It's a Mall World After All

It wouldn't have been so bad if I could dance with someone every once in a while. Then I could at least pretend to have a good time. But no one would ask me to dance. Not since I had a policy of not dating the guys at my school. They'd all branded me a snob.

  A snob with a chip on her shoulder.

  I thought back to my sophomore year, when I'd moved home to California. It had felt so good to rebuff the advances guys had sent my way. You had no use for me, I had thought silently, and so now I have no use for you. I'd celebrated my separation from them. Separation was better. Only right now it just felt lonely.

  After school Colton and I went to St. Matthew's Elementary together. He insisted on driving me because he thought it would be faster that way.

  Neither one of us talked much during the drive. My thoughts still hadn't landed—well, except for my thoughts about Olivia. I was squarely against Colton going out with Olivia, but I wasn't about to tell him that.

  Finally we pulled into St. Matthew's parking lot, got out of his car, and walked into the office.

  The principal, a nun whose desk sign read, SISTER MARY CATHERINE, greeted us with a firm handshake. "It's a great thing you want to do for these kids. Just great. A lot of their families struggle." She sat down behind her desk, then shuffled around piles of paper. "I sent out thirty permission slips, and I got all thirty back. That has to be some sort of record. Usually we have to remind kids and remind parents, and then still only half the kids turn anything in."

  Sister Mary Catherine handed a stack of paper to Colton. "The bus will leave here after school and make it to the mall sometime between three and three ten. You'll have everything set up by then?"

  Colton nodded. "The mall will let us use their Santa chair between three and four o'clock."

  They went on to talk about other aspects of the field trip, and I realized that not only had Colton arranged details with the mall, but also he'd been in contact with the principal's secretary.

  As the president of NHS, he had every right to organize the thing; but still, it had been my idea, and I felt completely out of the loop.

  Colton glanced through the contents of the wish lists. "We'll pass these out to our members so they can start shopping. I'll give you a call a day or two before the twenty-first to make sure everything is still on track."

  "Wonderful," Sister Mary Catherine said. "The kids are looking forward to it already." She stood up, signaling the end of our meeting. I hadn't said one thing during the whole session.

  Sister Mary Catherine glanced at her watch, then smiled back at us. "I'm supposed to meet with the grounds crew in two minutes. Why don't I walk with you outside."

  Colton shuffled through the stack of papers, scanning the wish lists while the three of us headed to the door.

  "Is Reese somewhere in all that paperwork?" I asked. "Is T.J.?" Colton flipped through some more of the papers, searching.

  "Reese Smith and T.J. Macintosh," Sister Mary Catherine answered. "Their lists are in the stack." She gave a small laugh as we walked. "I know those two well."

  "I met them in the mall," I said. "They seemed like nice kids."

  "Most of the kids here are." Sister Mary Catherine glanced around the walkway that led to the parking lot. "Reese is probably still around. His grandmother picks him up after school. Oh, there he is."

  Up ahead of us on the walkway, Reese leaned against the school wall. His gray backpack seemed almost as big as he did.

  "Do you want to go over and say hi?" Colton asked.

  knew I should let Reese know I was a part of his field trip to the mall on the twenty-first so he didn't come to Bloomingdale's looking for me on Christmas Eve, but I didn't answer. It seemed a risky thing to introduce Colton to the kid who'd thrown sodas on him twice.

  Sister Mary Catherine glanced at her watch again. "This is where I leave you. Thanks again for putting the field trip together." She gave us a wave and headed in another direction.

  We walked on slowly. Colton examined the lists. "I don't know if this was such a good idea. Half these kids want electric scooters and Xboxes. We don't have the budget for that. They'll be disappointed."

  "They'll be even more disappointed if they don't get anything."

  Colton mumbled something that I couldn't hear but which seemed decidedly lacking in the Christmas spirit.

  "Look around at these kids," I told Colton in a lowered voice. "They're wearing hand-me-downs, and living on the free-lunch program. They need our help."

  He glanced around, then back at the papers. "You can't tell by looking at them whether they're on a free-lunch program."

