by Randi Rigby
18
Luke
We went early to the Victoria Hotel to get good seats. Mrs. Adams wanted to video the whole thing to send out to Harper’s grandparents and the rest of their extended family. Harper left looking more like she was heading off to war than a beauty pageant.
“You got this,” I said.
Harper shut her eyes. “What if she wins?”
“It won’t be the end of the world.”
“Yes. It will.”
I smiled. “Are we really going to argue about this?”
She glared at me. “I wasn’t arguing. I was stating facts.”
Taking her head in my hands, I slowly leaned in and kissed her. “I love you, Harper Adams.”
“Thank heavens,” she said, sighing softly as our foreheads touched. “No one else would put up with me.” Turning my head slightly, she gently pressed a kiss to my scar. “I guess this makes you mine,” she said, tracing it with her forefinger.
“I thought that was the infinity bracelet.”
She grinned. “Don’t throw it away just yet.”
A surprising number of people came to watch; the room was packed. Erika sat with us and brought signs. Dr. Adams had Team Harper T-shirts made for all of us to wear, with a picture of her—heartbreakingly gorgeous in her prom dress—on the front. Ms. Fisk stepped into the spotlight and opened the night with a welcome speech. Immediately, I could see Harper’s impression had been spot on, even down to the same gestures. They usually were. Knowing how distraught Harper had been over it having been leaked made me furious all over again.
Tom Wilks, a local radio personality who was acting as the MC for the night, took center stage and got things started with a few jokes. The contestants came out in their activewear to do the opening number. Harper had legs for miles, and she was in peak physical condition. Both were readily apparent in the short shorts and tank top she wore under an open warm-up jacket. They danced to Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger,” and Harper owned the fierce choreography, tossing her mane and looking ready to destroy anyone who got in her way. Her stage presence was revelatory—I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“Wow.” Erika’s jaw had dropped open shortly after the first few bars of the song had played. “Our girl be throwing it down!”
Tom Wilks walked back out at the song’s conclusion and talked long enough for the girls to catch their breath. The contestants then came forward, one at a time, and introduced themselves and answered a few simple questions. There was nothing cardboard about Harper. She had spunk and wit. I could tell the audience was falling in love with her—she got the biggest laughs, and everyone smiled whenever it was her turn to speak.
At the end of the segment, the girls were excused to get ready for the evening gown and interview piece. Tom explained they’d already conducted interviews earlier in the day, and the judges’ scores would be added to each contestant’s final score. Last year’s crowned Miss Sweet Mountain came out and gave a speech about what winning the title meant to her.
I’d been checking on Cal throughout the night. Having Jasmine on stage couldn’t have been easy for him. When it was her turn at the microphone, he’d stared at the program in his hands with great intensity, like he’d been asked to translate it from a foreign language he had only vague familiarity with. But staying at home—not being there to support his sister—was unthinkable. I could see the pride in his eyes when she’d walked out. And he’d clapped louder than anyone when she’d finished.
The contestants returned, all in their gowns. With Harper’s height, body, and that face, she looked like a model up there. It felt strange, trying to see her objectively through someone else’s eyes. She’d become indelible for me from the first moment I’d met her, this spitfire who was all eyes and attitude. Pushing her out of my brain had proved impossible—I’d tried.
“How do you think she’s doing?” I asked Erika as the girls stood, blinking and smiling in the spotlight, waiting for their musical accompaniment to end. I knew nothing about pageants.
“Well, she held her own in the dance number, and that’s saying something because Jasmine, Annie, and that Chloe girl have all danced for years and the others do cheer. I thought her intro was definitely the strongest of the group,” she whispered back. “I love that dress on her. Pale lilac’s so her color, and the lines are elegant.” She smiled at me. “She looks expensive. She chose well.”
I nodded. Before Erika educated me, I would’ve said Harper’s gown was purple and classy, but I didn’t need anyone to tell me she was rocking it.
All the girls were excused from the stage except for Tessa, who met Tom at the microphone for her selected question from the panel of judges. I wondered what Harper was thinking right now. If this were a race, she’d be visualizing her stride and pace. She’d once told me she never worried about winning. She had enough experience to make adjustments on the fly when needed. I’d watched her compete several times now. Her ability to find one more gear—even when it appeared she couldn’t possibly push her body any harder—never failed to amaze me. But she was also backstage with Jasmine, probably in fairly tight quarters. That had to be messing with her mind.
Jasmine walked out as Tessa finished, the smug smile I despised on full display.
“Booo,” Erika said under her breath. “Hiss.”
I grinned.
Jasmine was asked about how to best engage teens in political activism and the voting process. She responded by talking about the charity work she did to raise the literacy rate among the underprivileged. It felt like a real stretch. Like maybe she just wanted to get it out there that she had this project. I didn’t think she’d answered the question at all.
Erika’s smile couldn’t have been bigger.
When it came to Harper’s turn, it seemed like the audience suddenly sat up and leaned in a little—eager to hear what she would say. In her heels, she was taller than Tom. He started by quoting a statistic that the average teen spent seven hours and twenty-two minutes a day on screen media, not including school usage. He asked her for her thoughts on what this might mean.
