It's a Mall World After All

  I didn't see Colton, Bryant, or, for that matter, Candy anywhere, so I wandered over to the tables. After picking up a few stuffed mushrooms and an artichoke heart that looked like a flower, I circulated around the room.

  No one paid any attention to me, which was simultaneously nice and depressing. I hadn't come to make new friends or pick up guys or anything; but still, after a few minutes I began to feel like I had leprosy, or at least a serious lack of pashminas.

  Brianna says my good looks intimidate others and so sometimes people are afraid to approach me, but I don't buy it. If this were true, movie stars would be the loneliest people on earth. People would shun them in droves. Plus, if Brianna's theory were right, unattractive girls would be the least friendly in high school because they'd be afraid to approach anyone. But it's the opposite. Plain girls are the most likely to say hi to you in the hallway. Just try to get the time of a day from the last homecoming queen.

  I think it's more likely that people are friendly in direct proportion to how little money they have. This is why a panhandler is more than willing to relate his whole life story to you while simultaneously telling you that you look like Nicole Kidman. And rich people, well let's just say, right then I'd entered one of the un-friendliest places in California.

  I picked up a cracker with some sort of bland chunky stuff on the top and tried to look natural while I waited for Bryant and Shelby to appear somewhere. The cell phone lay in my jeans pocket, and I kept fingering it to make sure it was still there. Everyone seemed to be in pockets of groups. The only single people in the room were me and the three waiters who kept swooping over to the tables to replace trays of food or take away used plates. They all wore black tuxedos, which struck me as ironic. I mean how often is your nicest outfit the one you wait tables in?

  I peered out the window, trying to see if I could recognize any of the people strolling around outside. They moved about, too far away to see clearly. I dragged my gaze back inside and finally spotted Candy in a circle of girls. Greg was nowhere in sight. Candy looked too busy to approach, so I stayed by the refreshment table deciding what to eat next. The artichoke thingy had been a disappointment—too salty—and I've never been crazy about mushrooms. I mean, they have the same texture as used gum.

  On either side of a punch fountain stood miniature pine trees covered with cherry tomatoes. They looked like ornaments on little Christmas trees. I popped one into my mouth while I considered the punch fountain.

  Pink liquid ran over lighted crystal shelves until it fell, churning, into a frothy bowl. Very pretty, although I doubted it did anything to improve the flavor of the punch. I picked up one of the already filled glasses on the table and tried a sip. Nope. Still tasted just like punch. See, rich people spend far too much effort on frivolous details. Putting punch in fountains. Putting tomatoes on pine trees.

  I ate another tomato, enjoying how good it tasted. Whoever discovered tomatoes knew what they were doing, but that mushroom thing should have been a passing fad.

  I took another cherry tomato. Then another. After about my fourth, Candy and friends came up to refill their plates. She saw me and gave me a quick Hollywood hug—you know, the type you imagine movie stars give each other before they say, "Dahling, we must do lunch sometime."

  "Char, so good to see you." Candy glanced at the tomato on my plate with a forced smile, then turned back to her friends. "This is Charlotte, one of Greg's old friends. From Hamilton."

  Three girls smiled in my direction, but they looked more incredulous than friendly. One of them giggled. Without ever letting her smile falter, a second girl elbowed the first to be quiet.

  Candy turned back to me. "Greg is coming later. His flight from Honolulu was delayed." She gave an airy laugh. "You know how that is."

  I didn't, but I nodded anyway. "Make sure he finds me to say hi."

  Candy leaned closer to me. "Have you talked to Colton yet? He's looking especially good tonight."

  "Colton? No." I peered around the room trying to find him. "Where is he?"

  Candy gazed around casually. "He was here earlier. I think he went out to the golf course with his friends—oh, there he is." She nodded in the direction of the door. "He's coming in now."

  Colton walked into the room and it struck me—even though I saw him every day—how pleasantly tall he is. I appreciate tallness in a guy, since I'm only a few inches shy of six feet. I also appreciated his broad shoulders just on principle. Anyway, Colton looked nicer than usual, like he was both dressed up and casual at the same time. Like he fit in here with these people, which I suppose he did.

