Just Like the Movies (17 page)

He blinks at me, then looks over at Mason.

“Did you know about this?”

Mason throws up his hands.

“Naw, man, this is news to me.”

I shrug and Tommy just shakes his head, watching me with astonishment on his face. He turns to Mason again.

“Dude, you want to go find Jimmy and Brendan?”

Mason nods, then looks at me again and grins. “By the way, that's the only time anyone's hit Tommy first. You should be proud.”

“I think I am,” I say, smiling back.

When Mason has disappeared through the trees, Tommy starts walking closer to me. He unbuckles his helmet as he goes and tosses it on the ground. He stops a few feet in front of me, and for a moment we just stand there, staring at each other. Then, hardly a second later, his mouth is on mine.

Tommy is kissing me in a way I haven't felt in a long time. If ever. He holds my face like I'm something precious, then moves his hands to my waist and pulls me even closer.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” he whispers gruffly. I lean back to meet his gaze.

“You aren't mad?”

“Are you kidding? First of all, I've never been so shocked in my damn life, but more than that”—he rakes a hand through his hair and grins—“more than that, you have never looked so sexy in
your
damn life. And in coveralls, no less.”

I look down at my fully covered body, then back up, giving him a shy smile.

“I drove an ATV up here all by myself too.”

Tommy sort of groans and pulls me into his arms.

“You are like no one I've ever met, Marijke Monti. You know that's what made me fall for you in the first place.”

I blink at him and open my mouth. It's the closest he's ever come to saying he loves me—that he's
fallen for me
pretty much means the same thing, right?

“I have a question for you,” Tommy says.

Unable to respond, I just look up at him. His eyes are full of so much affection. I guess I really shouldn't be surprised about what happens next.

“Will you go to prom with me?”

In the movies when moments like this happen, time stands still. I mean, literally. The camera pans around the couple in a circle, catching every expression. My smile turns from happy to goofy and I don't even care. I wrap my arms around Tommy's neck and plant a kiss on his mouth.

“I would absolutely love to go to prom with you,” I whisper against his lips. He pulls back to look at me.

“Are you disappointed?”

“In what?”

“In this. I know you were hoping for a billboard or skywriting or a hot air balloon.”

I shake my head. “No, it's perfect. I couldn't have planned it better myself.”

“Come on,” Tommy says, slinging an arm over my shoulders. “It's time for our post-paintball ritual: omelets at the diner. Are you in?”

“You sure you don't mind if I crash your guy gathering?” I ask.

He squeezes me against him and kisses the top of my head. “Baby, I love that you're here right now.”

“Good,” I say, smiling up at him. “Because there's nowhere I'd rather be.”

After dropping Marijke off at the paintball course, I head back to school, determined to get through some of those Senior Wills. I need to get as many typed up as possible, considering I've committed to sell raffle tickets after school next Monday. It'll make my time a lot more limited, and we're on a pretty tight deadline.

But as I pull into the upper lot, I notice the motocross track down below; a dozen or so riders are still circling it at what looks to be breakneck speeds. I think again about Olive Penderghast and her
Easy A
persona. She used clothes to send a message and then ended up finding the guy of her dreams.

If I've already found the guy, then I should be one step closer than she was, right?

I back out of my space and drive down the steep gravel
lane to the motocross track. There's a line of cars along one side; I slide in next to a Camaro and cut the engine.

“Okay, Lil, what's the plan?” I ask myself aloud. It's not like I could just walk onto the track and wave down Joe just to say hello. No, I need to have a reason.

I rack my brain and decide on debriefing him about this morning's SGA meeting. Then he'll know I'm spreading the word.

Sure, it's a flimsy cover, but it's better than, “Hey. Like my skirt?”

I unlatch the gate and move toward a set of old bleachers that are set up for people to watch the races. I climb up onto the first bench and smooth my skirt over my legs before I sit down.

The noise around me is almost deafening. The revving of one engine would be loud enough, but there are at least ten bikes on the track and a few more on the sidelines. Everyone seems hell-bent on making the loudest growl their bike can muster. Maybe it's a guy thing. Or maybe that's just what a bike does to you—forces you to make noise like an animal just for the thrill of it.

I watch as a few riders direct their bikes up and over the bumpy inclines before dipping down into a fairly steep-sided ditch. That's when I notice Joe standing at one side of the track. He isn't suited up; in fact, he doesn't even have a bike with him. Instead, he's standing with another guy, his
arms crossed over his chest. I can't help but admire how his tan arms contrast with his bright-blue T-shirt.

I wait until he moves toward the entrance to the track before scrambling back up and heading down the stairs. When I see him standing at the fence, I realize that the guy he's talking to isn't just anyone—it's his uncle Bobby, the X Games competitor. The one who is helping him sponsor the fund-raiser. Joe swings the gate open, and Bobby gives him a quick one-armed hug before walking back out to the parking lot. He turns to leave, so I force myself to call out to him.

“That's your uncle, right?”

Joe spins around and sees me standing there. His eyes turn wide and surprised, then he blinks rapidly, as if he's trying to control his reaction. Nervously, I reach up to touch my hair, making sure my curls are still tucked into place.