Harper began by talking about the positive usage of technology to connect, inform, and share. She made the point that teens today knew how to access all that faster and more effectively than any generation before. We probably also suffered more of a social disconnect that meant we could have a thousand followers and no true friends. Real relationships were important. “We’re all fragile and fabulous and still trying to figure each other and ourselves out,” she said, her expressive face earnest and compelling. “My hope is we don’t forget to make time for that.”
Erika, laughing, elbowed me as the crowd erupted in applause. “Has she been watching TED talks again?”
Cal gave me a high-five.
I couldn’t stop smiling. That’s my girl.
We waited breathlessly for the winner to be announced. The girls had all returned to the stage and were lined up again, still in their gowns. Finally, Tom came to the microphone with a card in his hand. He thanked all the contestants for their participation and made the observation that, unfortunately, they could only crown one winner. “So, without further ado, our second runner up for the title of this year’s Miss Sweet Mountain is . . . ” A drum roll sounded. “Ms. Jasmine Amis.”
We all clapped thunderously and let out a collective sigh of relief. She was out of the running. Jasmine’s smile looked thin and pasted on.
“And our first runner up tonight—important shoes because if for any reason, Miss Sweet Mountain can’t fulfill her duties, the first runner up will step in—so folks, that lucky young lady is . . . Ms. Harper Adams.”
An electric buzz went through the audience. We sat there in disbelief, not knowing if we should clap or protest. Mrs. Adams made the decision for us. She began clapping as hard as she knew how. Harper beamed as she accepted her flowers and stepped to the side next to Jasmine.
Chloe Calvert was crowned the new Miss Sweet Mountain.
We stayed behind and waited for Harper. It took a long time—several people wanted to talk to her. When she finally broke free and found us, she was in high spirits.
“You’re not disappointed?” Dr. Adams asked.
“Are you kidding? This was the best thing that could’ve happened. I did what I set out to do, and I don’t have to stand on any floats doing that stupid wave,” Harper grinned.
“You know you were robbed?” Erika said.
“No,” Harper shook her head. “I got exactly what I deserved. I’m pretty sure Ms. Fisk let the judges know who I really am.”
“What?” Mrs. Adams frowned. “Am I missing something here?”
Harper put her arm around her mother. “No, I am. But I’m trying to fix it.” She rested her head on her shoulder. “Don’t hold your breath, though. I’m a real slow learner.”
Dr. Adams suggested we all go out to Toppings to celebrate. Harper begged for time to get out of her gown first. They decided to head over and get us a table while she changed. I told them I’d drive with Harper and help her load up all her gear.
Jasmine came out of the changing area first, surprising us both. “You waiting for Harper?” In her arms, she carried her belongings.
I stiffly nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak to her.
“She’s talking to Chloe.”
Again, I said nothing.
She sighed. “Come on, Luke. I didn’t make him get that tattoo.”
My eyes felt like narrow slits. My fists clenched. I wanted to hit something. Hard. “No. You pretended to care about him. You used him. That’s slimier.”
“Cal’s a nice guy.” She shrugged, heading for the door. Turning back around, she flashed a smile at me. “Toodles.”
“I hate her,” I said out loud.
“Me too,” Harper said cheerfully, loaded down with her belongings. I quickly took most of them. “Thanks. What was that all about?”
“Hating Jasmine?”
“Yes. What’s she done now?”
“Nothing new—just being her normal, toxic self.”
Harper grinned. “Right. We spit on that.” We stepped outside. A gentle evening breeze blew, the night felt warm and the air fresh. “You realize she’s the reason we’re together right now?”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. “You don’t think we would’ve figured us out without her?”
She sighed as she opened the back of her car. “I told you I was a slow learner.”
I packed everything in her trunk and closed the door. Taking her in my arms, I studied her face. I knew it as well as my own. I loved this girl so much. I couldn’t imagine my life without her. “Then I guess I’m suddenly her biggest fan,” I said, kissing first Harper’s nose and then her lips.
“Me too,” Harper replied with a smile. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my scar. “Me too.”
☆ ☽ ☆
Epilogue
My Best Friend Prince Charming: A Sweet YA Romance Sweet Mountain High Book 6
By Cindy Ray Hale
Chapter One
Ryker
I bowed to the cheering audience and followed my fellow cast members off the stage.
“Boom!” my friend Liam whooped when we got backstage and out of earshot of the crowd, “No more musical for the year. I think I’m going to sleep for a week.”
“Come on,” I said. “We still have to greet the audience outside the auditorium.”
When we got to the hall outside the auditorium, I took my place next to Camille, who had been cast as Cinderella.
“Can you believe this is over?” she asked.
I shook my head. I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself after all the hours spent memorizing lines and rehearsing.
“Ah! The prince.” A man with graying hair and aviator sunglasses perched on his head approached me with a wide grin.
Camille’s face lit up. “Uncle Stephen!” She jumped between us before he could finish speaking to me and wrapped her arms around him in a gigantic hug.
