Breaking Ties (19 page)

“She’s nervous,” Lashell said, drying her eyes. “She’s not sure he’ll be happy she’s here.”

“Then she doesn’t know him at all.”

“It’ll take time. They have a lot of wounds to patch up. Both of them.”

We watched as Lenora rolled her way through the crowd, finding Gabe at the center of the floor. She butted into the dance he shared with my sister, and he just stopped at the sight of her.

Gabe’s whole world stopped right then and there, and we all saw it in his eyes. He said something to her—
what are you doing here
? And then Lenora spoke to him, something that looked like a singular word. His attention was locked on her, fully focused. And after whatever that one word was that she said had finally sunk in, he lifted his head and his eyes searched the room until he found me. His mother spoke again, and his eyes snapped right back down to her.

Lashell and I watched as they interacted for a minute on the dance floor, and then the two of them strolled away from the crowd, making their way to an empty table. Gabe set aside some chairs, giving her room to roll up, and he took an empty seat next to her.

“This is good for them,” Lashell said. “Even if they don’t say another word tonight, this is a good start. You did a great thing, Mandy.”

And with a gentle squeeze of my hand, she excused herself. She headed into the crowd, finding Fletcher and wrapping him inside a giant, motherly hug. I could only imagine she was doing exactly what I’d done earlier—congratulating him, filling his head with a load of uplifting things.

I stood against that wall for the better of the night, watching it all happen around me. Bailey had already disappeared—probably back to Desden with Mom. Dad was somewhere lost in the crowd, talking it up with all the townsfolk, who admired him so much. Jones was preoccupied with the band, and Lashell with Fletcher. Georgia, Mary Chris, and the rest of the gang from the
Herald
were all grouped at the center of the crowd, enjoying the musical styles of Extra Bacon more than anyone else in the room. Georgia had even ditched her heels for bare feet, and she was tearing up the floor.

Gabe and his mother sat over at that table all night. He talked to her; she talked to him. They both cried their share of tears. And when my feet started burning inside my tight heels, and I couldn’t stand against that wall any longer, I sat down at a nearby table and rested my head.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” a voice whispered in my ear, and I peeled my tired eyes open. I was exhausted, so tired that I couldn’t focus on anything. “You’re not a morning bird, but you’re a not a night owl either. I’m finding you very difficult to figure out.”

I sat up straight in my chair, suddenly focusing on the quiet room.

Everyone was gone. The crowd had cleared out; the band had stopped playing. There was no one left but the RI group as they disassembled the tables and took down the decorations. The four members of Extra Bacon were over in the corner, packing up their equipment.

“I slept through it?” I asked, turning back to Gabe. He offered me a hand to help me stand, and I took it as I stared around the room. “It’s over?”

“For a while now.”

“But I didn’t get my dance,” I said, looking to the band.

For six weeks, I’d planned. I put my heart and soul into making this event as perfect as it could be, and after the scholarship was no longer in play, the only thing I wanted out of it was one simple dance with Gabe.

“Well, I’m still here,” Gabe said. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“But the music’s gone,” I said, still looking around. “The crowd, the lights, the …
everything
. It’s gone.”

“But we’re not,” Gabe said, offering me his hand. “I think you and I are the most crucial ingredients. The other stuff’s not so important.”

He pulled me to the middle of the empty dance floor, drawing me closer. I rested my head against his shoulder as he swayed, and he was right—the music wasn’t all that important anyway.

We held each other that way, silent at first, not drawing any looks from the other people in the gym. And then suddenly a song started, and we both turned to see the band, all set up again, playing just for us. Jones nodded and winked before focusing his attention back to the drums. I turned into Gabe, and we swayed again. And no sooner than the music started, someone killed the lights.

“Six years,” he said, his lips close to my ear and his voice low. “The first word she said to me in six years was Mandy.” I smiled into his shoulder. “I’ll never forget that.”

“I’m glad—”

“You made it happen,” he said, pulling far enough away to catch my eye. “My mother’s talking to me again.”

“So it’s all worked out?”