  All three of Candy's friends and I simultaneously turned toward the door to look at him. It was the equivalent of waving a flag to get his attention. He glanced over, smiled at Candy, and then stopped when he saw me. The smile dropped from his face. He said something that I couldn't hear, but judging from his lip motions, he either swore or commanded an invisible dog to sit. I smiled back at him.

  I waited for Bryant to come in behind Colton, possibly with a girl in tow, but Colton crossed the floor to us alone. He smiled again, but it lacked enthusiasm.

  "Charlotte," he coughed out. "What are you doing here?"

  "Talking with Candy and enjoying the appetizers." I took the tomato off my plate, holding it up as proof. "And you? Are you here with Bryant? Or Shelby? Or both?" I popped the tomato into my mouth, enjoying the feeling of victory.

  His gaze traveled from my lips to the refreshment table and back. He took a step closer to me and lowered his voice. "Charlotte, those tomatoes are part of the centerpiece. You're not supposed to eat the decora­tions."

  There is only one thing worse than being told you've just eaten the centerpiece, and that is choking on it. I gasped halfway between chewing and swallowing, and managed to breathe the thing in.

  I stood there coughing. All eyes were riveted on my reddening face—watching, I suppose, to see whether I needed the Heimlich to recover.

  All of the hacking made the punch in my glass swish around violently, and I knew I was one cough away from spilling it onto the club's polished floor. This would do nothing to enhance the moment, so I shoved my glass at Colton. He took it wordlessly, then smacked me on the back a couple of times. This didn't dislodge the tomato from my lungs but probably gave him a wicked pleasure anyway.

  Candy's eyes grew wide. "Are you all right?"

  I nodded, finally feeling like I could breathe again. "Sorry. I think I just need some fresh air." Because now I knew why Candy's friends were all smirking at me, and I didn't want to stick around and make small talk with them. Besides, Bryant was somewhere on the golf course, and I would bet money he wasn't alone. My hand went to the cell phone in my pocket. "I'll see you guys later."

  Colton grabbed my arm and handed me my punch.

  "You need to take a drink. It'll help clear your throat."

  "I'm fine," I said.

  He didn't let go of my arm but kept propelling my glass back at me. He was stalling. "You need to take a drink. I know about these things. My father is a doctor."

  "Your father isn't a doctor, Colton. He's a CEO." Colton didn't let go of my arm. "Okay, but he plays golf with doctors, so he still knows this stuff. Take a drink."

  I took a drink of the punch just so he'd let me go. "There. See, I'm fine. I'll go outside now."

  He tugged me back toward him. "I don't think you should. You're still flushed, and all that coughing makes a person light-headed. You can't go out by yourself. You might pass out or fall in the pool or something." He turned to Candy, "Don't you think she should sit down for a while?" I tried to pull my arm away from Colton. "I'm not light-headed."

  Candy tilted her head and gave me a playful smirk. "I don't know, Char. You do look pink, and you're short of breath. It must be hyperventilation or love, so either way you shouldn't be left alone. I think Colton should sit with you until you've completely recovered."

  "I don't need to, I mean. .." But I didn't get to finish before Cand
y and her friends waved good-bye to us. Colton pulled me off to the side of the room where a couple of chairs stood on either side of an antique Bombay chest. Not the comfortable kind of chairs that invite you to sit down on them, the ornate kind that are there purely as decoration. Even I knew this, despite the fact that I'd just eaten a portion of the centerpiece.

  Colton guided me to a chair. I sat in it and glared up at him. From across the room I could see Candy talking with the same group of friends and glancing in our direction. All of them giggled. I simultaneously wondered what they said and didn't want to know. I wished I could just go home, but I had to get proof on Bryant's cheating first.

  I smiled up at Colton. "Okay, I feel better. Thanks for your help. You can go now."

  He stood in front of me as though ready to grab me should I make a break for it. "You still look pink."

  "Maybe that's because I'm getting angry at you for making me sit in this chair."

  "I'm thinking of your health."

