"You had my phone this whole time?"
He didn't answer, just stepped out. I let out a sigh, shook my head, and slipped the phone into my pocket. I should have known he'd been hiding it.
Candy let go of Greg's arm and took hold of mine. "Can we have a girl talk for a minute?"
"Sure," I said.
She waved Greg off with an "I could use some Evian, honey," and he obediently went off to get it. Once we were alone, Candy tilted her head at me. Her smile was the kind you give to small children. "You were a bit sharp with Colton just now."
"Oh t h a t . . . " I said, and couldn't say more. I mean, I was not about to explain the whole Brianna, Bryant, Shelby, Colton-hiding-my-cell-phone-and-buying-my-soul story.
"Now, I know you never went through finishing school or anything," Candy went on, "but there are some basic things you should know about attracting a guy."
"I don't think you really need to—"
"I'm doing you a favor telling you this, trust me." Candy gave my arm a squeeze. "If you want Colton to ask you out, you'll have to talk to him in an attractive, alluring voice. That was not the voice I just heard. You sounded like a nagging, old housewife."
"There was more to it—"
"I know it doesn't take any sophistication to get attention at Hamilton High, but Colton has better breeding than those guys, which means you'll have to apply some finesse to get him." She took hold of both my shoulders with utmost seriousness. "That means no running across the room without looking where you're going. That means no eating—well, it might be easier to put it this way—don't eat something at a social function unless you see one of the other guests eating it first. In fact, that's excellent advice all around. Just watch the other guests and pretend you're like them. All right?"
"All right," I said, mostly so she'd let go of my shoulders.
She released me with a sigh. "Now, when he comes back in, I want you to take him by the arm and apologize for your sharpness."
"Right," I said, because I knew he wasn't coming back. He'd gotten me to agree to his terms, and most likely that whole phone call business was just a polite way to make an exit. I mean, why would he want to stick around and dance with me? Besides, he'd told me he was going to keep an eye on Bryant and Shelby, who, as far as I could see, weren't in the ballroom.
Of course when Colton didn't come back, Candy would think her opinion of me as a troglodyte who couldn't attract a boyfriend was justified, but oh well. There were worse things in life. You know, like having to apologize to Colton in front of her.
Almost as soon as the word left my mouth, Colton came up behind me. "I'm back." My glance went from Colton to Candy, and then back to Colton. "Oh. Hi," I said. Candy waved her hand at me in a goon motion. I ignored her at first, but her go-on wave got bigger, and she added a ts/cing noise to the procedure.
"Sorry for snapping at you," I told Colton.
"Which time?" he asked.
"Take your pick." This answer apparently didn't please Candy, who started shaking her head. "I mean, I'm sorry for all of them," I said, and I even used an attractive, inviting voice just so Candy would be happy and leave me alone.
Candy didn't leave me alone. She made sort of a swirling motion with her hand. I had no idea what that meant. It must be one of those things they taught in finishing school, that I missed out on. I looked at Candy to try and figure it out, which made Colton glance over at her to see what I was looking at.
Candy immediately ran her hand through her hair like this was what she'd been doing all along, and gave a lilting laugh. "You two make such a cute couple. You should dance." Oh. So the swirling motion was code for dance. She could have picked something a little easier to figure out.
"Let's," I told Colton.
"Right," he said, and led me out onto the dance floor. A slow song played, so he wrapped his arms around my waist and I rested my hands against his shoulders. I could tell he was looking past my head. "So, what was that all about?"
"What?" I asked.
"You know, those things Candice keeps saying. Why does she seem to think we're a couple?"
"I have no idea."
"Liar." He bent lower to my ear. "She's over there with your ex-boyfriend talking about us right now. Why is that?"
"Well. . ." Now that I was officially no longer trying to trap Bryant, there was no reason for me not to tell Colton what I'd done, but I still didn't want to. "Candy sort of feels obligated to set me up, since she, you know, swiped my last boyfriend."