“Lily. Wow, I . . . what are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I met with SGA this morning and everyone is totally into the idea of a raffle for the prom proposal. I told them we'd sell tickets on Monday after school—I mean, if that works for you, obviously.”

“No, no, that's great,” he says, shaking his head. “Thanks for taking care of that.”

“It's not a problem. Oh, and we still have a roll of tickets from the winter fund-raiser, so I can grab those on Monday too.”

Joe grins down at me. “You are amazing. How do you stay so organized?”

“It's just the way I'm put together, I guess.”

His grin downgrades into that sexy, close-lipped smile of his.

“Speaking of put together . . . that's, um, some outfit you're wearing.”

I can't believe it—I actually feel myself blushing.

So. LAME.

“It was Marijke's idea,” I say, shrugging. “She thought I should spruce up my wardrobe a bit.”

“Well, remind me to tell Marijke thank you.”

Now I'm the one with wide eyes. I can't believe he just said that. He must realize I'm speechless, because he gives me a wink and takes a step backward.

“I gotta run over and check Bryan's wheel mount,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. Then he raises an eyebrow. “But I'll see you tomorrow, right?”

I swallow hard. “Sure. Tomorrow.”

“Great. Later, Lily.”

For a second I just stand there. Then, with little effort and even less willpower, I'm walking or running or floating toward my car, the smile on my face like a force of nature.

The first thing I do when I get home is call Lily and tell her everything that happened.

“So then what?” she asks.

“And then I had a western omelet. It was delicious.”

She sighs. Even over the phone, I can hear the tinge of caution in her voice. She thinks I should have laid into Tommy. She thinks I didn't stick up for myself.

“Did you ask him why he didn't show up when he said he would?”

I shrug, even though she can't see me.

“He was supposed to go to the paintball arena yesterday, but a couple of the guys bailed. They rescheduled for after school today. He did text me, you know. I just didn't see it.”

“I guess.”

“Anyway,” I say, trying to sound breezy, “you haven't heard the best part.”

“And what's that?”

I take a deep breath, smiling at my reflection in my bedroom mirror.

“He asked me to prom.”

Silence.

“Are you there?”

“Yeah,” Lily says. “Sorry, I—I guess I'm surprised. How did he whip up a prom proposal so fast? I mean, he didn't even know you'd be there.”

A tiny prickle of indignation starts to travel up my back. It heats my neck, then sets up shop in my cheeks, warming them to a rosy hue.

“It wasn't exactly a
proposal
. It was just a simple question. We were alone and having fun and he asked me. It was perfect.”

“Oh.”

I feel irritated. “Why, did you expect fireworks or something?” I snap.

“No,” she says slowly. “But it isn't about what I expect. It's about what
you
expect—expect
ed
, anyway. And I thought you were really looking forward to a flashy proposal like everyone else.”

“Well yeah, sure,” I admit, “but when it came down to it, the flashy stuff just wasn't important. Not to mention that
the only person providing the flash was me, what with my iPod-dock, flash-mobbing spectacles. And look how those worked out.”

“I wouldn't say the incident in Tommy's yard was a spectacle, exactly.”

“You know what I mean.”

We're both silent for a second.

“So, do you want to go dress shopping with me tomorrow?” I finally ask her. “I found the cutest blue dress—the skirt is sort of puffy like a tutu. I can't wait to try it on.”

Lily sighs. “I can't. I promised my mom I'd stick around the house and help with Mac.”

“Okay. That's cool.”

It feels strange to have this awkward distance between me and Lily.

“You looked killer today, by the way,” I finally say. “The outfit was perfect. Did you get to see Joe?”

“Yep.”

“And?”

“And I think he approved.” Now I can hear a smile in her voice and I feel a little better. Then I hear a slam from beneath my floor. Then there's a muffled yell. I blink and pull the receiver away from my ear.

Is that my dad?

“Hey Lily, I gotta go.”

We hang up and I run quickly from my room to the second-floor landing. Now I can hear my mom too.

“Damn it, Jeremy! You're so selfish, it's unbelievable.”

I stop dead and blink at the stairs in front of me. I know my parents argue. I mean, everyone's parents have disagreements. But I have never heard them
yell
at each other. And my mother
never
curses.

Slowly, I start down the rest of the stairs. I hear Dad mumble something and Mom gives a sharp, humorless laugh.

“I can't believe you would say that to me,” she hisses back at him.

I make it to the kitchen doorway and stare at them. Both of their backs are to me, but I can see the anger blooming from their postures. They are all edge, no curves.

“What are you guys fighting about?” I ask them.

At the sound of my voice, they both whip around to look at me. Dad's face is bright red and Mom is breathing hard. They look at each other cautiously, like they're making some sort of mutual decision.

“Hey sweetie—we, uh, didn't realize you were home yet . . .” The smile that spreads across my dad's face is as fake as it gets. I blink at him.

“Tommy dropped me off. I was upstairs on the phone. You didn't answer me—why are you guys fighting? You never yell at each other.”