Funky Coffee is having a special on Blueberry Walnut Muffins and eight-ounce Raspberry Chocolate Lattes, so that’s what I order. I’ll worry about the calories and fat content some other time. I grab a booth in a dark, secluded corner. One, I like booths, and two, I figure Randi will appreciate the dark, secluded aspect. Besides, I’ve always been a little suspicious of those sofas in the middle of the room. I mean, do they ever clean the slipcovers or are there a million germs breeding there?
My muffin is appropriately crunchy on top and soft and warm inside. I get to enjoy a few bites before Randi arrives about five minutes before nine. This is kind of a surprise, because, while she is punctual (and expects everyone else to be), she’s not usually early. More of an on-the-dot type. Even though it’s the crack of five-of-nine, Randi is totally every-hair-in-place and dressed-for-victory in a hugging-every-curve J. Crew sweater and skinny jeans. Most people probably wouldn’t pick up on it, but I notice the expression on her face doesn’t match her confident-clothes look. There are tiny stress lines on her forehead and her smile seems forced as she waves when she sees me.
Randi orders a sixteen-ounce Cappuccino and one of Funky Coffee’s laptop-sized scones, so I guess whatever she wants to talk about isn’t affecting her appetite. She flounces over to the booth, looking all la-de-da for the benefit of a couple of college-age-looking guys who just walked in. Let it never be said that she can’t be frantic about something and still gather herself together long enough to put on a brief performance for any gorgeous-guy eyeballs that might be scanning a room.
“Hi, Becca!” Randi chirps as she slides onto the bench across from me. I think the extra-wattage sparkle she’s generating is half to hide whatever it is she’s really feeling and half just in case the college-age guys, who are now out of her line of vision, are still looking. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, beautiful.” I wonder if I should prolong the small talk or just cut to the chase. I decide to get right to it. “What’s up?”
The sparkle falls away. “It’s Justin.”
I should’ve known. “What about him?”
“He’s been talking to me about prom.”
“He asked you to prom?” I gasp, completely giving away my shock and awe that he actually asked her. “That’s … that’s great.” I don’t know that it really is, given what I know about Justin. The pinched look on Randi’s face does not exactly convey joy. “Isn’t it?”
Randi breaks off a piece of scone, chews slowly, washes it down with a sip of Cappuccino. “Well … he didn’t exactly ask me to prom.”
What else is there? I do not say. “So, um, what did he ask?”
Randi breaks off another piece of scone, crumbles it, dabs up the fragments with her finger and licks them off. “He wants to pick me up an hour before prom, take me to Hilyard Butte and, to use his exact words, ‘make mad, passionate love’ to me.”
My first thought is a sarcastic lovely, quickly followed by ew, ick and bleah. After what I am sure is too long a pause, I say, “Oh?”
“Yeah ….” Randi does the crumble-lick thing again.
She’s capable of eating, so maybe she’s okay with this plan. I wait it out in silence.
“He says he’ll be in his tux, he’ll bring flowers. He says I should wear ‘some sexy dress, just as if we’re really going to the prom together.’”
I don’t know exactly how to approach this, so I go for the play-dumb route. “Um. I’m confused. Why does he want to skip over the whole prom part and go straight to the ….” I search my mental files for the least offensive word I can think of. “…straight to the nookie part?”
Randi takes a huge gulp of Cappuccino and slams the cup down on the table, sort of the way cowboys pound down a glass of whiskey in those old western movies Dad watches on TV. The Cappuccino splashes around in the cup, but does not spill over. “He’s … he’s not skipping the prom part. He’s taking Madison.”
Okay, I know an involuntary look of horror flashes across my face, but I try not to sound too shocked as I say, “What?”
“He says they talked about it way back on New Year’s Eve, and Madison’s expecting to go with him.” Randi stares down at her scone. “He says he can’t break up with her now, it’s too close to prom.”
It’s three months to prom, I do not say. That wouldn’t be news to Randi. She obviously is not happy about this. I guess it’s one thing to think you’re on the winning track because some guy is acting all hot and bothered about you behind his girlfriend’s back, and you have some hope that if you Do-Everything-But at Hilyard Butte often enough that he’ll ditch her for you. I’m sure it’s quite another for a guy to ask you to be the hot appetizer as a prelude to his major date with another girl.
I feel as if I should say something, but what? Randi hasn’t asked for any advice. Maybe she doesn’t want any. Maybe she just needs to say things out loud before she decides what to do.
Maybe she just needs to vent. Maybe she’s so nuts about Justin that she’s actually considering going through with it!
I can’t let her do it! But what do I say to stop her, if that’s what she really wants? We never covered a situation like this in that worthless You and Others class!
Before I can come up with some brilliant, magical guidance, Randi says, “How do you handle it with Brent?”
