I come back at him, “If all you wanted to do was hold hands, you should’ve said so.”
“Listen. That was . . . awesome.” He reaches down and adjusts himself, his eyes never leaving mine. “But we got time. Right? That’s all I’m saying.” He tilts his head to hold my gaze. “If you want.”
I watch him suspiciously, then step back and shrug. “Maybe.”
“Cool.” We mill around in the awkwardness for a minute or two. Jesse tosses some straw at me. I throw some back, half-hard. The corners of my mouth twitch and my heart settles back into a normal beat.
I guess we’re okay.
But we’re careful with each other after that. We ride the horse (I find out her name is Stormy) through the tall grass to where fields give way to woods, and follow a path that runs alongside a stream, eventually looping back to the farm. Jesse keeps one hand on my thigh, and I keep expecting him to realize what he passed up and go for it, but he never does. When we get back to the farm, we kiss for a while, and it’s good. Better than good.
When he drives me home, Mom’s on the porch, smoking, her feet propped on the railing. Feeling her gaze on us, I take a few steps back from the truck and raise a hand to him. “See ya.”
Jesse smiles. “Bright and early.” He pulls out, spraying a little gravel even though Mom’s right there. I watch him go, not really sure what to make of him, or what we didn’t do together.
TEN
THE METAL RISERS are set up in the main hall when Nell and I come for Princess rehearsal at six o’clock the next night. We’re early, so we stand over by the wall and watch the others wander in.
“How come you won’t tell us what happened?” Nell rubs the heel of her Keds against a scuff on the high-polish floor.
“I did tell you. We rode his uncle’s horse on some trails.”
“Mags says that’s only half of it. She says otherwise you wouldn’t be so quiet.”
“Yeah, well, Mags doesn’t always know. Remember that time she couldn’t find those earrings she got for her birthday, and she was sure that one of us must’ve borrowed them without asking and lost them? She wouldn’t talk to us for almost a week. Then she found them behind her dresser.”
“But that was a long time ago. She’s usually right about things now.” Nell chews her lip. “Hmm. He just better not have done anything bad.”
If I’ve been quiet today, it’s because I’ve been busy thinking. Jesse and I didn’t talk at work, mostly because I was raking like a madwoman, picturing Shea’s name on that chalkboard every time my body said quit. My biceps are swollen and sore, and my head swam when I stepped out of Libby’s car onto the sidewalk tonight, but I raked about 2,200 pounds today, a new record for me, and there was a bunch of buttercups waiting for me under Mags’s windshield wiper at the end of the day.
But about yesterday, with Jesse? It’s like having a feather down the back of your shirt, sliding out of reach and then cropping up again, niggling at you. He shot me down. No guy’s ever done that before. They’ve dumped me, ditched me, led me on, and lied to me, but never once have they said no. I don’t know how to feel about it, but I know I want it to be just the two of us again real soon.
“Okay, ladies.” Mrs. Hartwell steps in front of the risers with her hands clasped. She wears a wedding band attached to a huge diamond engagement ring. Back in the day, I bet her husband was captain of the SAHS football team and she was Festival Queen, with hair big enough for sparrows to nest in. “Tonight, we’ll practice our choreography for the coronation ceremony. Now, the stage at the fairgrounds isn’t set up yet, but it’s about three times the width of these risers and maybe five feet higher, so keep that in mind. Remember, you’ll be lifting dress hems and walking in heels, so careful, careful. Nobody wants to trip, but if you do, keep in mind, life goes on. None of us is perfect.”
She splits us into two groups, separating me from Nell. Our groups line up on either side of the risers and climb the steps as Mrs. Hartwell claps, keeping pace, calling, “Veronica, continue to the center, and Blair, you walk to meet her, then both face forward. Pretend there’s a crowd out there. Beautiful! Follow their lead, everybody, keep walking, keep walking. . . .”
Nell watches her feet and moves her lips, I guess counting how many steps it takes to hit her mark because that’s the kind of thing she’d like to know. Bella is two spots behind her, and when the girl between them finally steps on Nell’s heel and they stumble together, Bella says, “God!” loud enough for everybody to hear.
I’m ready to teach her how it feels to hit every riser on the way down, but Mrs. Hartwell speaks up: “Girls, the Miss Congeniality title is slipping through your fingers as we speak. Patience and kindness are virtues.” I don’t know how she gets away with those corny sayings, but they don’t sound too bad coming from her. Almost like she means them.
We take it from the top—ten more times, at least. Everybody’s sick of stepping and pivoting and smiling and sitting with right leg crossed over left, but by the time seven o’clock rolls around, we’re moving like a well-oiled machine. I watch Nell’s face when she smiles out at the imaginary crowd. She’s seeing something real, and not the folding chairs and bingo tables the rest of us see. You know what? No matter how weird it is for me to be here, I’m glad I’m going to get the chance to see Nell live the dream. She deserves it.
Mrs. Hartwell finally lets us go, reminding us to meet at the fairgrounds on Sunday morning, when we’ll add “the next phase” to our routine. Libby’s parked outside, reading one of her Amish romances under the dome light. Mom’s car is at Gary’s and should be back tomorrow, once the new starter comes in. I’ve got enough sense not to ask Mom how it’s been, riding with Hunt, but we all watch out the window as they pull in together at night, watch them linger and talk a minute as the twilight comes down. Libby’s been quiet since the big blowout, but she speaks her mind each time by letting the back door slam behind her when she leaves.
We stop off at Hannaford so I can talk to the manager about sponsoring me for the pageant and Libby can pick up a few things for her cupboard. I’m nervous, but Nell isn’t. “It’s okay,” she whispers as we wait at the customer service desk for the manager to answer his page. “People like doing stuff like this. It makes them feel good.”
“Giving away money?”
“Helping.” She folds her arms. “You’ll see.”