I turn my head and press my mouth against his, shivering when his teeth graze my lower lip. We don’t talk for a long time. There’s no MetaReel, no parents, no lawyers. Goose bumps spread across his arms when I touch him.
“God, I want you,” he whispers, gripping my hips.
He pulls the covers over us, and it’s like we’re back in our fort. My universe shrinks in size; all that exists are his hands, his lips, his tongue, his breath.
I can’t think, I just want want want, this heat in me turning to fire. Patrick’s eyes ask a question, and I nod. I’m so so ready for this. He kisses me as his hand reaches to his bedside table.
I think about the last time this almost happened and how I’d written about it in my journal. Which my mother read. I still feel Patrick’s lips on mine, but it’s like I’m not here anymore. A cold wind blows through me, and my body shuts down, scattering the embers of the fire that had been licking every inch of my skin.
I gently slide out from under him. Why did that world always have to muscle its way into everything?
He pulls the blanket back and looks down at me, his eyes searching my face. “What’s wrong?” he asks. Soft, low.
I shake my head. “Nothing. I just…” I bite my lip in embarrassment. “Um.”
He kisses my nose, my forehead, my eyelids.
“Should we slow down?” he murmurs. He kisses my neck and the flat of his hand on my bare stomach makes it impossible to think clearly.
Slow down? No. No. Hell.
I cover my face with my hands. “Yeah. But I don’t want to. Slow down. It’s just…”
I don’t know how to explain what it would feel like to be so close to him and then have to return to the MetaReel cameras and the vast desert of uncertainty that is my future.
“I’d have to go back. Like, right after. And the cameras and I—”
He pulls me against him. “I get it.” He sighs into my neck. “I really do. It’s just … damn.”
He blushes, and I put my hands on either side of his face. “You are so freakin’ cute when you get all bashful,” I whisper.
His eyes are glassy, hungry, and he swallows as my arms twist around his neck. “I can say with complete honesty that I have never wanted anything so badly in my life as I want you right now.”
It’s my turn to blush.
“Now who’s bashful?” he teases.
There’s the clang of the garage door opening, and he turns around and buries his face in a pillow and groans.
I let out a shaky laugh. “Guess it’s a good thing we didn’t…”
“Yeah.” He gives me a wistful look. “Rain check?”
I nod.
“We might want to put our clothes back on before my mother comes up here.”
I look at the pile on the floor. “I suppose that would be the proper etiquette.”
We dress hurriedly, and I throw my hair into a messy bun. I check my cell phone—time to go.
“Well, I hate to be that girl, but I better leave before my own mother gets home.”
She’d been doing book signings and promotional stuff in Phoenix, and her flight is supposed to get in sometime in the next hour.
“Okay. But wait.” Patrick opens his desk drawer, and when he turns around, he’s holding a small jewelry box. His grabs my hand and places the box on my palm. His eyes dance as I stare at the black velvet. “Open it.”
My hands shake a little as I pull back the top. Inside is an antique gold ring with a small, intricately cut oval amethyst shining in its center.
I look at the ring. I look at Patrick. I look back at the ring. Patrick chuckles and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer.
“I didn’t know how to top Matt, but I thought this could do the trick.” His lips graze my ear. “Will you go to the winter formal with me?”
“Um. Yes.” I shake my head. “Patrick, this is too—”
He stops me with a kiss. “No, it’s not. It’s a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That on February nineteenth, you’ll be free.” He touches the amethyst—my birthstone—then pulls the ring out of its velvet home and slips it onto my middle finger. It’s a perfect fit, which isn’t surprising; my boyfriend is a details kind of guy. “And it’s to remind you that we still have a sunrise to run into after graduation, remember?”
Graduation. Him going to school in New York, probably, and me going … I push the thought away and instead stare down at my ring. The purple gem is a shimmering, deep pool of color.
“It’s beautiful. You’re crazy, but it’s beautiful. I love it.” I reach up and press my lips to his. “I love you.”
He grins. “But the real question is … will it match your dress?” He pretends to look very serious as he asks this.
I give him an arch look. “I guess you’ll have to find out on February fourteenth.” The winter formal is on Valentine’s Day, naturally.