  "Yes, I can. They're skinny. Malnourished."

  "They're little kids. They all look that way."

  "Perfume Lady!" Reese called out. I looked up to see him running toward me. His backpack shook up and down with every step. "What are you doing here?"

  "I just came by to talk to the principal about the field trip to see Santa at the mall."

  Reese's eyes grew wide. "You really do know Santa?"

  I couldn't help but smile. This was probably as close to famous as I would ever get. "I'm helping him out this year. And since you're seeing Santa during the field trip, you don't have to worry about coming to the mall on Christmas Eve. Santa wants you to spend that day with your family, so he'll bring your mom's present to you at the field trip, okay?"

  Reese nodded, his eyes still wide. "Is he bringing me my other gift too? I asked him for enough candy to make me sick."

  Colton looked up from his lists. "Why would you want that?"

  Reese shrugged. "My mom always says if I eat all my Halloween candy, it will make me sick; but it doesn't— no matter how much I eat. So I figure it would take a lot of candy to make me sick. Maybe a whole sleighful."

  "You want a sleighful of candy?" Colton said.

  Reese shrugged again. "Santa gets goodies at every house he stops at. He's got to have a lot left over by the time he reaches California."

  Colton made a notation on one of the lists. "Uh-huh."

  Reese took a step toward me, and his brows pushed together as he considered Colton. He lowered his voice, but not low enough. "Isn't that the guy you asked me to throw soda on?"

  Colton's head jerked up. He stared first at Reese, then at me. "You asked him to throw soda on me?"

  "Of course not. The boy is delirious. That's what happens to children when they're malnourished. They start hallucinating." I put my hand against Reese's forehead as though checking for a temperature. "I'm afraid he has a serious case of it."

  Colton folded his arms and continued to glare at me. "No, Charlotte, you have a serious case of it, and I'm not talking about malnourishment."

  Reese stepped away from my temperature check and toward Colton. "She said you wouldn't melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, but you might fizz a little." Reese turned back to me. "He never did fizz."

  "I'm about to," Colton said. "Just watch for a few more seconds."

  "There's my grandma!" Reese said, and without another look at either of us, he ran to the crosswalk to meet her.

  Colton didn't move. He stood with his arms crossed and clenched the wish lists. "Let me get this straight. You know, just in case we ever have another conversation about doing things you later need to apologize for. You asked that kid to follow me around the mall and throw soda on me?"

  "No. I asked him to pick up trash." I took a step back from Colton. "Although I might have suggested it wouldn't be a tragedy if he spilled soda on Bryant in the process."

  "On Bryant?"

  "I can't help it if Reese doesn't follow directions well."

  Colton shut his eyes. I took another step back from him. When he opened his eyes, he let out a sigh. "This has got to end." I didn't want to ask what he was talking about. In fact,

  I didn't want to have any sort of conversation with him. I looked out across the parking lot toward the car. "You know, we should go home. I have homework to do."

  "Oh no you don't." He took hold of my
hand and pulled me to the crosswalk. "We're going to fix this right now."

  "Fix what?" I let him lead me across the parking lot toward his car. I wished he'd just yell at me about the soda and be done with it.

  "We're going to see Bryant and work things out between you once and for all."

  "I don't want to see Bryant." I tugged at my hand, but he held on tighter.

  "I know you don't want to. You'd rather just hate Bryant for the rest of your life, but I'm getting sick of it."

  "You?" I asked. "What do you have to do with this?"

  We reached his car, and he opened the passenger-side door for me. "I've been drenched by misguided sodas and shoved in pools because of it. Not to mention that you showered Candy's guests with fruit dip because of it."

  He motioned to the seat, and I reluctantly slid in and folded my arms. "I'm sorry about the sodas."

  "And Bryant is sorry about the spiders."

  "No, he isn't." I wasn't trying to argue with Colton.

  I just didn't understand how Colton could be Bryant's friend and not realize certain facts about him. Bryant didn't care how other people felt. I didn't think for a moment he regretted anything he'd done to me.