"Uh-huh." He glanced at Candy, and then back at me. "Any particular reason why I'm the chosen target?"
"Oh, well. . . it's obviously because you're the best-looking guy here."
"If you don't want to tell me the truth, I can always ask Candice, you know." He took a step away from me, but I took hold of his hand and pulled him back. Once we were in dance position again, I nervously fiddled with the collar on his shirt instead of looking in his eyes.
"Okay, I might have invited myself to Candy's party on the pretense I wanted to spend time with you when I really wanted to take a picture of Bryant and Shelby together."
His head snapped upward. "You lied to Candice about liking me in order to spy on Bryant?" I could feel him stiffen. "And you accused me of using people to get what I wanted?"
"That's different."
"Yeah, that's different. I'm using people to help Bryant get into college, and you're using people to get him in trouble. Don't try to take the moral high ground on this."
My gaze shot up to his. "Oh, you're right. Faking you like someone to get into a party is much worse than faking you like someone to get into Stanford."
"And speaking of your taste in men—"
"We weren't speaking about my taste in men."
Colton pulled me closer to him. "Well, we are now, and I'd like to commend you on your choice of Greg as boyfriend material. It's obvious you've found a much better class of men by refusing to date guys from Hamilton."
"Greg's not a bad guy. He's just—"
"Condescending?" Colton supplied. "Elitist?"
The sway of the music brought us closer together, and I felt myself being distracted as I noticed little things about Colton. His straight jawline. His broad shoulders. The fact that his hands were on my waist. Did I mention his broad shoulders? I tried to snap my mind back to the conversation. "Well, okay, I admit Greg is sort of an elitist, but he has other redeeming qualities."
"Like his checking account?"
"I didn't date him just because of his money," I said, which wasn't entirely true, but now that I'd sold my soul, I could lie without compunction. Besides, I wasn't about to admit the truth to Colton.
Colton peered over my shoulder at Greg again, shook his head, then leaned closer to me. "Explain this to me. You dislike me for being an elitist but dated Mr. Snob over there. What's the difference between the two of us besides the fact that I'm taller, better looking, and can actually bench-press more than my own weight?"
"Well, he asked me out and you didn't." Colton let out a grunt of disbelief. "I don't ask out girls who have a policy of not dating guys from my school."
"Well, there you have it," I said.
"Have what?"
"Your explanation."
"What explanation? Are you saying you'd go out with me if I asked?"
I was not about to answer that question. If I said yes and then he never asked me out, it would be totally humiliating. Besides, if I said yes, it would make me sound like I just went out with anyone who had enough money. But I didn't want to say no. Standing there with my hands resting on his shoulders and looking into his eyes, well, dating Colton didn't sound like such a bad idea. And okay, I was beginning to see an advantage to the whole wrestling thing because I could feel the muscles in his shoulders. Wrestlers are totally buff.
"Well?" he asked.
"Are you actually asking me out on a date, or is this a theoretical question?"
"Are you saying you'd make an exception t
o your dating policy if I did?"
"Maybe," I said.
"Then maybe I'm asking you out."
"Well then, maybe you should tell me a date and time so I'll be ready."
"Maybe we could do dinner and a movie next Friday. Around six o' clock."
"I might be ready then."
He laughed and pulled me closer. "It was a stupid policy anyway, Charlotte."
"I'm just making an exception in your case. Besides, if I really like you, then that means I didn't lie to Candy, so I still have the moral high ground."
He laughed again. "You just want the moral high ground, don't you?"
"Maybe." Over Colton's shoulder I saw Bryant and Shelby come into the room. They stood close together, but his arms were folded—perhaps so she wouldn't take hold of his hand. In a moment Colton would notice them, and then he'd leave me. After all, he'd told me he was going to keep an eye on them. I'd told Colton I wanted him to keep an eye on them. Only, just now I wanted Colton to keep dancing with me and totally ignore them.