  "No, you're thinking of Bryant outside with Shelby and what's going to happen when I catch them to­gether." I took my camera phone out of my pocket and held it up for him to see. "You'll have a harder time explaining away their meeting this time."

  He threw up his hands and let out a grunt of frustration. "Why do you have it out for Bryant?"

  "Oh. Let me think really hard about this one. Maybe because he's cheating on my best friend?"

  "He's not cheating on Brianna."

  "If you don't have anything to hide, then why won't you let me go outside and see for myself?"

  Colton put his hands on his hips. His eyes glittered in that dangerous underworld spy way. "He's not cheating on Brianna. Can't you just believe me about that?"

  "Believe you? Colton, you're the guy who just told me your father is a doctor."

  He shook his head and took a slow step toward me. I could catch a faint whiff of his cologne. "You know, for someone who's so pretty, you're way too sarcastic."

  "And for someone who's so smart, you're way too—" I snapped my gaze to a place behind Colton's shoulder, pretending to see something. "Oh, there's Bryant and Shelby now."

  My words did the trick. Colton's head spun around, and while he searched the club floor I jumped out of the chair and dashed past him. "Gullible," I called over my shoulder. "Way too gullible."

  Okay. There are many reasons why girls shouldn't wear high heels. One of them is that they slow you down when you race across a club floor or try to outmaneuver waiters who've brought in fruit trays. I just want to make it clear that bumping into the waiter wasn't really my fault. I would have made it past him if he hadn't suddenly changed directions to avoid me while I simultaneously changed directions to avoid him.

  I slammed into his chest, and the tray flew out of his hands, sending fruit chunks sailing across the room like edible confetti. Some of it landed harmlessly on the floor and windows; but unfortunately, most of it splattered into a group of Candy's friends, who all started needlessly shrieking. I mean, it was pineapple, not live tarantulas. And okay, watermelon in your hair is never going to look attractive, but it's not like it doesn't wash out.

  Somewhere between the time I smacked into the waiter and the time I lost my balance and rolled across the floor, my cell phone flew out of my hand. I didn't see where it went. At that point I was more interested in peeling myself off the floor and wiping raspberries off of my face.

  Colton held his hand down to help me up, which would have been very gentlemanly if he hadn't laughed while he did it. "Are you all right?" he asked.

  How do you answer that question when the entire room is looking at you and you have fruit chunks stuck on your sweater? "Probably," I said.

  He held on to my arm as though I might try to dart off again. "Don't slip. The floor's wet." And then he chuckled under his breath again.

  Candy walked over to us, a smile wedged onto her lips despite the fact that she was clearly gritting her teeth. "Are you hurt?" she asked me.

  "No." I ignored Colton, who'd started pulling fruit pieces out of my hair.

  "Oh, good." Candy gripped the glass in her hand. The smile stayed on her lips, but her words came out in a tight rhythm. "I don't know what the waiter was thinking of, jumping in front of you that way. I mean, certainly he should have anticipated that you were suddenly going to pop up and tear across the room like it had caught on fire."

  "Sorry," I said.

  "No, no, it wasn't your fault. They're supposed to be trained to deal with anything. Even . . ." her words trailed off as though she didn't have the heart to tell me what "even" was. She let out a low sigh. "Well, I suppose it's time to move to the dance floor anyway. You might want to"—her eyes traveled up and down the length of my fruit crusted outfit and she grimaced—"freshen up a bit beforehand."

  Which made me doubly glad I'd turned down her offer of a pashmina.

  Colton picked the last of the fruit from my hair. "I think Charlotte should go home and change before the dance. I mean, no one wants to be sticky all night."

  "I'm fine," I said.

  "I can drive you home. It's not a problem," Colton added.

  I swiped remnants of cantaloupe off my sweater. "Really. A few paper towels will take care of this." I scanned the floor for signs of my cell phone, but didn't see it anywhere.

  "I insist," Colton said. "You don't want watermelon juice covering you. It'll make a mess of anything you touch in the club."