  Colton pulled out of the parking lot and drove away from the school. His speed picked up the farther we went. "What do you want from Bryant? An apology? Fine. He'll give you one."

  "He hasn't changed," I said.

  "What you mean is, you don't want him to change, because you enjoy hating him too much."

  He didn't understand. He'd never been unpopular, ridiculed, or pushed to the fringes of school life day in and day out.

  I didn't say anything else to Colton. I couldn't. If I spoke, I would either start yelling or break into tears. I knew I'd regret either of those things, so I sat silently in his car and held my hair in a ponytail so the wind wouldn't whip it around my face into uncontrollable tangles.

  We drove through the city, and then to Bryant's neighborhood. "You're taking me to his house?"

  "Nope. To the park. He and some of the guys are playing basketball."

  We drove past a row of houses, then pulled up to the curb. I could make out a group of guys running back and forth on a court behind the playground equipment. Colton turned off the car, got out, and came around and opened my door for me. Not because he was being a gentleman, but because I didn't get out of the car. He bent forward, closer to me, and turned on his intense girl-melting gaze. "Come on, Charlotte, you've wanted an apology for a long time. You're finally going to get it."

  "It doesn't count if you make him tell me he's sorry," I said, but I pulled myself out of the car anyway. To tell the truth, I couldn't imagine Bryant would apologize to me, even with Colton there forcing the issue. He'd do something obnoxious like laugh or tell me he no longer thought of me in spider terms because I'd graduated to hound-dog status.

  Which would be awful, but at least Colton would finally see I was right about Bryant.

  We walked across the grass, then stood at the corner of the courtyard—Colton looked for Bryant among the crowd. I looked for a possible escape route.

  After a moment someone sunk a basket, and the group relaxed its pace from run to shuffle. One of the guys walked the ball back to midcourt. That's when Bryant noticed us. He looked from Colton, to me, and then back at Colton. He said something to one of the other guys, and then they paused the game. Most of the guys went to the sidelines to grab a drink from their water bottles. Bryant picked up a Gatorade and walked over to us. As I watched each footstep I thought of all the other places I would rather be than standing here—like, say, having several teeth extracted or being attacked by wild dogs.

  Bryant wouldn't apologize, and I was going to recruit several more elementary children to throw sodas on Colton for dragging me here and making this happen.

  Bryant finally reached us. He took another sip from his bottle, then wiped away the sweat from his forehead. "Hey, what's up?"

  Colton glanced at me, then turned to Bryant. "Charlotte and I were just talking about junior high, and she's still upset about a lot of stuff, so can you just do me a favor and apologize for all the spider crap?"

  I held my breath and waited for what I knew would come next. Bryant would smirk, tilt his chin mockingly, and say, "Spider crap? Is that what they did in your desk? Gee, if I'd known, I would have provided you with a tiny roll of toilet paper."

  Bryant did tilt his chin, but it was more with disbelief than in a mocking manner. I suddenly felt like a three-year-old who'd thrown a tantrum and so was being given my way.

  "Uh . . . sorry about all of that." Bryant shrugged as though it didn't take any effort to pluck the words from his mouth. "I was just joking around."

  And that's when I realized Colton was right about me. I felt no satisfaction. In fact, it disappointed me that Bryant could apologize so painlessly. What did that say about me?

  "It's all right." I shrugged, matching Bryant's nonchalant stance even though my insides trembled. "So do we have a truce?"

  "Sure. Truce." He smiled, but I wasn't sure if he meant it.

  Then we stared at one another awkwardly while Colton beamed at the two of us like a marriage counselor who'd just made a major breakthrough. I didn't know what to say next or how to suddenly bridge into small talk, so I was glad when one of the guys yelled, "Bryant, are you in?" With a quick good-bye he jogged back to the game. Colton and I turned back to his car. "Well?" Colton asked. "Well?"

  "Okay, you were right. He apologized."

  "And?"

  "And maybe I did have a chip on my shoulder about him."

