OIL ON CANVAS
She put her hand over her mouth as she tried to process what was going on. She swiftly looked over at Tony, who slowly dropped down on one knee and held out a sparkly diamond ring.
Her heart beating out of her chest, Gabby looked around the café, expecting someone to tell her that she was being pranked. But here was Tony, down on one knee, asking to be hers forever. All the party guests mingling at the front had gone quiet and turned their attention to the two of them. This was, without a doubt, the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her. Tony stared up at her, his beautiful brown eyes looking eagerly into hers. Her body began to feel weak—the good kind of weak. The kind that told her he was the right guy for her.
All plans to tell him the truth flew out of her mind. She said the only thing she could think of: “Of course I’ll marry you!”
10
laura
THE SCHOOL BELL rang, and the students scurried into their respective classrooms like crawfish into their burrows. Laura kept her eyes on the gray tile floor as she followed Mrs. Walker, the school’s guidance counselor, through the dim hallway to her new homeroom. It felt so strange being back at school—everything from the lockers to the students seemed smaller to her.
“So, what’s Brian gonna be doing while you’re here?” Mrs. Walker’s shoes squeaked with each step. “I’ve never known y’all not attached at the hip.” She smiled innocently.
“Oh, uh, he’s got plenty to keep him busy.” Laura ran her fingers through her hair nervously. “But I’m excited to be back.” Actually, now that she thought about it, excited might not be the right word—more like anxious, or terrified.
“You are?” Mrs. Walker looked up with a confused expression. “Golly, I woulda thought you would’ve been so done with this place after movin’ to the big city.” She laughed. “I probably woulda never come back.”
Laura’s stomach twisted with misgiving. She could see the outside door about thirty feet from where they were, daylight peeking through the cracks, and wondered if she should just sprint toward it. If she could make her way out the door, she’d keep running down the street, along the main road, past Benji’s Bait and Tackle, and end up in the Landrys’ living room, where she’d hide her face in one of Janet’s floral couch pillows.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Walker said with a wink. They were in front of Mr. Leblanc’s door. A poster was taped to the outside that read, COME TO THE NERD SIDE, WE HAVE π. She glanced back at the outside door—only five feet away now. It’s now or never, she thought to herself. Then, Mrs. Walker swung open the classroom door. Too late.
Her eyes darted around the room. There were even more posters: GEOMETRY KEEPS YOU IN SHAPE, KEEP CALM AND DO MATH, and MISTAKES ARE PROOF THAT YOU ARE TRYING.
“Look who’s back,” Mrs. Walker announced proudly as she presented Laura to the class. Eighteen faces turned in unison to stare. One second felt like an eternity as her face became as red as her top. “Hey y’all,” she said, sheepishly raising her right hand a little and waving to her former—now current—classmates.
“Oh. My. God.” A girl’s voice squealed from the back row, breaking the awkward silence. Even though a stocky football player’s head blocked her face, Laura instantly recognized cheer captain Riley Cavanaugh from her high-pitched voice and signature satin ribbon tied around her bouncy ponytail.
“Welcome back, Laura,” Mr. Leblanc said, his pencil disappearing into his thick gray hair as he tucked it behind his ear. “There’s an open seat right there.” He pointed to the second-to-last desk on the front row, sandwiched between Ridge Maclin, the biggest stoner in town, and a guy she’d never seen before.
Laura shuffled over to the desk. Feeling the eyes of everyone watching her and hearing a couple of snickers in the back of the room, she could barely remember how to walk. Her arms swung at an odd pace. Her legs stumbled as if she were about to trip. What was only a few feet from the front of the class to the desk felt like a mile.
Finally she got to her seat and slunk down in her chair.
Mr. Leblanc placed a textbook on her desk with a loud thud. “Vince, could you share your most recent notes with Laura so she can catch up before our pop quiz tomorrow?”
Moans filled the room.
“Hey, be thankful. I wouldn’t have even said anything had it not been for our new student. All right, let’s break off into pairs and work on the equations on page one hundred thirty.” Mr. Leblanc leaned down and whispered in Laura’s ear, “Vince can help you out if you need it.”
She turned to the stranger sitting next to her and smiled politely.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, grasping her hand with a firm grip. He had warm brown skin, close-cut hair, and hazel eyes.
“You, too.” She smiled nervously.
“So, you used to go here?” he asked as he flipped through the pages in his textbook.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “You’re new, I take it?” She unzipped her army green messenger bag and pulled out a pencil, noticing it was indented with Brian’s teeth marks from when he borrowed it last year.
“Yep.” Vince began twirling his pencil around his fingers. “My family moved here over the summer from Atlanta. My dad’s a contractor, and he’s helping rebuild some of the places destroyed by Hurricane Sebastian.”
“Cool . . . I’ve never been to Atlanta. How does it compare to Toulouse?” she asked.
He flashed a smile, showing off his straight white teeth; he probably wouldn’t put those babies anywhere near a wooden pencil. “I still haven’t found a place that doesn’t sell crap coffee, but other than that, it’s not too bad here. The people are cool at least.”
“Ooh, they have fancy coffee in Atlanta?” she joked. “Well, la dee dah . . .”
He playfully hit her arm. “Oh, shut up. What’s your story? Why’d you leave and come back?”
“I was in Baton Rouge for a few months.” She put her elbow on the desk and starting twisting her hair. He wasn’t the only one from a big city, Laura reminded herself.
His eyes got bigger. “Oh. Why?”
She sighed and gave him a sly grin. “Shouldn’t we be working on this assignment?” She scratched her pencil on the wide-ruled paper in front of her. It felt weird holding it in her hand; she hadn’t written with one in months. Even at the coffee shop, she’d memorized her customers’ orders.
Vince leaned in closer. “Does someone have a secret?” He smirked.
“Not really.” She shook her head and could feel her face turning red. Why didn’t she want to tell him the truth? “My husband and I moved so he could play football for LSU, but he got hurt so we’re back for now”—she paused—“until he can have surgery.”
Vince whistled. “Well, I’ll be darned. Landry, huh? So, your husband is Brian Landry?”
She looked up. “You know him?”