“No. It’s going to take
a lot
of talking,” he said, smiling. “But tonight was a good start. All thanks to you.”

All thanks to me? I shook my head. No. If bringing Gabe and his mother back together was the most I could do for him, it would still never be enough. He’d breathed life back into me. He’d given me the hope and confidence I needed. He’d given me faith. At my weakest, his advice was the reminder that I needed to do what was right.

“I talked to Bailey,” he said, drawing me closer again. “She’s made up her mind, hasn’t she?”

“So it seems.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” I asked, pulling away again. “I’m not following her out there if that’s what you mean.”

“No, no, no,” he shook his head. “I meant what about you? How are you handling it?”

“I’m not,” I said, looking down. “But what choice do I have?”

“I’m sure it’s no consolation, but I’m not going anywhere. Your Dad and Jones are sticking around, and Fletcher and Georgia are still here. We’re not Bailey, but … we’ll do what we can to make up for her absence.”

I knew that was true. He’d never let me be alone, last night was proof of that. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do, no amount of miles he wouldn’t drive. He’d do everything he could to soften the blow of Bailey’s departure.

“Any chance you can give me a ride home after all this?” I asked, thinking of my sister. “She keeps taking off in our car, and I don’t want to walk home in these heels.”

He cracked a smile. “I think we can work something out.”

“Thanks.”

And we danced a little longer, a little slower, and Gabe held me tightly against him. I smiled as he rested his head against mine, humming to the song as I sank deeper into his arms. I felt closer to him with every breath he took, every subtle move of his chest. I fell in love with him all over again.

“There’s absolutely nothing repulsive about you,” he whispered, and I chuckled. “Nothing at all.”

“Yeah?” I looked up, and that was it.

He kissed me. Bam. Before I could even register the thought of what was happening, Gabe’s soft lips spread across mine. Like everything about our relationship thus far, it started slow. It grew into something bigger the longer he held me, slowly drawing the breath right out of me. After six weeks, after all the waiting, we were there, perfectly connected to one another. It was short and so sweet, and it was everything I’d ever imagined it could be. It was all I ever wanted because it was with him.

Gabriel Raddick had every last ounce of me—my breath, my heart, my lips. I was his, and he was mine—forever—and I knew that. Our togetherness was meant to be, and it was one that would never change.

Chapter Twenty-One

I couldn’t have asked for a better end to the night.

By the time he dropped me off at home, Gabe’s lips had found mine more times than I could count on both hands. We couldn’t stop—a small taste wasn’t enough; an overdose would never cut it. I could’ve kissed him all night.

Leaving him at the front door was probably the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life, but I couldn’t very well invite him back into the house where everything inside was falling apart. We said our goodnights—one more kiss at the door—and went our separate ways.

I woke up the next morning—happy, smiling, ready for what the day was going to bring. Even though the future was uncertain, even though Mom was mere miles away, Bailey was ready to flee to California, and Dad was heartbroken, I had one incredible thing to look forward to; his name was Fletcher Wilson, and today his dream was going to come true.

###

“
Whoa
,
” I said, glancing around the gymnasium, and Fletcher’s eyes rounded to the size of quarters. “This place is huge.”

“Do you think they brought us all the way out to Desden because the Desden team won?” Fletcher asked, looking around their full gymnasium. If I thought he was nervous the night before, I couldn’t even define what he was just then, walking into that school.

“No, you goofball,” I said, shaking my head. “They arranged the final announcement to be held here weeks ago. Gabe was saying last night—”

“I know, I know,” he said, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

We took our seats at the front of the section reserved for the Sugar Creek RI competitors. Seated on the other end of the bleachers was the competing team from West Bridge. Directly across from us, on the other side of the gym, sat the Oakland contestants, and then they were seated next to our biggest rivals: Desden High School.

The center of the floor was bustling with students and parents as they talked with the team leaders, scurried around to find their seats, and socialized for the first twenty minutes. Dad and Bailey both showed up separately but ended up sitting together a few rows above where Fletcher and I sat. Fletcher’s parents were there to show their support, and they wandered in and took a seat on the other side of their son.