See how quickly a person can go from being a good friend to a totally soulless individual?
For a moment Colton's gaze traveled in their direction, and then he pulled me closer. "It's kind of hot in here. Do you want to walk around outside?"
And then I knew he'd seen them too, and would rather be with me than babysitting them. I smiled back at him. "Yeah, let's go outside."
six
The grounds of the club looked the way I'd always imagined the Garden of Eden looked, only with putting greens. Manicured grass lay across the sloping hills. Bougainvillea bushes lined the walkways like giant fountains of flowers. Not a single leaf lay out of place on each perfectly formed tree. Across the grass a lake shimmered in the darkness. By its side half a dozen swans slept on the banks. You know your club is nice when it can double as a habitat for swans.
Colton and I strolled on the sidewalk and talked more about the Santa project. Then we talked about Mrs. Merrick, our physics teacher, and wondered what kind of husband she had. Mrs. Merrick has no patience with anyone and will snap your head off if you happen to ask her what page the next day's assignment is on. I speculated her husband was either deaf or constantly drunk. Colton insisted he was buried in her backyard.
Then we talked about other teachers, our favorite restaurants, and whether Phantom of the Opera was a good movie or not. Colton apparently has no appreciation for fine music or hunky guys who wear masks. Somewhere along the way, Colton took hold of my hand as though it were a perfectly natural thing to do. I let him, intertwining my fingers with his as we walked. I wondered how in the world I could start the evening angry with a guy and then two hours later hold hands with him. How is it that there is such a fine line between animosity and, say, walking around a golf course wondering if a guy will kiss you?
I guess I already knew the answer to this question, which was that I'd liked Colton all along. I'd just never thought of him as boyfriend material, because he never seemed interested in me. Plus he's friends with Bryant.
It's not that I really blamed Colton for being friends with Bryant. After all, Bryant was outgoing and popular. He was smart and athletic—so similar to Colton in the outward ways that maybe both of them overlooked the inward ways.
But still, as I walked around with Colton I didn't have the faintest idea how I should handle things. I mean, Brianna would be thrilled to hear that Colton and I were going out. It would mean that she'd been right all along and that there was some cosmic magnet pulling Colton and me together because both our names started with C. She'd want to double all of time. I couldn't even imagine how weird that would be.
I shivered in the night air and wished I'd brought my jacket with me.
"Are you cold?" Colton asked.
"Just a little," I said, because I still didn't want to go inside.
Colton took off his jacket and draped it around my shoulders.
"I can't take this," I told him, but I didn't take it off. "You'll freeze without it." After all, I had on a sweater. He only wore an oxford shirt underneath his jacket.
"I'm fine," he said. "Let's walk over by the pool and sit down."
I slipped my arms through Colton's jacket, then moved my hair so it lay outside the coat. The jacket smelled like Colton, and I wondered what aftershave he wore and if Bloomingdale's carried it. If they did, I might be tempted to grab a bottle during my break and take big whiffs of it.
Colton took my hand again and pulled me toward the pool area. There were actually two pools: one with some of those huge twisty slides hovering over the water, and a milder version with swimming lanes. Patio chairs, huge fake boulders, and planters surrounded both pools.
"Are you sure we're allowed to go here?" I asked, even though a dozen or so other kids milled around the pools. "Isn't it off-limits this time of night?"
"I don't think security cares. It's not like we need lifeguards. It's too cold for swimming."
"Are you getting cold?" I asked him.
"No," he said.
"Tell me if you do."
"I'll tell you." He gave me a mischievous grin.
Right then I knew he planned on kissing me. We would sit down somewhere secluded, talk for a while, and then he would tell me he was getting cold and did I want to warm him up?
I let the idea sit in my mind, debating whether I should let him kiss me tonight. We weren't even officially on a date, and usually I avoid kissing guys right off.
