My Life Undecided

  And that’s exactly how I feel right now. Like I’ve been baited and zapped.

  I should have known it was just another act. The tears, the apology, the vulnerability. She served up exactly what she thought I would respond to. What she knew I would respond to. And I was so desperate for things to return to normal—for things to feel safe again—that I completely ignored what was right in front of me the whole time. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that Shayne has built a façade so impenetrable, so impermeable that even I’ve never seen behind it.

  It’s almost as though Shayne Kingsley isn’t even a real person. She’s an illusion. As fake as the plastic vegetables decorating the kitchen of a model home. Designed to give off the perception of reality. The perception of perfection.

  And with Shayne, there isn’t anything but perception.

  I turn and glance out the window. I can barely make out my reflection in the tinted glass. But the person staring back at me is a stranger. I’m not the girl I used to be. I’m not the insecure, overaccommodating sidekick who’s too afraid to be alone. Who’d rather live in someone else’s shadow than have to think for herself. And as hard as I’ve tried in the past three weeks, I can’t return to my old life. I’ve seen too much. I’ve stood at a distance and watched my world from the outside. And once you’ve been given a glimpse of that perspective, you can’t go back. Nothing on the inside feels the same anymore.

  Everything is made of plastic.

  “Who died?” Hunter says, scrambling across the car and plopping down on the bench seat next to me. “You look so serious.”

  Shayne lets out a lofty laugh and repositions herself next to Jesse. “I think Brooks is just being her moody self again.”

  Hunter leans over and kisses my neck. His muffled voice teases me. “Aww, are you in a bad mood? Do I have to cheer you up?” Then he lets out a vociferous growl that sounds like a hungry bear and pulls me onto his lap.

  His lips press against mine. I use them to try to numb my mind. To try to smother this nauseating feeling that’s overcoming my entire body. Hunter devours me. His hands are everywhere. I taste something funny in his mouth and I realize this champagne is not the only thing he’s had to drink tonight.

  The limo jerks to a stop at a red light and the champagne sloshes out of my glass and down the front of Hunter’s suit jacket.

  “Crap!” I yell, rolling off of him and reaching for a pile of napkins. “I’m sorry.”

  But Hunter waves it away. “Hey, no sweat. It’s all part of the experience.”

  It’s then that I happen to look out the window and see where we’ve stopped. And even though Parker is really just one stretch of road with a long line of stores and buildings down either side, I know this particular location is no coincidence. That some force greater than me has chosen this stoplight as the place to pause and pull my attention outside.

  Because right beyond this glass, not one hundred feet from where I’m sitting, is the Main Street Diner, where Brian and his friends like to spend their Saturday nights.

  And sitting in a booth next to the window, shoveling pancakes into his mouth, laughing at his friends’ jokes, and having a grand old time…is Brian.

  I know Shayne is talking to me. And I know there are going to be repercussions for not answering right away, but I can’t help it. I’m no longer concerned with anything happening in this limo. All I can do is stare longingly at the little brown cabin—one of the oldest establishments in the town—and think about what it would be like to be sitting in that booth next to him.

  “Brooks!” four voices yell in unison, and I finally pull myself away from the window.

  I can hardly remember where I am. I can hardly recognize the faces around me. I think one of them was once supposed to be my best friend. And another slightly resembles my date. But my vision is blurry.

  I glance down at the champagne in my hand.

  How many glasses of this did I drink?

  Everyone in the limo erupts with laughter. Hunter drapes his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to him, nuzzling his lips against the base of my neck. “God, you’re such a lightweight,” he teases with his sexy Southern drawl. “That’s good, though. It’ll make it much easier for me to take advantage of you later.”

  I laugh. But only because everyone else is. I’m honestly not sure what’s so funny. But then again, I haven’t really been listening to a word anyone has been saying. I’ve been too busy trying to solve a complicated logic problem in my head.

  But really, when you break it down, it’s not that complicated at all. It’s actually quite simple.

  I look over at Shayne. Perfect, beautiful, flawless Shayne. In her magazine cutout dress and makeup counter face and hair salon updo. Then I think about what’s underneath and how far she goes to keep that hidden and I almost laugh aloud.

  Then I look at Hunter. Perfect, beautiful, flawless Hunter. With his sexy accent and windswept hair and Roman numeraled birth certificate. Then I think about what else I like about him, what we have in common, what special, memorable moments we’ve shared together, and my mind fills with empty space.

  Now I look out the window. My eyes focus right on Brian. On his untamed frizzy hair. On the friends who surround him—people who, at one time in my life, I never would have given the time of day. But I don’t see any of those things. I only see him. The person who makes me feel like I’m worth something…all on my own.

  And then everything is clear to me.

  Hunter is the illusion and Brian is the truth.

  Hunter is the perception and Brian is the reality.

  Hunter is everything I thought I wanted…for all the wrong reasons. The perfect guy…who’s just not perfect for me. The choice I made for five years while I struggled to embody something that doesn’t really exist.

  And Brian is the choice I need to make now.