“I can’t wait.” He leans in for another kiss, but I gasp as a horrible thought crosses my mind. “Shit.”
Patrick raises his eyebrows.
“My mom,” I explain. “Ohmygod. Can’t you see her and Chuck insisting that you and Matt pick Benny and me up at the house?”
Patrick heaves a sigh and twines his fingers through mine. “I guess I have to meet her sometime.” He takes in my strained expression, and his eyes crinkle up. “Is it true the camera really adds ten pounds?”
“Patrick. Seriously!”
His face grows thoughtful. “Chloe, I really don’t care. Honestly. I spent a year wanting to be with you, thinking you hated me half the time because you hardly ever talked to me. Now we’re together, and the way I feel about you…” He looks down and absently plays with a lock of my hair. “I’m perfectly fine declaring it to the whole world.”
“I hope you mean that in the literal sense,” I say.
His eyes meet mine. “I do.”
* * *
“Nice. More than nice. You look amazing,” says Lexie™.
This is seriously high praise. My sister would never, ever tell me something this nice unless it were true. I twirl around in my vintage 1920s dress, savoring its snug fit and shimmering beadwork. It’s a deep royal purple (to match my ring) with black accents.
“You sure?”
“Oh, yeah. If we were lesbians and you weren’t my sister … okay, scratch that. I really shouldn’t say stuff like that when cameras are right downstairs.”
I laugh and, on impulse, give her a hug. Her body goes stiff, but she puts her arms around me. We haven’t hugged for at least five years.
“Thanks for getting me ready, Lex.”
She pulls away and adjusts the black shimmery beaded necklace that’s looped around my neck twice and takes another look at my ring.
“Are you sure you’re not engaged?”
I swat at her with my beaded evening bag. “Yes! God.” My cheeks flush, and she hands me her favorite lipstick.
“Lose it, and I’ll kill you,” she warns.
I put it in my bag just as the doorbell rings.
“Dude, I don’t know what is more exciting—that Matt’s actually going to pin a boutonniere on Benny or that I’m finally going to meet the enigmatic Patrick Sheldon.”
I shiver just hearing his name, and she shakes her head. “Oh, you’ve got it bad.”
We meet Benny in the hallway, and I squeal when I see him in his tux. “You look so hot!”
He grins. “And you look like you’re going to a speakeasy. I love this!”
“Benton™! Bonnie™! The boys are here,” Mom calls up the stairs.
“The boys. Classic,” says Lex.
We start walking, but she holds up her phone. “Wait! Say ‘condoms’!” We start laughing, and she snaps the photo. “Got it. Let’s go.”
My heart pinches a little as I think about how much closer the three of us have gotten over the past month or so. I know she’s going to feel betrayed that we saw the lawyer without her. I don’t ev
en want to think about how hurt she’ll be.
But first things first; Patrick is about to make his television debut.
“Hi, Matt!” I hear Mom downstairs, fussing over him. “And you must be Patrick!”
I don’t like the way she says you, but when I reach the bottom of the stairs, she’s giving him a genuine smile. Patrick looks toward me, and his mouth sort of drops into an O. I’m sure the cameras are zooming in.
I wish MetaReel wasn’t filming this moment, but he’s so freaking sexy I almost don’t care. I rush down the stairs and throw my arms around him, and he laughs into my neck.
I pull back and take in his black suit with its pencil-thin black tie. Wow. “Hi.”
He smiles, ignoring the cameras like he ignores 98 percent of the Taft population. “Hi.”
I turn to the crowd that’s giggling and ogling in the living room. “Patrick, this is … everyone. Everyone … Patrick.”
“Hi, Patrick!” shrieks Jazzy.
He grins, totally at ease. “You must be Jasmine™.”
Mom laughs. “Ah, so you’ve heard all about our resident loudmouth.”
“Kirk,” says Kirk, holding out his hand. Patrick hesitates for a slight moment—I’m probably the only one who notices—then he shakes it.
“And I’m Lexie™, aka your girlfriend’s stylist for the evening.”
“Hey.” Patrick smiles at her, and Lex gives me a thumbs-up. I redden and shake my head. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually going to miss my stupid sister.