Colton led me to a bench a few feet away from the pool. It wasn't secluded at all, unless you counted the fact that anyone behind us couldn't see us, because the bench sat right in front of a low wall/planter with all sorts of ferns flowing off the top. It created a walkway between the club and a small building that wasn't open at that time but probably served food during the day. The wall did nothing to shield us from everyone else who stood around the pool. So maybe I'd been wrong about his intentions.
As we talked—the topic turned back to school—I kept glancing at his lips as if I could read the future from them. He had asked me out on a date for the following Friday; could he have meant he wanted to go out as friends?
But there was all that hand-holding earlier, and the mischievous grin, and was it just my imagination or did he keep moving closer to me?
Colton told me about his Thanksgiving trip with his family down to Rocky Point, and how Bryant had come along. Apparently, Bryant hadn't mastered the intricacies of Spanish and at one restaurant told his waiter he wanted dinero. Although the word sounds like dinner, it means money. Luckily, the staff was used to Americans who regularly butchered their language, or they might have assumed he was holding up the place, called the police, and left Bryant to rot in some Mexican jail.
Like that would have been a tragedy.
I must not have laughed enough at the story, because Colton tilted his head at me and said, "How come you don't like Bryant? Is it just the spider thing?"
"Just the spider thing? Isn't that enough?"
"So he called you some names in junior high. Everybody was called names in junior high. It's a prerequisite to high school."
"Were you called names?" He shrugged. "Sure."
"What?"
Another shrug. "The usual: Jerk. Loser. Condescending elitist—oh wait, that wasn't in junior high."
I folded my arms. "I'm serious."
"Okay, okay." He looked upward as though consulting his memory. "I was called a jerk, a loser, and a sadistic, little pyromaniac-delinquent."
I raised my eyebrows at him.
"Okay, I made up that last one," he said, "but it fits a lot of junior high boys, so who knows." He unfolded my arms and took my hand in his again. "Actually, Charlotte, I don't remember what I was called, because I didn't carry around each name in a personal grudge-bag for the rest of my life. Most people forget about these things and move on."
"Most people didn't have it flung at them every day. Bryant used to catch spiders and put them in my desk."
"So
Bryant was mean. He was what—twelve at the time? Don't you think he's changed by now?"
But that was the point. I didn't think he'd changed. I thought he'd just grown more mature in his methods.
I held Colton's hand tighter because I was afraid in a moment he would stop holding mine. "There are two kinds of people in this world, Colton. The kind who understand how other people feel, and the kind who don't care. Junior high doesn't create people's personalities; it just reveals which kind they have."
"And people can't change?"
"Bryant never even told me he was sorry," I said.
Colton shook his head. "It's hard for guys to tell their friends they're sorry. It's nearly impossible to say it to people who already dislike you. Guys just aren't good with apologies." Colton pulled me closer to him so he could put his arm around me. "It doesn't mean he isn't sorry."
I rested my head against Colton's chest, feeling secure with his arm draped across my shoulder. Had I been too harsh on Bryant? I mean Colton liked him, and Brianna adored him. I respected the opinion of both these people. Maybe Bryant wasn't worse than anybody else; maybe I just judged him more severely.
Colton fiddled with the ends of my hair against his jacket. "I know I'm sorry for the things I said in junior high, and I've never actually apologized to anyone."
I turned to look at him. "What did you say in junior high?"
He tilted his head back as though he had to think about it. "Oh, I don't know, just the normal stupid stuff. Like once during a girl's volleyball game I yelled out that trained seals could hit the ball better, and had better figures to boot."
"You yelled that to the opposing team?"
"No, I yelled it at our team. They stank."
"Colton . . ."
He held up one hand as though pledging. "I was joking, and I'm sorry I said it."
"They probably all went home and cried. You should apologize to those girls."
"I don't know where any of them are. Well, except for Kayla Taylor. She's standing over there talking to Candice."