If my jaw could drop as far as would be appropriate for the question, I’d be wiping the table with it. “What?”
“You know. Liking someone who’s taken, but not doing anything about it.”
Okay. There’s no point in denying I like Brent, at least not to Randi. And I’m certainly not going to explain that, well, really, I did send him a Valentine (even though it was anonymous). And I was planning to ask him for a ride home last night (even though Colt messed that up for me). I mean, Randi’s asking me how I go about liking Brent without doing anything about it. I can’t lie, but maybe I can circumvent the way politicians do, by answering a different question.
“Well, my mother’s always made a deal about how she hooked my Dad by ‘playing hard to get.’” Okay, that’s both true and it sounds good, if kind of antiquated. “So, I think you might, um, spend less time with Justin. I mean, you can talk to him, if he talks to you first.” This is sounding reasonable. It sounds like the kind of plan that might work, or, better yet, just maybe would cause Justin to drop out of her life forever. I sip my Raspberry Chocolate Latte to give myself time to think. “But no going up to Hilyard Butte with him. No making out with him anywhere, any time.”
“Hmm ….” Randi rests her chin on her hand. “Play ‘hard to get.’” She gets a dreamy smile on her face. “That just might work.” She pauses, then snorts a defiant laugh. “And if it doesn’t, at least it should seriously annoy him!”
I’m not sure if Randi would rather snag Justin or humble him, but since she seems to like the play-hard-to-get tactic, I think that at least that means she won’t be caving on the mad passionate love that’s actually only lust deal Justin proposed for pre-prom. So I nod.
“I’m absolutely glad I decided to talk to you about this!” Randi reaches across the table and briefly grips my hand. She then picks up her scone, takes a huge bite, and chews with a look of great satisfaction.
I’m glad we solved her problem so quickly (I hope), but there is something I need to clear up. “Um, I hope it’s not obvious to everyone how I feel about, uh, you know.” I don’t want to say his name out loud, just in case are there big ears tuned into our conversation.
Randi waves off my concern. “Tanya is clueless. She’s too wrapped up in her own love life. Nina? Maybe she suspects a little. But she seems kind of preoccupied lately. Maybe it’s the Scene Stealers thing she’s so into. Otherwise, you’re secret is absolutely safe.” She slugs down another gulp of Cappuccino. “Hey, you think maybe there’s something going on with Nina and Marc?”
“Could be.” I shrug. As long as Randi is sure the world isn’t tuned to my feelings about Brent, I’m good.
“She definitely gives off an I’m-hot-for-someone aura,” Randi says cheerfully, maybe too cheerfully, as if she isn’t quite so sure about the play-hard-to-get bit as she acts, and speculates about Nina as a cover.
Still, I try to think about Nina’s potential hot-for-someone factor. I haven’t seen all that much of her lately, but then we’ve all been busy, whether it’s with picture-taking, Scene Stealers, shop projects, babysitting, guy situations or the actual purpose of school—studying, homework, writing papers and even some learning. Marc is the logical love-interest suspect, but I haven’t detected that sort of thing between them. Of course, maybe my gaga-over-someone radar is not particularly fine-tuned. Randi and Tanya are very out-in-the-open when it comes to guys, but I suppose Nina could be totally bewitched by some secret love and I wouldn’t have a clue. If she is not hot for Marc, maybe she has something going with a university student. I’ve always thought she was more mature than the rest of us, so I can see her skipping over high-school relationships and going straight for the gold. “Yeah,” I say before Randi wonders if I heard her. “I think you’re right.”
“So,” Randi says, “what are you doing this afternoon?”
“What?” I’m not prepared for the abrupt change of subject.
“You said you had plans? What plans?” Randi has this eager, give-me-the-juicy-details look on her face, as if she really thinks there are any juicy details. Maybe she is settled on the play-hard-to-get plan and now has room in her brain to remember to ask about my life.
“Nothing special.” I finish off my last bite of blueberry walnut muffin. “I’m going over to Colt’s to work on a paper for English class, and maybe go horseback riding if there’s time.”
“Riding?” Randi tilts her head to one side. “You still do that?”
“I don’t know if ‘still’ is the right word,” I say. “I mean, this will be the first time I’ve ridden since Barger Stables closed.”
“It closed?” Randi says, clearly surprised. “Then, where are you going riding?”
“At Colt’s.” I swallow my last bit of coffee.
“He has a horse he lets you ride?”
“No. I mean, yes. I mean, he has two horses and we’re going riding together.”
“Whoa!” Randi takes in a quick breath. “Uh, no pun intended. So, Colt is how you play hard to get?”
“What? No!” I madly wave my hands in a dismissive gesture. “We’re just friends. Study partners.”
Randi doesn’t look completely convinced, but she shrugs and says, “Whatever. It gives me a good idea.”
