"He's just using Shelby," I finished.
"No, it's not like that. He's not going to ask her out or lead her on or anything. He's networking. Bryant's just forming a friendship that will help his future and thus help Brianna too."
"And the flirting?"
"He isn't flirting with Shelby." I rolled my eyes.
"Being friendly is not the same as flirting," he said.
"And I can tell the difference between the two," I said.
He let out a grunt of disbelief. "I don't see how you could, since you never do either."
Like he'd know. Like he even cared whether I flirted with anyone.
"Look," Colton went on, "Shelby is the kind of girl who likes to get attention from guys—"
"Meaning she's a flirt," I said.
"But she does that with everybody. It doesn't mean a thing. And Bryant is going to tell her tonight that he's got a girlfriend. There's nothing wrong going on."
I sat back against my seat and surveyed him. "You don't consider it wrong to use people to get money for college? You don't consider it wrong for Bryant to tell Brianna he's going to a wedding reception when he's really going to a party to meet another girl?" I didn't even mention the rest. I couldn't bring myself to tell Colton about Brianna's don't-make-me-choose speech or my fears that Bryant was pulling her away from me anyway.
Colton held out a hand as though trying to show me his logic. "He needs to get into a good college if he's going to be able to support himself, doesn't he? If he and Brianna ever got married, you wouldn't want her to have to live in some run-down ghetto, would you?"
And anyone who didn't go to Stanford would obviously be doomed to such a fate. I almost pointed out that neither of my parents went to Stanford, but then didn't. If Colton considered my neighborhood as proof he was right, I didn't want to hear about it.
Colton reached over and turned the ignition back on as though he'd won the debate and the conversation was over.
He pulled onto the road, and I watched buildings and streetlamps go by while his words swirled around in my mind. "So you think the ends justifies the means. Typical utilitarian thinking. Honesty doesn't matter. The action with the best consequences for you is the right thing to do. You're so . . ." The frustration slowed my thinking process, and the word I wanted remained filed away in the vocabulary section of my brain. I shut my eyes as though this would help. It didn't. "I can't think of the right word."
He leaned back in his seat. "Look, you're a smart girl. You realize people need quality education to get ahead in this world. You don't want to spend the rest of your life spraying perfume on people, do you?"
"Condescending. That's the word. Thanks for the help. You're such a condescending elitist." Sitting with one arm draped across the steering wheel of his sports car, wearing a Rolex, he rolled his eyes at me.
"There's nothing wrong with my job," I said.
"Right, Charlotte. Can you even afford to buy any of that perfume you spray on wealthy women's wrists?"
I gritted my teeth. "I don't need to buy overpriced perfume to smell nice, Colton. I've discovered a magical invention called soap. It does a fine job of making me smell good."
He pulled up in front of my house and smirked at me. "Okay, why don't you go use some of that magical invention right now and see if it does the trick?" He held up a strand of my hair, and then let it drop again. "You're hair is crunchy."
I opened the car door and stepped out without telling him good-bye. I'd walked halfway to my front porch before I realized he was coming with me. I'd expected him to wait in his car. Suddenly I had all sorts of anxiety about my house in general, my living room in particular, and which of my little sisters were roaming around dirty, half-dressed, or looking for trouble.
I have three younger sisters. I sort of think my parents tried for a boy, but they won't admit this to us. "We just feel so blessed to have four girls," my mom will say when questioned about the situation.
"None of whom like football, camping, or NASCAR," my dad will grumble under his breath until my mom swats him. Then Dad will put on a smile and tell us, "No, really, I look forward to paying for four weddings," and "I'm nearly immune to all the hormones."
Dad has a particularly trying sense of humor, which was just one more reason to be nervous about Colton coming into the house with me. He once told Greg—and this is a direct quote—"Don't take Charlotte anywhere they serve alcohol. I have a short temper, a gun collection, and friends on the police force."
Greg didn't laugh. Probably Colton wouldn't either.
