“Emma Turner? Um, yeah she’s had a few boyfriends; in fact she’s what we call a slu—you know, not the right age for this conversation.”
“Huh?” she says with her eyes narrowed and her big lower lip stuck out.
“There’s no magical age you get a boyfriend. I just haven’t found anyone I really care about like that.”
She starts pumping her legs again, moving us higher in the air. “Oh, but maybe someday?”
“Sure, but they’d have to be pretty tolerant to stand me.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’d have to be a friggin’ saint, Tate.”
She smiles up at me, then turns to the sky, gazing up at the stars. “A saint?” she says smiling, a knowing look on her face, like she got me this time. “Yep, you’re right.”
“Hey!” I say, grabbing her. She giggles, rolls off the swing, and runs around the yard, screaming that my boyfriend is a saint.
? ? ?
“He’s a saint, Tate. I found him. He’s sweet and understanding.”
He is. But you don’t deserve him.
“I’m going to ruin it, I know I will. But I want to let go with him.”
You can’t.
I search my mind for anything else to talk about so I don’t have to leave her, so I don’t have to face the rest of the night with the guilt and shame. When I’m with her here, it subsides. It’s like I have her again for a moment. “I actually went to a football game, and I made a friend. I know.” I laugh. “Hard to believe.”
You don’t deserve her either.
I glance at my phone and groan at the time. Back to real life. “I should go before I end up in the soil again and Jackson has to save me.” I place a kiss on my fingers and pat her grave softly. I stand up from the freezing grass, grab my coat off the ground, and slip it on, whispering the same words I say every time I see her: “I’m so sorry.”
29
10 Days
It’s our second committee meeting, and Colter’s living room is decked out in orange and black. Streamers and ghosts hang from every available surface, and it smells like hot chocolate. Everywhere I go, Halloween keeps popping up. Whether it’s decorations, or plans of costumes, or candy, it’s everywhere. A constant reminder of my plan. I take a seat on the couch while his mom looks over at me with suspicion. I know she’d rather he spend his time with Kirstyn. It doesn’t take a genius to know that. Colter’s dog, Cooper, is asleep again on the floor. His ear twitches every few seconds while his snores fill our side of the room.
Colter clears his throat to quiet down the hum of voices. “So we may have a band. I’ve talked to Mrs. Green and she said the choir can perform a song at the dance, too,” he says, excitement in his voice. “Also, Phillip has a friend of a friend that may get us a real band,” he continues, scanning the room.
Wait. Mrs. Green is Aunt Sue. Which means . . . we’re going to sing? “We want Atticus to win this thing, right? How can we do that with a high school choir singing at the dance?”
There’s nothing I want less than to sing at this stupid dance.
“We’re just a backup. Phillip’s friends are the main band,” Colter says, his jaw locked and business demeanor. “Dee, can you give me an update on marketing?”
Dee slides a freshly manicured fingernail up to her mouth and chews. “Ask Riley, she’s been doing everything.”
Colter rolls his eyes. “Riley?”
Riley glares at Dee. “We have posters up at the school, Twitter and Facebook posts, we even plastered all the hangouts. There shouldn’t be anyone who doesn’t know about this dance.”
Colter looks at Janie. “How we doing on the event hall?”
Janie grins, but there’s something annoying her. “My mom’s country club offered their place up when we told them the mayor’s daughter was involved.” We share a knowing glance between us.
Sweet Kirstyn, the mayor’s daughter. I roll my eyes. I haven’t seen her since the football game. She isn’t even here today. We haven’t done anything decoration-wise. I just have to make something up when he comes to me.
Colter looks at me and smiles, his eyes creasing in sympathy. He’s never going to kiss me again. Kirstyn’s right. I’m batshit crazy.
“Ell? How about you and Kirstyn?”
“Nothing’s bought yet, but we’ve, uh, scouted where we’re getting everything. Party City has most everything we should need. I found a website called Eighties Night Life. By the way, make sure you don’t Google ‘Night Life in the Eighties,’ not pretty. Anyway, that eighties site has everything else.” It wasn’t a lie. I’d bought a few posters off there before.
“Great. We have a little more than a week. Looks like we’re close. Thanks everyone,” he says. He sets his clipboard down and says something to Phillip.
Everyone bursts into conversations about what their favorite eighties music is and what they should wear. I glance at Colter. The awkwardness of what happened when he kissed me is all over me, like a shroud of embarrassment. I hate that. I hate that I did that to us.