“Oh?” My thoughts scamper around as I wait to find out what Randi considers a good idea right after we mention Colt.
“I can go one step beyond ‘playing hard to get.’”
“Okay. How?”
“Kurt.” Randi gives me an angelic smile that has an ever-so-slight tinge of guilt.
“Kurt?”
“Kurt likes me. That’s obvious.”
No argument from me.
“So, I can give Kurt a thrill by flirting with him, and make Justin jealous at the same time. It’s a win-win-win situation.”
I notice the college guys walk past our table on their way out. One gives Randi a sidelong glance. Randi does not look in their direction, but she must be giving her peripheral vision a strong workout. Her fingers flutter first to her neck and then through her hair. Raising her arm like that provides a nice profile shot of her sweater region. There are some low male rumblings that I’m glad I can’t quite decipher. Once the guys are out the door, I say, “Explain to me how Kurt wins in this scenario.”
“Duh!” Randi lets out a small breath. “He gets to spend time with me!”
“But what if he, you know, gets his hopes up and then they’re dashed on the shores of Justin?”
Randi rolls her eyes. “Look. It’s like buying a lottery ticket. He’ll fantasize about how life will be if he wins the big prize—in this case, me—but when he doesn’t, he’ll just, I don’t know, sigh and try again with someone more attainable.”
Okay, on the surface it sounds kind of vain and maybe just a teeny bit cruel. But I think of my interactions, I guess I’ll call them, with Brent. That wink on the first day of school. Sitting next to him at the football game. Dancing with him at the Cotillion. Taking his picture at the chess tournament. Even if nothing ever happens with me and Brent (though I’m getting surer something will), would I want to give up those experiences with him, or fantasies about him? I mean, I’ve enjoyed every second of them. Okay. Brent has not been leading me on to make Claire jealous. He’s never really flirted with me, he’s just been nice. Even the wink was only a friendly gesture, as much as I might have liked to pretend it was more at the time.
It’s not exactly the same as Randi deciding to flirt with Kurt to make Justin jealous or whatever. But it’s not seriously different either. Kurt will get a thrill out of Randi flirting with him, no question about that! And attention from Randi will probably make him more attractive to other girls, so maybe something good will come of it in that arena.
I decide not to lecture Randi about her scheme. Instead, I just nod.
* * *
It’s still nice and sunny in the early afternoon, so I don’t ask Mom or Dad to drive me out to Colt’s. I toss some books, pads of paper and my old riding boots into my book bag, secure it to the back of my bike and ride. The rainy weather will return soon enough, so I might as well enjoy the honeyed light while I can. The warm breeze is gentle on my face. By the time I get to Colt’s house I’ve almost forgotten that we have work to do. I park my bike next to the front porch and by the time I’m on the steps Grace bounces out the door.
“Hi, Becca! Thanks for delivering my Valentine to Ray!”
“Uh, you’re welcome.” I’d forgotten all about that. Ray never said a word, but I don’t want to disappoint Grace by telling her that.
“He sent the nicest email thanking me!” Grace hugs herself and spins in a tight circle. “I have it memorized. ‘Thanks and hugs to a true fan. Happy Valentine’s Day back. Yours, Ray.’”
Wow, so Grace must have included her email address with the Valentine. I didn’t know Ray had it in him to respond. Maybe he pieced together that message from searching the internet or borrowing Mom’s book of How to Write Thank You Notes and Other Letter Writing. Whatever, I think he hit just the right tone.
“Hey, partner.” Colt strolls out onto the porch, a pencil tucked behind his ear. A shaft of sun strikes his spiky hair and it gleams like black gold. “Hope you don’t mind—I’ve made a few notes already.”
“I don’t mind if you don’t mind,” I say, nodding toward the book bag on the back of my bike.
Colt grins. “Great minds think alike.”
Colt and I head inside as Grace scampers off to the barn, saying something about feeding her rabbits and the chickens.
Colt leads me to the kitchen table. “I made some peanut-butter cookies. I didn’t think to ask, so I hope you’re not allergic to peanuts.”
“No. It’s good.” I sniff the air. “Mmm. They smell yummy.”
Colt gestures for me to sit. He grabs some milk from the refrigerator. I take a cookie from the platter in front of me. I nibble. It’s so good I want to gulp it right down and have another right away. But, one, I don’t want to look like a pig, and, two, I want the delicious taste to last as long as possible. While Colt would probably be flattered if I scooped down half the cookies in forty seconds or less (and maybe appalled at the same time), then the cookie chewing, tasting and savoring would be all over. I decide maybe I’m over-thinking this as I finish the first cookie and grab a second.