“How’s my favorite niece?” he asked her.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said.
“You know I wouldn’t miss your performance. Especially since I’m in town anyway.”
He reached out and shook my hand. “It’s, ah, Ryker, right?” he asked, glancing at my name on the playbill. “That was an impressive performance.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
“I’ve been looking for someone like you for a while, actually.”
“Someone like me?” I echoed. Well, that was cryptic.
“Would you be interested in auditioning for me next week?”
“Auditioning?” I asked.
“I may have a job for you. It’s, ah, paid work. Do you have any film experience?”
“No, sir,” I said, my heart drumming in my chest. Film? Who was this guy?
“Have my niece give me your information. I have to get going. I’ll reach out to you later this week with a time and place to meet up. It was nice meeting you.”
And just like that, the guy disappeared into the crowd.
I turned to Camille. “What was that all about?”
“Do you have any idea who my uncle is?”
“No. He seemed pretty cool, though.”
“You’ve never heard of a Stephen Christopher film?”
“Nope.”
“He’s a big-time Hollywood director. He’s worked on lots of blockbuster movies. I can’t say for sure, but I think he may have just picked you out for his upcoming Cinderella movie. He’s been looking for a Prince Charming for months. The audition is basically a formality.”
I stared at Camille in shock. There was no way the audition was a formality. He couldn’t tell how talented I was in front of a camera based on my stage performance. “What’s he doing in Sweet Mountain?”
“He’s my mom’s brother, and he’s driving through on his way to the beach. He wanted to see my performance in Cinderella since it’s on the way. He’ll be back next week for my mom’s birthday. If you accept this role, you would basically become rich and famous overnight.”
My head began to spin. I couldn’t begin to imagine that I’d be able to land a role like that. “Why would he want me?”
“You’re a lot better than you realize. And you fit the vision he’s had for a while, I guess,” Camille said with a shrug.
Shannon came up to me; her long dark-blonde hair tucked behind her ears.
“Hey, you,” I said.
“You were awesome, Ryker,” she said. “Like, seriously.”
My heart lifted. Shannon’s opinion mattered most of all. I met her when her family moved in next door when we were in the third grade, and we’d been inseparable ever since.
“Where are we going to celebrate?” she asked.
“I didn’t know that was a thing.”
“It is now. I just got paid tonight.” Shannon worked after school and on the weekends at Toppings, an ice cream shop in town.
“You know I’m not going to let you pay for your food, right?” I said.
Shannon rolled her eyes. “Ok, fine. Burgers and shakes at Skippy’s?”
“Oh sure, just pick a place where we eat free anyway so I won’t be able to pay for your meal,” I said. My aunt owned Skippy’s, the local diner, so we never had to pay for anything when we ate there. My grandpa started the place when my dad and aunt were kids, and now she owned it. My dad could have owned it, but he always said he didn’t want the headache of working in the restaurant industry. But when my dad lost his job at the lumber mill, he was desperate, and my aunt ended up hiring him to take over the newly opened manager position at Skippy’s. It didn’t pay as well as the lumber mill, and Dad had to work much longer hours. But since I waited tables at Skippy’s, I got to see him more than I would have otherwise.
I hated letting Shannon pay for anything. She probably would have fought me on it, but she worked herself to the bone, trying to help her mom make ends meet. I didn’t
like to see Shannon suffering financially. But that had been the harsh reality of both our lives for as long as either of us could remember.
We lived on the “wrong side of the tracks,” according to Mom, who ran off when I was ten. To me, it meant that my future was severely limited. I had to miss out on a lot of opportunities that other kids had, like after school programs and sports that cost extra money. There was never money for stuff like that. We were lucky to get a new pair of shoes for the school year. And that was if Dad remembered.
Before Mom left, she spent a lot of time sitting on the couch watching reruns. She got really bad postpartum depression when my younger sister was born, and she never seemed to get over it. One day, eight years ago, she just snapped and left in the middle of the night. We never saw her again.
That pretty much left me to raise my little brother and sister. It wasn’t too bad. I love those kids, but it didn’t leave me much time for working a paying job.
I gathered my stuff backstage and then met Shannon out front. “Want to take my car?” I asked. My aunt Kristen had given me her old car when I turned sixteen. The 1998 Nissan Sentra wasn’t pretty to look at, but it ran and didn’t guzzle too much gas.
“Sure,” Shannon said. She shouldered her bag and followed me across the parking lot.
We could have invited other friends, like Camille and a few of the other cast members, but Shannon and I usually liked to hang out alone. We were the nerdy, fanfiction obsessed members of the senior class at Sweet Mountain High.
Shannon and I had been writing our fanfiction together since freshman year, and we were still going strong. When we hung out, we usually discussed complicated plot points that any of our other friends wouldn’t understand. That meant that I got Shannon all to myself most days. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Shannon didn’t know how deep my feelings actually went. The truth was, I’d been in love with her for a long time. I wasn’t sure when it started exactly. It kind of snuck up on me. I’d always thought she was pretty, even in third grade, when girls were supposed to be gross.