“Mom. I like it the way it is.”
Mom’s trying to smooth Benny’s hair with a spit treatment, and he jumps back. Matt laughs, but it’s a little bit forced. He keeps his eyes on the ground, his shoulders hunched. He relaxes only when Benny’s physically touching him. For a second, my eyes get blurry, watching them adjust each other’s bow ties. They are so incredibly brave, being here, doing this.
“Matt! Look what I can do!” Violet™ attempts a cartwheel, nearly bashing Deston™, my nine-year-old brother, in the face.
“Yo!” he says, jumping out of the way.
I don’t know what it is, but this is the most fun and family-like we’ve felt in a really long time. I wonder if I’m seeing my family through Patrick’s eyes, or if we’re all really good at performing. Chuck leans against the doorway that leads to the kitchen, and I stiffen at the pleased expression on his face. Patrick must have felt that because he looks past Benny and murmurs in my ear, “That’s Chuck?”
I nod and turn my back on our resident puppet master. I’m not doing this for him—I’m doing it for my family. “Boutonniere time.”
He holds up a clear box with a simple cluster of white and purple orchids. “Corsage time.”
“These are so pretty,” I say.
The look in Patrick’s eyes tells me everything he would say if there weren’t nineteen other people squished into our entryway. Wordlessly, I find his hand and intertwine my fingers with his. He gives me a gentle squeeze.
“You two, give me some love,” says Lex. We turn and grin at her camera phone.
“Farrow™, go get the flowers out of the fridge,” Mom says. She holds up her camera. “Let’s get some pictures in the living room before you guys go, okay?”
Farrow™ rolls her eyes at me as she shuffles into the kitchen, and again, I get that pang of guilt and sadness I’d felt with Lex. How can I just leave them? But then I see Chuck whisper something in Kirk’s ear, and I feel a sense of resolve roll over me once more.
Pictures take forever because, of course, Chuck is stage-managing the whole thing. I get a sense of smug satisfaction knowing MetaReel can’t get into the dance, though. I pin Patrick’s boutonniere to the lapel of his suit, and I hold out my hand for him to slip on my corsage. His fingers lightly brush the inside of my wrist, and I flush, remembering his lips in that exact spot when we were in his room. He winks at me when no one’s looking. I wonder if people will be able to see how much we want each other, when we’re encased in flat-screen televisions in living rooms all over the country. Is the electric current that is forever running between us visible on film?
“Wow, your family is … wow,” Patrick whispers.
I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to walk into this, coming from a three-person family.
“I know, right?”
“Okay, now one with Bonnie™ and all the girls,” says Mom.
“Dude, Mom, we actually have to go at some point,” Benny says.
“Dude, you only have one winter formal,” she jokes. She gestures to me. “Real quick, hon.” She grabs my arm and puts me in the center of all the girls.
It’s like we have a cease-fire or something. It reminds me of this French movie, Joyeux Noël, that we watched in history last year when we were studying World War I. It was Christmas Eve and these French, German, and Scottish soldiers all climbed out of the trenches and hung out and showed one another pictures of their sweethearts. They shared booze and laughter and songs. But then they went back to killing one another the next day.
Patrick watches off to the side, his hands in his pockets. I love the way he looks at me. There’s chaos all around him—shrieking kids, a camera crew, my mother. But he’s undaunted, calm as ever, just leaning against the wall. It’s like he can put the world on mute for me. When we’re done I walk over to him, and he slides an arm around my shoulders.
Chuck whispers something into Mom’s ear, and she nods. “Okay, guys, we have a special surprise for you. This way.”
“Hell. I should have seen this coming,” I mutter.
Patrick squeezes my arm. “Almost done,” he whispers.
When we get outside, a gleaming black limo is in the driveway.
My heart plummets. I was really, really, really hoping to be alone at some point with Patrick tonight. And the last thing I want is to attract the whole school’s attention rolling up to the formal as if I’m arriving at the Emmys. Benny looks at me, and I swear he’s thinking the same thing; the limo is bugged. There’s probably a hidden camera in it, too.
“Mom, thanks, but … we’d really rather take Matt’s car,” Benny says.
Mom pulls him outside. “Just come look at it!”
