It doesn’t make sense. Maybe the BBG went bad, though that’s never happened before. Or maybe Court is immune. We’ve never come across a BBG-immunity before either, but it doesn’t mean one can’t exist. Of course, it would be my luck that the one person I’ve fallen for is the one person who is resistant. What am I talking about? I can’t fall for anyone, especially right now, when I’ve already made such a muddle of things. It would muck up both of our lives, destroy everything I’ve worked for.
I attempt to organize my thoughts, but it’s hard when he’s standing just a few feet away. The Rulebook sits primly on my nightstand. A layer of dust dulls the gold lettering on its leather cover. I can smell the particles . . . actually, I can’t smell the particles. Maybe it’s not as dusty as I thought.
He closes the distance between us in one step, gazing at me with an intensity that makes every nerve in my body tingle. My head feels floaty, like its full of helium, and it’s not his smell that is causing it, but a hyperawareness of what could happen, of what could be. In fact, I can hardly smell the campfire scents. He encircles my waist with his hands, tugging me closer, tilting his head . . .
The phone rings. I jerk back at the sound. Mother. It’s as if she knew.
I put my finger to my lips in the universal hush sign, then answer.
“Mim? I’ve been trying to call you for the last few hours.”
“I was in the garden. I thought you weren’t going to call until Sunday.”
“Why do you sound out of breath?”
“Just running to get the phone.”
“So what happened?”
“What h-happened? With what?”
“Ms. Salzmann.”
“Ms. Salzmann.” It takes me a few moments to remember. “Fine, she’s fine. Everything went fine.” I cringe. If I have to repeat fine three times, obviously things are not fine. “I delivered the flowers—the Prescott roses. She—”
“Oh, Mim.” I can hear the disapproval even through the static.
She knows. Somehow, she can see through the phone to Court brushing sand off my cheek. I give him an apologetic smile and turn toward the window. “Yes?”
“Prescott says ‘let’s be friends,’” comes her breathy scolding. “I’ve told you that. Next time, try the Bourbon.”
“Right.” I nearly laugh with relief. “So, how are you doing?”
“You got my email, didn’t you? You never replied.”
“I haven’t checked yet.”
Court’s cell phone rings. He hurries to silence it.
“What was that?”
“Just the computer.” Dummy. The computer’s in the workshop. Oh, but maybe I’m in the workshop. Come on, Mim, pull it together. Pretend he’s not so close he could reach down and place a kiss on your neck. Everything is fine.
“So look at the pictures and tell me what you think.”
“Pictures?”
Her sigh sounds like paper rattling. “In your email. You said the computer’s on, right?”
“Right. Well . . . hmm . . . something seems to be wrong with the connection.” I draw it out, like I’m actually waiting for my inbox to open. Court lifts his head from his cell phone.
“Oh, I’ll just tell you. I saw these beaded bags at the market. One had a tiger, the other had a dolphin or whale or something. Which would you prefer?”
“Whale or something.”
Court smiles.
“All right,” says Mother. “Are you eating well?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t forget about tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Tomorrow. “Oh yes, Dr. Lipizzaner.”
“Lipizzaner is a horse. Lipinsky.”
“Right.”
“He’s hard of hearing, so remember to speak loudly. Now, get some sleep tonight. Oh, but first, make sure the orchids are getting enough water. I’ll call you Sunday.”
“Okay.”
Even after we hang up, I swear Mother’s still in the room somewhere.
“Everything okay?” Court murmurs into my hair.
I spook away. “Yes. You?”
He sighs. “Coach is going to kill me for missing tonight’s strategy meeting.”
“Will he bench you?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to him. But I don’t want to leave you.”
“No, you should go. The Panthers need their captain.” That, and if he stays any longer, I might be tempted to do something that would cause the Rulebook to spontaneously combust. I lead the way out of the room before I can change my mind. “And I should start your mom’s elixir.”
At the front door, I nearly push him into the driveway in my haste to avoid further romantic entanglement. He turns and stands firm in the doorway.
“Mim, we nearly died today. Maybe we should both take it easy.”
“I will.” I give him a too-bright smile.
“Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” A dab of sand by one of his ears challenges me to rub it off, but I resist.