  I glance at the intersection ahead of us and I see the light on the cross street turn yellow. I don’t have any time for explanations. I lunge for the door handle and yank it toward me. The door flies open and I tumble out onto the sidewalk.

  The cold December air slams against my bare shoulders like a knife slicing into my skin. It seeps effortlessly through the flimsy fabric of my dress, sending violent trembles through my body. As though someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

  Note to self: next time you bolt from a stretch limo in the dead of winter wearing nothing but a formal gown…be sure to grab your coat first.

  I fight to get traction in my dainty, bejeweled heels as they skid and slide along the icy concrete beneath my feet. I can hear the shouts behind me. The voices demanding to know what I’m doing. Why I’ve lost my mind. The jokes about my inability to consume alcohol. And then I hear Shayne. The voice of a dictator. Insisting that I get back in the car immediately.

  But I don’t pay any attention.

  She can jerk on those strings as much as she wants. They’re not attached to me anymore.

  I turn and look at Hunter, whose face is one giant question mark. “I’ve made a mistake,” I try to explain to him. “I said yes to you for the wrong reasons and I’m sorry. I really am.”

  The light up ahead turns green, I close the door, and the limo sails off into the night. I don’t pause to say goodbye. I don’t take a moment to remember the good times. I just head straight for the front door of the diner. And I don’t look back.

  Curtain Call

  I haven’t been inside the Main Street Diner since I was a kid. It’s one of those quaint and homey log cabin types of places that’s been around forever. One of the few establishments left standing from the days before our little town was infiltrated by box stores. It’s a local favorite. And when I say “local,” I mean the people whose families have lived in Parker, Colorado, for generations. Like since gold was discovered. And, apparently, this is where they all come on Saturday night.

  I burst through the door, breathless and still shaking from the cold. r />
  I know I could dance around the subject for hours. Sidle casually up to Brian’s table and make meaningless small talk about the diner and the town and how nice it is to see everyone again, but I don’t. I’ve wasted enough time with things that have no significance and I don’t want to wait anymore.

  “It was more than just a dare!” I call out from across the restaurant.

  The chatter from the various tables tapers off and sixty-five heads turn toward me. Like an audience settling into the theater as the orchestra starts up. Conversations halt. Cell phones are switched off. All eyes are on the stage.

  And I have the floor.

  Brian catches my eye and gives me an uneasy glance that clearly spells out “What are you doing?”

  “The kiss,” I explain, striding purposefully toward him. “It was so much more than just a dare.”

  Although I can feel the inquisitive stares from everyone in the restaurant—the steak-and-eggs locals, the gossipy, gum-chewing waitresses, Brian’s stupefied friends—the only person I see is him. Brian’s intense, soulful eyes penetrate me, digging deep into my subconscious, dissecting my thoughts, breaking down my ability to shield myself from the world.

  “And you,” I continue, allowing myself to be pulled into his powerful gaze, “you’ve come to mean so much more to me than I ever thought you could. Than I ever thought I could let you. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before. I’m sorry I’ve been so blinded by stuff that doesn’t even freaking matter. You were right. I’ve been living someone else’s life. Playing by someone else’s rules. Letting anyone else but myself make decisions for me. I was so terrified of making the wrong ones I figured the best thing to do was not to make any at all. That way I could never be held responsible when things went to hell. Because in my experience, when I’m in the picture, things always go to hell. I’ve been making bad choices my entire life and I’m through with it. I’m ready to make a good one. I’m ready to be with you.” I pause and search his face for a reaction but I’ve yet to see one. And his blank stare is like a splinter in my heart. “That is…if you want to be with me,” I whisper.

  There are quiet murmurs emanating from every corner of the restaurant. Hushed voices questioning my identity, my integrity…and most of all, my sanity.

  I guess it’s not every night that a girl in an evening gown bares her soul to the whole diner.

  I suck in a breath and hold it. The beautiful oxygen floods my lungs, calming my anxiety like a drug. I didn’t realize how much air I’d used up in the last thirty seconds.

  Brian stands up. He’s nearly six feet and I have to look up to maintain eye contact, but his enchanting gaze never releases me. I can see the corners of his mouth start to twitch—the beginnings of a smile.

  Without uttering a sound, he runs a single finger along my hairline and down the side of my cheek. Then he leans in and gently touches his lips to mine. It feels like my whole body has been set on fire. The sights and smells of the old diner fade away. The noises around me dissipate. And for a brief moment, it’s just us. Standing ablaze in a hollow space.

  When he pulls away, the grin has fully formed, lighting him up from the inside. “I hope that answers your question.”

  I nod, unable to speak as my feet find the floor again and my heart adjusts to its new, accelerated tempo.

  Behind us, the entire booth erupts in applause. Even some of the surrounding tables join in on the ovation. My face turns all shades of red. I laugh and hide my face in Brian’s shoulder.

  “C’mon,” he says, placing his hand on the small of my back and grabbing his jacket from the top of the booth. “Let’s go outside.”

  We walk close together as we step out of the diner. Brian drapes his jacket over my shoulders and pulls it tightly around me.

  “You look amazing, by the way,” he says, admiring my outfit.

  I take a step back and do a little twirl. “You like?”