  Colton nodded, smiling. "See, I told you Bryant wasn't such a bad guy."

  I didn't answer. I didn't know if Bryant was a bad guy or not, but for the first time, I was willing to try to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  On the way home Colton and I talked about the winter dance. Specifically whether or not I had refreshments ordered. Which I didn't. "It's in a week from tomorrow," he told me, as though the date may have slipped my mind altogether. Then he offered me ideas for "Winter Wonderland" theme refreshments I could buy, such as holiday sugar cookies and hot spiced apple cider. I kept wondering if he was suggesting things because he wanted Olivia to have a good time.

  At last he pulled up in front of my house. "I'll call bakeries today and find something to order," I said just so he'd stop worrying about it. "Gingerbread or snowmen or something with red and green frosting. Whatever is cheapest."

  "Cheapest?" he asked, as though he'd never heard of the word before.

  "Yeah. If we have money left over from our dance budget, we can spend more on the Santa project."

  He turned in his seat, considering me with skeptical eyes. "And you're in charge of the decorations too?"

  "It will be nicely done," I insisted. "Just not expen­sive."

  He continued to stare at me. I could tell he didn't think it was possible to do both of those things at the same time.

  "Really, it will be fine," I said. "More than fine. Perfect. And everyone at school will love NHS and think you're wonderful because you're the president of such a cool group."

  "Good." He leaned back in his seat as though finally relaxed. One of his hands ran across his hair, smoothing down where the wind ruffled it during the ride. I put my hand on the door handle, but instead of opening it, I found myself admiring the way the sun lay in golden patches across his hair.

  Why hadn't I made up with Colton while I had the chance? Then instead of taking Olivia to the dance, he'd be taking me.

  I opened the door and stepped out, but before I shut the door, I turned back to him. "As long as we're all apologizing, I probably should tell you I'm sorry for having Reese throw sodas on you."

  "You probably should," he said. "I'm sorry about that and, you know, pushing you into the pool."

  He shook his head and laughed. "It's okay, Charlotte." He gave me half a wave, then drove off. I watched him go, my gaze jogging after the car. It wasn't okay. I
t wasn't okay, because he wasn't taking me to the dance.

  ten

  The next day at school Colton and I split up the wish lists and we each took half to hand out. Even though I wanted to shop for Reese and T.J., we decided the girls should shop for the girls and the guys for the guys. That way Colton wouldn't be forced to search the doll aisles for a Barbie Ballerina or fairy princess and the St. Matthew's girls wouldn't have to wear outfits that the NHS guys put together. I mean, even the poor have dignity.

  As we walked to lunch I handed Kelly her list. She took it from me, but didn't read it. "When do you think Wesley will go shopping?"

  "I have no idea."

  "Why don't you find out, let me know, and then we can arrange to bump into him."

  "Kelly—" She lowered her voice and walked nearer to me. "You said you'd help me with Wesley. You promised."

  "And it turns out I'm a lousy matchmaker. Besides, I've called a truce with Bryant, so—"

  Kelly grabbed my elbow. "There he is—over by the drinking fountain. Go talk to him." She made a sharp turn and walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway.

  I stood there for a moment while students flowed around me and locker doors thudded shut. I tried to think of a good reason—or actually any reason—to talk to Wesley. When I came up with a pathetic inkling of an idea, I trudged over to him. He finished taking a drink, saw me, and gave me a brief nod. I stood in his way so he couldn't leave.

  "Hi, Wesley." I fingered the lists I hadn't given out yet and prayed he didn't know Colton and I had split up the papers by gender. "Do you have your list of stuff to buy for the St. Matthew's kids yet?" I flipped through my stack as though looking for a paper with his name on it.

  Wesley tilted his head at me. "Yeah. Colton gave me mine. He has the guy lists."

  Great. He knew.

  "Oh yeah. Right." I held the papers against my chests and felt myself blushing. "So you already have your list. When are you planning on going shopping?"

  His eyebrows drew together like he was trying to figure out why I was bugging him about it. "Soon," he said. "I mean, I just got the list today."