“Nervous?” I asked.

“Understatement of the century,” Fletcher said, wiping his face again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to begin,” one of the program directors said, speaking into a nearby microphone. He wore a red and white RI shirt, matching those of all the West Bridge participants.

Mr. Davies, the representative from Sugar Creek, spoke next. “Please take a seat with your district and we will get started momentarily.”

Everyone scattered to their seats, hurrying to get situated so that the announcement could be made.

“Hello,” a familiar voice came over the mic, and all the eyes in the room trailed over to a beautiful woman dressed in a blue RI shirt. “Some of you know me, though most of you don’t.” The room filled with a quiet laughter. “My name is Lashell, and I am the head program director for Sugar Creek.” All of the students and parents in our section cheered, and she smiled at our enthusiasm. “Can you believe it’s already been six weeks?”

There was a mix of reactions from the crowd; some looked exhausted, while other yelled their cheers. You could tell the ones who’d worked the hardest from the ones who’d rode the coattails of their teammates. The main contenders for the scholarships were quiet. Just like Fletcher, they sat still, focusing directly on the leaders in the middle of the room. Carla, in all her soup kitchen glory, was one of the many people mimicking that behavior as if she somehow believed she still stood a chance at winning. Too bad for her, though, everyone knew her attitude had sealed her fate a long time ago.

The assembly went on for the better part of twenty minutes. Lashell talked about the program, passing the mic off every now and then to some of the other directors. They all talked about the hard work, the community improvements, and how much they enjoyed getting to know all of their volunteers. It was a fantastic experience to sit there with all of them, supporting them through all of their hard work. A few of the directors even called out certain volunteers by name—Lashell made special mention of Carla’s soup kitchen in Sugar Creek.

And then it came time for the big announcement, the reason everyone had driven out to Desden High School and gathered in the gym.

“I’m sure everyone knows the man here at my side,” Lashell said, gesturing to Gabe, and the crowd went wild with cheers all over again. Even Fletcher moved out of his statuesque form and clapped this time. “There’s been a lot of discussion as to who we felt should call out the winning school and award the scholarship today, and it seems that we all agreed unanimously—minus Gabe, of course—that
he
should have that honor. So, Mr. Raddick, whenever you’re ready.”

Gabe stood still in his spot for a moment, not reaching out to take the microphone. He turned very slowly where he stood, letting his eyes sweep across the bleachers. He was having a moment, a profound moment of accomplishment. He was in awe of what they had accomplished, of how many students, teachers, and parents were involved with something that he’d built from the ground up.

He was taking it all in, trying to stand tall and proud, not to break under pressure. It even occurred to me that in that moment, Gabe might’ve even been trying to come to terms with the fact that he was standing in the middle of the gym—being watched, being admired, being celebrated, when only a handful of years ago, he’d stood inside the walls of that very school, feeling rejected, alienated, and good for nothing.

He looked over to Lenora Bennett, watching her as she sat tall and proud in her wheelchair, next to our team. She smiled at him, he smiled at her, and then he nodded. He was ready.

“I didn’t want to be the person to do this,” Gabe said, speaking into the microphone. “Because even though I’m standing here today, awarding one school for the hard work and commitment they’ve given to their community over the past six weeks, I’m also telling three districts that they didn’t win. That’s hard for me because I don’t want any of you leaving here today thinking, just because your school didn’t win, that you’re the losers.” The entire gym fell to complete silence. “Today, there are four winners, but only one who will take the title. With that said, I want to thank each and every person in this room today. Whether you were a volunteer, a teacher, a friend, a parent … whoever you are, whatever role you played in supporting the program, thank you.”

It was a quiet clap this time, no cheering at all. Everyone knew that this was the moment, so we sat on the edge of our seats and we waited.

Fletcher’s mother reached over and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly, and even though a smile didn’t break out on my friend’s face, I saw a tear welling in his eye. He felt it now, just as I saw it. His mother wanted this for him, and that only made him want it even more.