I turned the doorknob, took a breath, and pushed the door open.
Good news. The house was relatively clean. No sign of Rebecca's latest sewing project, Julianne's Barbie doll kingdom, or Evelynn's homework—which she frequently spread over the floor like she was trying to paper-train a puppy.
Bad news. My dad sat in the recliner reading the newspaper, and Mom was out putting up crown molding. I had no one to rein in my family. As we walked in, my dad glanced over the top of the paper at us and offered a grunt in greeting. "New guy?" he asked.
"This is Colton, Dad. You know, from my study group. He gave me a ride home to change clothes."
Dad lowered the paper and glared first at Colton and then me. "And what were you doing that required a change of clothing?"
"Nothing, Dad. I just had a food accident. Look . . ." I pointed to my sweater and the now dried juice stains on it.
"A food accident?" Dad repeated, then after a moment's thought added, "Where's the minivan?"
I didn't want to explain any of it to him, so I pretended I hadn't heard the question and hurried to the stairs.
I took them two at a time and called down to Colton, "I'll just be a minute."
Behind me my father said, "Son, if you haven't learned girl-speak yet, Til just be a minute' is code for, This will take half an hour.' You'd better sit down." I didn't stick around to hear more.
five
Getting changed didn't take me half an hour. It took me twenty minutes. But only because I had to dampen large sections of my hair to get it clean, and then I had to blow-dry it. I wasn't about to go back to Candy's party looking like a drowned rat. Plus, I had to touch up my makeup and find my green sweater. The one that brings out the color in my eyes. Not that I wanted to look good for Colton or anything. I mean, I just needed the extra confidence to face all those people at Candy's party.
When I walked downstairs, all of my sisters were sitting in the living room surrounding Colton like he was Santa Claus about to hand out presents. Rebecca hung back, shyly twisting her fingers through her hair while eyeing him from lowered lashes. As a freshman at Hamilton, she actually recognized Colton. Evelynn and Julianne, at ten and seven years old, just saw him as an interesting specimen of manhood whom they could tease, flirt with, and generally bother.
I didn't hear the whole conversation as I came down, but it involved Julianne asking about the finer points of wrestling. "What if you had to wrestle some fat guy? Wouldn't that be gross?"
"They put you in weight divisions so you only wrestle guys your same weight," Colton said.
"Do girls wrestle?" Evelynn asked.
Dad glanced over the top of his newspaper. "Only while shopping."
"I'm ready," I said.
Colton looked up at me. For a moment I thought I saw something register in his eyes. Surprise? Approval? I told myself it didn't matter.
He stood up. "All right. I guess we'll go back to the party then."
"Have fun," Rebecca cooed.
"Bring him back afterward so he can teach me to wrestle," Julianne said.
"Will you?" Evelynn asked. "None of Charlotte's other boyfriends know how to wrestle."
"I bet Colton could've whipped Greg," Julianne said, and then both girls giggled.
My father lowered his paper again. "Now girls, don't use all your pestering on this boy, or you'll have nothing left for the next one your sister brings home."
"Who are
you bringing home next?" Julianne asked.
"Time to go," I said, and headed to the door. "Don't wait up for me." I opened the door, stepped outside, and didn't relax until the door shut behind us.
Colton walked beside me to the curb, and although I didn't look at him, I knew he was smirking. After we'd both climbed into his car, he turned to me. "So who's Greg?"
"Greg MacNelly. Candy's—I mean—Candice's current boyfriend."
Colton nodded. "Oh yeah, I remember Greg." He snapped on his seat belt and started the ignition. "Well, at least I have the distinction of being your only wrestling boyfriend. Is that because you usually go for the wimpy types?"
"No, I just don't generally date wrestlers, because it's a silly sport."
"Is it?" Still smirking, he eased the car out onto the street.
"When does anyone use wrestling skills in real life?"
"I'll use them."