It’s so nice and warm in the kitchen and the cookie aroma is hanging in the air and I can’t help thinking that not only is Colt smart and great at baking, but also his big, rough hands look so capable and protective. Then I wonder why I’m thinking this. Maybe my brain is operating under the influence of cookies. I decide I’d better concentrate on Pride and Prejudice.
Two glasses of milk, a few more cookies and several pages of notes later, we’ve agreed that Elizabeth represents feeling and impulse. Colt says, “What do you think? Is this a good time to stop and get some fresh air?”
“Definitely.” I say, realizing I’m so deep into a research-and-study zone that I almost have to remind myself to breathe. We start gathering up our notes and books. Once we’ve sorted out everything and I’ve put stuff in my book bag, we turn off the computer and head out to the back porch. I put on my riding boots and we head to the barn.
Colt helps me saddle Thunder and cups his hands to give me a boost up, as she’s a pretty big mare. Once I’m all settled, feet in stirrups, hands on reins, he saddles Lightning and springs effortlessly onto his back. He leads the way out of the barn. Out in the sunlight, Colt’s clear-cut profile stands out against the bright blue sky. His square jaw is softened by the way his mouth his curls as if it were on the edge of laughter.
“Now, this is life,” Colt says, pure joy in his voice. He clucks his tongue and Lightning heads toward a path in back of the barn. Thunder follows right behind. When the path widens at the edge of a wooded area, Colt slows until Thunder and I are right next to him and Lightning.
The sun sparkles through the bare branches of the trees along the path. The steady clop-clop of the horses releases the woodsy smell of the thick layer of fallen leaves beneath their hooves. We ride over a small wooden bridge that spans a silvery sliver of a creek. After a couple of minutes, we emerge from the wooded area into a gray-green meadow where the path turns into a track of well-packed dirt.
Colt utters a soft, “Whoa,” and both horses stop. I get the feeling Thunder is trained to pretty much follow Lightning’s lead. Colt turns and smiles at me. “Want to pick up the pace?”
“Well ….” I haven’t ridden in quite a while, and as gentle as Thunder seems to be, I don’t really know much about her yet.
“Just a moderate canter?” Colt says, as if he knows why I’m hesitating.
“Okay.” I feel I can handle that.
We canter side by side, but there’s no hint of it being a race, for which I’m grateful. I’m also thankful Thunder’s canter is so smooth it’s as if I’m in a rocking chair. I think of nothing but the sun on my face, the wind in my hair and the sound of pounding hooves. Too soon we slow to a trot, then a walk. Back near the woods where we’d started Colt says, “Let’s stop for a while and let the horses cool off.”
I don’t see that they’ve worked up much of a sweat, but Colt knows his horses better than I do.
Colt quickly dismounts and reaches up to help me. When he sets me on my feet, there’s a brief moment when he still has his hands on my waist and mine are still clasping his shoulders. It’s that protective-big-brother thing again. I think how lucky Grace is to have Colt instead of one of those bossy guys who just love to pick on a little sister.
Colt points to the edge of the woods. “We can sit on that log over there while Thunder and Lightning graze for a bit.”
“Okay.”
“Watch your step. There are gopher holes around here.” Colt takes my hand as he leads me to the log. Protective and brotherly, that’s Colt.
It’s such a beautiful day, and I’m in no hurry to go home, where there’s nothing more inviting waiting for me than assignments to read three chapters in history and work out a dozen algebra problems.
For a few minutes we just sit and soak up the sunlight. It’s so quiet and peaceful that I’m startled when Colt breaks the silence.
“What do you think about rural life?” His tone is light, but there is an undercurrent of something that told me he’d be hurt if I said anything to make fun of country living. Not that I would. As noted, I’m nothing if not polite. But I remember what I thought when he first introduced himself at school. I hadn’t been thinking Farmboy in exactly a positive way.
“It’s a nice world to visit,” I say, truthfully.
“But you wouldn’t want to live here.” Colt laughs, but looks at me uncertainly.
“I wish I could say, ‘I’ve always dreamed of moving to San Francisco!’ Or, ‘I want to carve out a home in the wilderness, as far from civilization as possible.’ Thing is, I don’t know what I want. I don’t know where I want to live, I don’t know where I want to go to college, I don’t know exactly what I want to do with my life. Pathetic, huh?” That was way more than I’d planned on saying, but I guess it came pouring out like that because it’s the truth.
“It’s not pathetic. It’s honest.” Colt pauses, looking as if he is going to say more, but then the moment fades away.
I hope he isn’t hurt because I didn’t say I thought rural life was totally great. On the other hand, it’s not as if I said anything bad about it.
“Hey, it’ll be getting dark soon. We’d better get back.” Colt stands and offers his hand, helping me up from the log.
We mount the horses and start a leisurely ride back to the barn. We ride next to each other, but in silence, alone with our own thoughts.