“Let’s just take the damn thing to my house, and we’ll switch to my car,” Patrick whispers.
“Were there any Vultures outside?” I ask, my voice low.
He shakes his head.
“Okay.”
We go down the stairs, and I give Benny a follow my lead look.
“No, let’s take the limo. This is great. Thanks, Mom.”
I so want to flip off Chuck right now. Instead, during the noisy good-byes, I tell Patrick that the limo is probably rigged to MetaReel’s standards. He says something under his breath that wouldn’t be allowed during prime time. We pile into the limo, and Patrick gives the driver directions to his house.
“This is the MetaReel-doesn’t-want-to-get-sued-for-underage-drinking minibar,” Benny complains.
I grab a can of Coke. “We’ll survive.”
Benny starts whispering in Matt’s ear, and his eyes grow wide. He must be cluing him in to the wonders of hidden cameras. I hear him say, “Seriously?”
Rule Number One of being in the cast of Baker’s Dozen: never underestimate MetaReel.
Patrick puts his hand on my knee and leans close to my ear. “You are so beautiful, Chloe Baker.”
I bite off my pleased grin. “It’s all Lexie™.” I finger his tie. “You clean up pretty good yourself, Patrick Sheldon.”
The four of us, by unspoken agreement, start talking shit about MetaReel in pig Latin for the rest of the ride to Patrick’s house. A sampling:
Benny: “EtaReelmae ancae ucksae ymae ickdae.”
Matt whispers something to Benny, and even though I don’t hear what he says, I blush all the way to the tips of my ears when I see the expression on Benny’s face.
Me: “Istersae ightrae erehae!”
Patrick
laughs.
Twenty minutes later, the limo pulls up outside Patrick’s house. We ditch the driver and jump into Patrick’s old Volvo. He opens the passenger door for me as Benny and Matt get in the backseat. Their doors slam, and he leans forward and kisses me.
“More, please,” I whisper.
He smiles and moves closer.
“Hey, lovers, we’d like to get one dance in tonight!” yells Benny.
Patrick gives me an Eskimo kiss and then shuts my door after I get inside.
“Whatever. Like you two weren’t just doing the same thing,” I say.
Matt holds up his hand. “I plead the Fifth.”
Patrick backs out of the driveway, and we give the bemused limo driver a little honk and wave, then we’re off.
“Patrick, you are an evil genius,” says Matt.
Benny hands me his iPod. “Put on my MJ mix,” he says.
We get through “Thriller,” “Don’t Stop ’Till You Get Enough,” and “Bad” before we pull into the familiar Taft lot. Suddenly I feel nervous. In my excitement about the dance, I’d forgotten to pick a wallflower gown; instead, I have a one-of-a-kind vintage ensemble, my hair pulled back into a wavy, low bun held together with a vibrant peacock-feather hairpiece.
As if sensing my sudden apprehension, Patrick holds me against him a little tighter as we walk to the open doors of the gym.
“This is your night. You belong here. Screw MetaReel,” he says.
My eyes sweep over these three elegant guys who have been through hell and back because of this stupid, stupid show. “This is our night.”
Benny pulls a flask out of his jacket pocket. “I’ll drink to that.” I give him a look. “But not too much,” he adds.
Matt takes a swig. “Okay, baby. Ready to be Taft High’s first openly gay couple at the winter formal?”
Benny grins. “Hell, yeah.”
SEASON 18, EPISODE 1
(The One with the Beach Balls)
The winter formal was amazing. I became one with the crush of silk, lace, and polyester on the dance floor. I twirled around with Tessa and Mer. I got to see Matt and Benny do the YMCA and witnessed Schwartz attempting to teach Principal Harding how to salsa. When we were tired of dancing, Patrick and I would sneak into a dark corner or he’d pull me onto his lap at one of the candlelit tables and we’d point out hilarious things on the dance floor. Then we’d go back out at the next slow song and create a little bubble of happiness around us. It was bittersweet; Benny and I were teetering on the edge of moving out, suing MetaReel, and creating a media frenzy. This night felt like a last hurrah, like we could blaze our brightest, at the apex of our insane adolescence. This was our Mardi Gras before the dark days of Lent.