"Yeah. I can just see you at some stockholder board meeting now. One of the CEOs gets out of hand, so you grab him by his Ralph Lauren tie and wrangle him to the ground."
Colton smiled over at me as he drove. "You look nice in that color."
I smiled back at him. "Thanks, but I'm still telling Brianna that Bryant came to Candy's party."
"Has anyone ever told you that you have a barbed demeanor?"
"Just you. I'll post it on my Live Journal with all the other compliments you've ever given me."
Colton looked straight ahead at the traffic, not at me. "You want compliments? I might give you some if you stopped snapping at me all the time."
I bit my lip, refusing to snap at him. One minute ticked by, then two. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance at me. I looked out the window at the car in front of us.
"I admire your intelligence," he said.
"Thanks."
"I also admire your compassion, your sense of humor, and the way you willingly help people with their homework."
"What about my inability to be bought off by compliments?"
"Okay, that I don't admire as much."
I laughed, a real laugh for the first time that night.
"Listen, Charlotte, you'll just cause needless pain if you go upsetting Brianna with talk of Bryant and this party. Nothing is going on between Shelby and him, I promise."
I didn't answer him.
"I'll chaperone them the whole time if that will make you feel better."
Oh yeah. I'd seen the stellar job he did with them at the mall. I still didn't answer him.
"What do you want from . . . " He stopped talking and leaned back in his seat. A slow smile spread across his lips. "I think we could strike a deal, Charlotte."
I waited for him to continue, and he did, slowly, confidently, as though he already knew my answer. "You want to help all those kids over at St. Matthew's Elementary. You want NHS to do a service project for them. I think I could arrange that. Of course NHS could only afford to give a hundred bucks or so. That's not much. It would only help a few kids. My dad's company, on the other hand, contributes to needy causes every once in a while. It's good for the company image, and a tax writeoff. I bet I could convince him to throw in another five hundred dollars. That would help more."
I hadn't decided to take him up on his offer. I hadn't even begun to think about it. Still, I heard myself say, "Make it a thousand dollars and throw in a pair of women's black work shoes." I don't know where the words came from. Maybe I said them because I didn't think he'd agree.
His smile grew. "Done. A thousand and a pair of shoes it is." Then he held out his hand to shake on it.
I looked at his hand and all I could think about was Reese and T.J. They'd be so happy. I lifted my hand and shook with Colton.
Maybe Colton knows me better than I think. I probably would have called off the agreement if I had stopped to think about what I was doing, considered the implications for Brianna, or pondered how withholding information from your best friend because someone gives you a thousand dollars is like selling your soul to the devil—or in this case, Colton. But Colton didn't let me think about it. He plunged right into the details of the NHS service project.
As we drove, he told me that on Monday he would talk to the principal at St. Matthew's Elementary and ask for a list of thirty of their neediest students. Thirty students and a thousand dollars from Colton's dad, plus another hundred or so that we could manage to trim off the dance budget, would mean we'd be able to spend almost forty dollars on each child. We might be able to help even more kids if we could get the merchants in the mall to donate some items, or at least give us a substantial discount.
We'd have the kids sign a parent permission slip, a toy wish list, and a clothing-size chart, then assign NHS members to shop for the children. The last day of school before winter break, we'd bus the children over to the mall, where Santa would hand out presents in the Bloomingdale's courtyard.
The more I talked about the event with Colton, the more excited I became about it. We nearly had the whole thing planned out during the drive back to the party. Even Colton seemed to get into the spirit of the thing, organizing who would hit up which store, and how.
At the time Colton won the NHS presidency, I didn't think he would take it seriously. But even I had to admit he had the knack for organizing events. "Santa always comes to my dad's office party," he said as we drove. "I can get the suit from him. Who should we make wear it?"
"Oh, definitely you," I said. "You're the joiliest guy in NHS."
"Right. I'm not being Santa."
"Why not?"
