“That’s it.” She slid a business card from beneath its paper-clip prison and leaned back from it. I smirked, though she probably couldn’t see it. She absolutely refused to get reading glasses because they’d “make her look old,” but she was willing to squint and keep adjusting her arm back and forth to find the right distance for five straight minutes, as though that was somehow better.
“I’ll grab my phone, and you can tell me the number,” she finally said, passing it to me. “And we’ll tell her right now we’re not interested. If we reach her quickly, they can even stop the invite from airing—they said that, right?” Mom’s face was imploring.
“Don’t do that.” The idea of turning my back on it so definitively—turning my back on Kyle—actually made my stomach hurt. He might still take me to the dance, right? Then again, this was all a game for him. It had to be. Wouldn’t I be setting myself up to be hurt more by agreeing to be his pity date? “I should at least talk to Kyle first.”
“Okay, honey. What do you want me to do? Tell her no to the rest, or . . . ?”
How was I supposed to know that?
“Just . . . don’t do anything yet, okay? I’d like at least as much time to think this over as you and Mo had,” I added. It sounded sulky even to me.
Mom didn’t even flinch, though.
“Okay,” she said, staring at me like my eyes were some kind of life raft. “Take your time and make whatever decision feels right. And I mean that, honey. Whatever decision you make, your dad and I will support you, won’t we, Dan?” He nodded solemnly. “I swear to you, I would have never said yes to even this much if I’d thought . . .” She exhaled heavily, eyes pinched closed.
“I know, Mom. I just need time to think.”
“Of course. Yes, right. Take your time.”
I nodded.
But really there was nothing to think about. Just one brutally painful thing to do.
chapter twenty-four
KYLE
FRIDAY, 5:45 P.M.
We were barely a block from my house. If I didn’t ask now, I’d miss my chance.
“Do you think . . . is Rachel mad at me?” I looked out the window at the lawns flying by. I could feel Monique looking over, sizing me up.
“No, why would she be?”
“No reason.” I tapped my toes against the floor mat. “She just seemed weird.”
Monique whipped her car into my driveway, probably still going forty. Girl seriously drives like a maniac.
“I think she was caught off guard is all. It’s a lot to take in. We all had time to process the idea.”
“Yeah.” It made sense, but it didn’t make the heavy feeling at the bottom of my chest go away. I looked over at Monique, trying to see whether she was hiding something. Rachel when I asked: seemed happy. Rachel when we left: like a bomb about to go off. And she wouldn’t even look at me.
But what did I know? We’d only talked, like, three times. “As long as she’s not angry.”
“She’s not mad at you. Trust me, I’ve known her since forever.” Monique tilted her chin down, staring straight at me, eyebrows raised. I think it was supposed to be reassuring, but it seemed kinda cocky. We’d hung out for maybe fifteen minutes and already I could tell she didn’t take crap from anyone. I wondered how she and Rachel had become friends.
“Cool.” I pulled open the door and got out. “Thanks for the ride.”
“It’d probably help if you spent more time together, though,” Monique said just before I closed the door. I leaned in. “I mean, she doesn’t really know you. And I’m not sure if you noticed, since you had a few hundred thousand new fans, but people were beyond evil to her. It’s probably hard for her to feel all warm and fuzzy toward you after that.”
Oof. Punch: not pulled.
“Yeah, okay. Maybe we can get . . . dinner or something.”
“Or you could just ask her to a party. It doesn’t have to be a big formal thing.”
“Right. I’m not sure when there’s a—”
“Beau Anderson and the football team are having a party tonight, right?”
“Yeah, I think so. I don’t think I’m welcome since—”
“You’re welcome anywhere, Kyle. You’re famous now. Ask Rachel to the party. I’ll get her to go. The whole thing will work better if you guys seem like friends, anyway. So . . . be friendly.”
“Okay.”
“I have to go. Text me once you’ve asked her.”
I nodded and closed the door, staring at the car as Monique sped down the driveway in reverse.
Someday that chick was going to run countries.
In the kitchen, Mom was sitting at the table, talking on the landline.
“You’ll see it Monday, it was adorable. They got him a tuxedo, tailored it to him . . . I know, isn’t it? Like something out of a movie. Then they flew us back on the overnight flight . . .”
She waved at me with a couple fingers, smiling hard. I was glad she was tied up; I needed time to settle my nerves.
What I had to do next was going to suck.
I dialed the number.
“Hey, Kyle!” Her voice was light and sweet. I could hear her happiness through the phone. “I didn’t expect to hear from you tonight. Where are you?”