry room. “Pretty sure I just heard the dryer finish. Luke and I are going to go make his bed and get his stuff put away.” Under her breath, she said to me, “Don’t stop.”
I didn’t. Harper peeked out first to make sure the coast was clear before we made a break for the pool house, my warm sheets in hand. “Is this going to be weird?” I asked her as we folded and tucked, spread blankets, and plumped pillows. Harper was a big pillow plumper—something I didn’t know I didn’t know. She also made me do folded corners on my top sheet like a drill sergeant, with about as many corrections.
“Weird? What do you mean?” She tilted her head slightly as she straightened to look at me.
“Me staying here.”
“Not sure I’d call it ‘weird.’”
“What would you call it?”
She flashed a grin at me. “Convenient.”
In order to avoid being cornered and pumped for details on Cal, Harper thought it best for us to grab something to eat in town and swing by Jasmine’s later. By the time we got to the party, it had already spilled out onto the lawn. Music thumped from inside.
“I thought she said this was going to be small?” Harper said as we picked our way through the crowd.
I quickly pulled her out of the way of two guys I didn’t recognize who were backing up to catch a frisbee. One of them turned around, and his mouth dropped open. “Fast girl! I hoped I’d run into you again.”