Colton looked at me with a tilt of his head. "Because I've already had a homeless lady try to chase down my convertible. The last thing I need is a bunch of elementary kids doing the same thing. If they find out where I live, I'll have first graders showing up on my doorstep and demanding presents until next Easter." We pulled onto the palm-lined drive that led to the club. I looked out the window and grinned. "You're worrying about nothing. Kids never try to follow Santa home, because they know he lives at the North Pole.
You'd have fun handing out gifts."
"Sure, because I've always wanted to dress up as an old, overweight, hairy guy who has bad taste in clothing."
"We can vote about it during the next NHS meeting. I'll nominate you."
Colton shook his head. "No vote. If I'm Santa, I'm forcing everyone into a vow of silence." Then he sent me a smile. "Plus, you have to wear the elf suit."
"Your dad has an elf suit too?"
"I don't know, but if I have to be Santa, you've got to put on an elf suit. I'll find one somewhere."
Colton parked the car by the curb for the valets, then we walked up to the club. As we came to the door Colton reached out and took hold of my arm, stopping me from going in. His expression grew serious. "Remember, Charlotte, your part of the bargain is you don't say anything about Bryant and Shelby to Brianna. Ever again."
I felt an actual pang in my chest, probably the devil ripping my soul from my body. But how could I say no to all of those kids? And besides, maybe Colton was right about the whole thing anyway. Bryant was just trying to get into Stanford; he wasn't cheating on Brianna. I mean, if he actually liked Shelby, there was nothing to keep him from breaking up with Brianna. But he hadn't. So that must mean he did care for her. Colton was right, and I just read too much into everything. Still, I stood in front of the door, Colton's hand on my arm, and hesitated. "You'll keep an eye on Shelby and make sure she doesn't throw herself at Bryant or something?"
"Of course. I don't want to put him in some awkward situation. That's part of the plan."
"He's really crazy about Brianna?"
"Insane."
I let out a sigh. "All right then, it's a deal." Colton smiled at me, and it may just have been my imagination, but it seemed a long time before he finally let go of my arm and opened the door.
We went through the lobby and into the Condor Ballroom. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw Candy and Greg standing nearby talkin
g. They turned toward us, and Greg waved. Candy gave me a wary look. I didn't blame her. She probably wondered what I planned on destroying next.
"Char!" Greg stepped over and gave me a half hug "We were just talking about you. I hoped you'd come back to the party so I could see you." Apparently finished seeing me, he turned his attention to Colton.. "Hey, it's been a long time, Colton."
"Eighth-grade English," Colton said.
"You transferred to Hamilton for some sport thing."
"Wrestling," Colton said.
Greg nodded at him vaguely. Greg wasn't into sports, unless you count sailing as a sport, or maybe golf. "And how's wrestling going?"
"I took second at State last year."
Greg shook his head. "Too bad. Well, there's always this year." Which pretty much sums up why I wasn't all that heartbroken when Greg dumped me.
Colton smiled at him, but it was one of those smiles that indicated he was assessing Julianne's prediction that he could whip Greg.
Candy looped her arm through Greg's in a possessive manner. Probably so I wouldn't use any of my feminine wiles on her boyfriend. "Well, you two didn't come all the way back here just to stand around talking to us. Why don't you make use of the dance floor?" She gave Colton a conspiratorial wink. "Char's a great dancer. You'll have to work hard to keep her all to yourself."
Uh, yeah, could you be more obvious when you're trying to set two people up? It's a good thing I didn't really like Colton, or I would have been completely mortified. I was mortified enough as it was already.
Colton placed a hand on my shoulder, more as a way to get my attention than as an actual gesture of affection. "Right, we should dance, but first I have to make a phone call. You know, tell Bryant I'm back so he doesn't think he needs to get another ride home." He pulled out a phone from his pocket and looked around. "It's a little loud in here, so I'll step outside for a second." He took a couple steps toward the door, then walked back over to me and handed me the phone. "This one is yours. I forgot to tell you, I found it on the floor."