  He laughs and pulls me to him. Urgently. Ardently. I fall helpless into his arms and rest my head against his warm chest. “So,” he says, amusement dancing along the edge of his tone. “It looks like Heimlich got the girl in the end. Who would have thought?”

  It takes me a moment to realize what he’s just said. And once I do, a gasp escapes my lips, echoing across the parking lot, and I leap backward. “WHAT?”

  He shrugs, like it’s just an everyday conversation. One we’ve had a million times. “I mean, I know Rhett Butler seemed like the front-runner for a while there, but I had high hopes for Heimlich. I knew it was only a matter of time before you came around.”

  I stare up at him, my mouth hanging open, my eyes as wide as the flapjacks they serve inside. “You knew?”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and flashes me that sheepish grin that I’ve come to love.

  “For how long?” I demand.

  “A while,” he admits softly. “Around the time of the first posting.”

  “The first posting!” I echo in shock. My head is reeling as I think back to every blog post I ever wrote. Every poll I ever submitted. Every vote I ever counted. “But how did you find it?”

  “Someone left it open on one of the library computers. I’m assuming it was you, although I didn’t know that at the time. Anyway, it looked interesting, so I started reading it. And following it. By the second posting, I had a pretty good idea who wrote it. I mean, come on. The Grapes of Wrath? The field trip to the Bodies exhibit? Rugby tryouts? I saw the bruise. You told me where you got it. But it wasn’t until ‘Heimlich’ asked BB to join the debate team that I knew for sure.”

  My mind still can’t seem to wrap itself around this new development. The whole time. He knew this whole time. And he didn’t say anything!

  “Although,” he continues with a teasing smirk, “you weren’t always entirely truthful, were you?”

  “Huh?”

  His eyes never stop sparkling. “We all voted for you to come to the diner with me that night.”

  “Oh, that.” I laugh uneasily, remembering that fateful trip to the 7-Eleven and my little fib to cover it up. “Well, that was—” But another astonishing realization stops me mid-sentence. “Wait a minute. You voted too?!”

  “Of course!” he exclaims. “That was the best part. I had to voice my opinion about whether or not you should go out with some other guy. Especially to a hot new downtown club. I have to tell you, it was a huge relief when I saw how many people agreed with me.”

  “But aren’t you mad?” I ask. “I mean, that the only reason I said yes to you, that I even spent any time with you, was because a bunch of strangers told me I should.”

  He seems to find humor in this question as he adjusts his jacket tighter around my chest. “How could I be mad at something that brought you to me?”

  The cold air mists my eyes. Or maybe the glisten of tears has nothing to do with the weather. I move toward Brian and sink back into him. But he grabs my shoulders and holds me at arm’s length. His face suddenly very serious. Very still.

  “Speaking of which. What about the blog?”

  “Wh-what do you mean?” I stutter.

  “Your last posting,” he reminds me. “Heimlich vs. Rhett Butler. The ultimate showdown. I saw the results before I came here tonight. I saw that—”

  But I don’t let him finish. I already know everything I need to know. There’s nothing else to say. So I kiss him. Long and hard and lustfully.

  “I don’t know what the results are,” I tell him, our lips still millimeters apart. “I never looked.”

  It’s evident he wasn’t expecting this response. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t care.” I rise up to my tiptoes and rest my forehead against his. My eyes slowly close. “I choose you, Brian. Because I can. Because it’s my choice. And because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it’s the right one.”

  * * *

  My Life (No Longer) Undecided

  EPI-BLOGUE

  Posted on: Saturday, January 1st at 11:22 am by B
B4Life

  Hi, everyone! Missed me? Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written. I figured there were probably some loose ends that I should tie up. I’m sure you’re wondering what happened to me and Heimlich and Rhett Butler and even Her Royal Heinous. So I’ll fill you in.

  Rhett Butler is dating this new girl who just moved here from Kansas. They met on the night of the big winter formal. But don’t worry, I’m not sad. Actually, I think it’s great. They make a really cute couple. Her brother is going to be in some upcoming reality show so maybe they’ll even come to our town to shoot something. Of course, I can’t tell you what reality show it is, but if you just happen to be surfing channels one day and catch sight of a total hottie with a Southern accent, keep in mind that it just might actually be Rhett Butler.

  And Her Royal Heinous? Well, let’s just say she’s not really “royalty” anymore. The “heinous” part is still true enough but it turns out all that money her dad has been making? Not really his money. He’s been stealing it from his clients. Can you believe that? I certainly can. Like father, like daughter, right?

  Apparently there was a huge bust right in the middle of her sweet-sixteen birthday party last month and her dad was taken away in handcuffs. Everything in their house was confiscated, including Her Royal Heinous’s brand-new car (which was an early sixteenth birthday present) and her entire designer wardrobe. Tough break.

  And me? Well, I’ve discovered that I actually do have a knack for community service. So I’ve decided to hang around at the nursing home even after my required court-ordered hours are up. We’ve added a new activity to the schedule. It’s called You Choose the Story hour and I’m in charge of it. Basically it’s like reading hour at the library…with an interactive twist.