  I knew he'd won as soon as he said this. After all, I couldn't eat Candy's decorations, hurl fruit at her guests, and then make everything that I touched sticky. Still, I didn't say anything. I stood there trying to think of some way I could borrow a camera phone and get outside before Colton had a chance to warn Bryant. I bet you every single one of Candy's guests had camera phones on them—if only I could think of a way to borrow one.

  Candy's grip on her glass loosened. "Char, it's very sweet of Colton to offer to take you home. And if you get back soon, you can join us at the dance." She twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers, giving us a knowing look. "And if you find something else to do instead, well, I'll understand."

  Colton raised an eyebrow like he didn't quite understand but was beginning too. "Thanks," he said.

  I couldn't meet Candy's gaze, and I certainly wasn't going to look anywhere in the vicinity of Colton's face. I looked at the floor and the smashed fruit lying around. "I dropped my cell phone somewhere," I protested weakly. "I can't just leave it."

  Candy gave my shoulder a pat, which almost immediately turned into a push in Colton's direction. "When the staff finds it, I'll have them return it to you. It's all right to leave."

  I had no choice. I let Colton lead me out of the resort and into his convertible. Thankfully, he had the top up. I didn't want to add the windblown look to my already pathetic hair.

  We drove silently for a few minutes, then he took his cell phone from his pocket and placed a call. "Hi, this is Colton." He glanced at me and lowered his voice. "Hey, I had to leave the party suddenly."

  A pause.

  "I'll be back. There was a little accident, and I have to take Charlotte home to change her clothes." Another pause. His voice grew even softer. "Yes, Charlotte."

  "Hi, Bryant!" I yelled, just to be obnoxious.

  "I'll talk to you later," Colton said, then snapped the phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket.

  "Nice way to warn him," I said.

  Colton looked straight ahead at the road and didn't answer.

  I gripped and ungripped the armrest. "How can you sit there and help Bryant cheat on Brianna? I thought you were better than that." He said something under his breath, which I couldn't quite hear, but which may have been more commands to his invisible dog. He slowed the car down, pulled into a grocery store parking lot, and killed the ignition. Then he turned to me. "We need to talk."

  "Fine." I pressed my back against the passenger-side door to put as much distance between us as possible. "Talk."


  Even though the car no longer moved, he gripped the steering wheel with one hand. "Would you please stop trying to break up Bryant and Brianna?"

  "Me?" I sputtered. "Me? Do you realize Brianna is sitting home right now crocheting a love afghan for your best friend while he's off sharing stuffed mushrooms with another girl?"

  Colton let out a sigh like he couldn't believe how unreasonable I was being, and leaned closer to me. "Bryant really likes Brianna. He's crazy about her. When Bryant talks about his future, Brianna is always a part of it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  "Yes. You're saying Bryant's the type of guy who wants to eat his cake and have his stuffed mushrooms too."

  "No, that's not it." He threw one hand up in the air. "Look, if you want to be mad at someone be mad at me. This is my fault. I set up the meeting with Bryant and Shelby at the mall. I insisted he come with me tonight."

  "Okay, so you're a jerk too, but that still doesn't change Bryant's behavior. Now can you take me home?" I ran my hand across the front of my new sweater. "Raspberry juice stains if you don't get it out right away."

  The muscles in Colton's jaw tightened. "If you stopped accusing me long enough to hear what I'm saying, you'd see there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this."

  I folded my arms and waited for him to continue. "This is the way it is," he said. "Shelby's father is one of the football coaches at Stanford. Bryant wants to go to Stanford and already has a spot on the football team as a walk-on, but he doesn't have the money to pay the tuition. He does have a chance at a football scholarship. A lot of colleges want him. A few have even made him offers. He wants Stanford to make him an offer. Shelby can help him with that." Colton held up a hand as though taking an oath. "That's all that's going on."

  "You're trying to get Shelby to convince her dad to give Bryant a football scholarship?"

  "Right." Colton leaned forward again. "We haven't actually asked her yet. I figure she has to get to know Bryant better before we hit her up for that. But you see, he isn't really cheating on Brianna at all."