“Ladies and gentlemen, considering all the events, all the progress, and all the money raised over the past six weeks by these four districts,” his eyes swept over the crowd, and then he turned his back to us, “all of us here at the Raddick Initiative would like to congratulate our first place winners, Desden High School, for their outstanding work in the program.”

I’m certain the gym rang out in applause from the other side. I’m sure there were screams, celebrations, hugs, and cheers galore. But for three districts, the world fell silent. I know because I felt it. There wasn’t a sound, not even the slightest shuffle from the Sugar Creek section. The tear in Fletcher’s eye broke, sliding down his cheek, and his mother’s grip on his hand loosened at once. I couldn’t hear a thing but rows of hearts breaking, one by one. The world stopped. It was like the last six weeks of work, six weeks of pushing him to the finish … all for nothing.

“Fletch—”

“It’s okay,” he said, nodding, and then he looked down to the floor. “We all knew it was a possibility, right?”

“It shouldn’t have been,” I said, putting my hand on top of his and his mother’s. “I’m so sorry.”

It took a solid minute before any of the other schools joined in the celebration. And it was only then that Gabe spoke into the microphone again, silencing the whole gymnasium. And then words followed. A lot of them. And I don’t even remember what they were. He was awarding the scholarship. He called out a name, a name that didn’t mean anything to anyone on our side. A young, bouncing brunette rushed to the center of the room, collected a giant check from Gabe, and cried as she took the microphone to say a few words of her own.

And all along I kept thinking of how insignificant the moment was. A moment that I’d been waiting for forever, focused on for weeks, it meant nothing to me. Someone was walking away with the promise of higher education, someone who probably deserved it as much as Fletcher, but it wasn’t him. So I couldn’t celebrate.

At the end of the morning, most of the parents and students cleared out of the gym pretty quickly. The Desden district hung around, all of them conversing and hanging out, congratulating each other on a job well-done. Fletcher told his parents they could wait for him outside, and with a nod in my direction, he let me know he was going in to tackle the crowd.

He made his rounds, introducing himself and congratulating each of the winning students. And then he even made his way over to the scholarship winner, obviously saying something funny to break the ice. Knowing Fletcher, I’m sure it was something like
hey, I think you stole my check
.

“You’re not happy.” I turned away from watching Fletcher to meet Gabe’s gaze. He stopped next to me, watching the swarming group himself.

“I’m happy,” I lied, watching him, and then he tilted his head, telling me he knew that was a lie. “Okay, I’m not happy.”

“Does it help to know that it was by a very slim margin?”

“Not even a little,” I said, looking back to my friend. “I wanted this for him.”

Gabe took me gently by the elbow and pulled me back to the first row of bleachers. We sat down next to one another.

“You know, when we started the program, we knew this was a likely outcome,” he said. “That there would be more than one obvious student who deserved the scholarship. But we made the rules very clear, Mandy. The most deserving person from the winning school,” he said. “And Desden was the winning school.”

“I understand that.”

Gabe leaned into me so that he could retrieve something from his back pocket. He sat straight again, holding a white envelope in his hand. “But lucky for Fletcher, he’s planning to enroll in the only program on the DU campus that I have a little bit of pull with.” I looked at the envelope, and then back to Gabe. “Lashell still runs the funds for the scholarship program,” he said. “She attended Fletcher’s show a couple of weeks ago and was floored by his talent. She’s not even asking him to audition.”

“Audition for what?”

He lifted the envelope a little higher. “Paid in full.”

“Are you serious?”

“She wants me to give it to him,” he said, looking down. “It’s a congratulatory letter. I don’t know why I have to do it.”

“Because it will mean something coming from you.”

“It’ll mean more coming from you,” he said. “Can you make sure he gets it?” He passed me the envelope. “Let him mingle, make some friends,” he said, and we both turned to watch Fletcher as he made his way through the crowd. “He’s a good sport. He has exactly what we were looking for in a scholarship recipient. He deserves this, Mandy. And you should be the one to give it to him.”