Just Like the Movies (25 page)

“Tommy . . . ,” I say warily. “I really can't do this right now.”

“Right.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Listen, I just came here to show you support. And I wanted to ask you—I mean, if you'd be willing, I'd like to take you out next week. On a date.”

I heave another sigh. Next week is prom.
That's
the date we should be going on.

“I don't know,” I finally say.

“Okay, well, think about it. I've planned something that I think you'll really like.”

I nod because I'm not sure what else to do.

“Thanks for coming,” I say again. My voice is a little weak. He shrugs.

“No problem. I'll . . . I'll see you around, I guess.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

As he walks away, I exhale the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Somehow, this isn't exactly the confrontation I'd been playing out in my mind. It wasn't the groveling I thought I wanted. He hadn't begged and cried and confessed his love. And I strangely find myself feeling glad about it. I don't know what I would have done if he said he loved me now.

Maybe I would have said that I love me too.

“I was hoping you'd be here,” Joe says, reaching out to grab my hand. “I missed you at the charity race last night.”

I swallow hard.

“I, uh, I gotta go meet my mom . . .”

I attempt to release my hand, but he laces his fingers with mine and starts walking to the other side of the bleachers.

“Where are we going?” I snap at him. “I told you, I have to go.”

“No.”

“No?” I stare at him and he shakes his head, his expression solemn.

“No. We need to talk.”

He drops my hand now and I sigh.

“Joe, I've already made enough of a fool of myself. I'd really like to go now.”

He moves forward, faster than I would have thought possible, and blocks me from walking back.

“I've been thinking about that day in my truck.”

“Please don't do this.” The shell around my heart starts to thicken. I refuse to let him hurt me again.

“I want to take you out. Like, on a date.”

I blink up at him, dumbstruck. Despite my efforts against it, I can feel fissures start to spread in the protective casing around my heart.

“I asked you if you wanted to go out, and you said no,” I argue. “You said you didn't want something serious.”

I can hear my breath quicken as Joe reaches out to cup my chin.

“I also told Barbara I couldn't go to the prom with her.”

“But . . . why?”

His lips curl into a sexy smile I can only describe as swoonworthy.

“Because I want to go with
you.
Because I can't wait to dance at our senior prom with
you
.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. I don't even know how to react, but the elation coursing through me proves my body knows exactly how to take this news.

“So that's what I wanted to say,” he says, his voice husky. His hand is still on my face, stroking my cheek. “Tell me I'm not too late. Tell me we can go the prom together. Say yes.”

“I-I don't know,” I finally say, my eyes staring up into his with uncertainty.

Joe moves his hand back into my hair and pulls me a little closer. “Please, Lily. Take a chance on me.”

I think about everything that's happened—about the missed opportunities and the crossed wires. About the failed attempts at movie magic and the times when I was so sure the movies would do the trick. And here we are, practically
under
the bleachers—the most nondescript, least romantic setting ever—and Joe Lombardi is asking me to our senior prom.

“I want to say yes,” I admit. “I just don't know if I should.”

“You should,” he says confidently.

“Well, obviously you think that,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But I—”

And then he leans in and plants his lips on mine.

When Joe kisses me, I can't help but think about science. About how experiments often cause variables that were unforeseen and about how no one can predict unpredictable reactions. There are times when the way you plan the procedure just isn't how the experiment works itself out. Instead, there's almost always an alteration to the plan. A step that you missed when you were writing out the to-do list.

A wild card.

Joe's lips are warm and soft, navigating mine carefully and with some skill. One of his hands moves into my hair
and the other pulls my body even closer to his. I can feel his inherent warmth and I can smell the sun on his skin.

When we finally break apart, we're both smiling and breathless.

“Who knew an afternoon in detention would lead to this?” he whispers, his face still close to mine.

I smile at him and shake my head.

“I think it actually started in the stairwell.”

It's just getting dark by the time Beth drops me off at my house. I'm so full of deep-dish pizza that I practically roll out of her car. The light is on in the living room and I wonder if Mom is just sitting there, waiting for me to get home.

For the first time in the history of ever, my parents came to my meet and sat separately. I haven't told a lot of people about their split, but seeing them sitting so far apart probably clued them in. Mom didn't come for pizza because Dad really wanted to since I wouldn't see him until next weekend. Once things had settled down at Salvatore's, Dad told me he was officially filing for a separation next week.

“I'm sorry, honey,” he'd said softly. I'd shrugged. What other response was there? Even my parents and their picture-perfect marriage hadn't survived. I can't believe I ever thought my high school romance would make it in the end.

“Hey Mom,” I call when I make it inside.

“Hey sweetie.” She comes into the foyer and slides the strap of my track duffel from my shoulder. “You must be beat. You ready to veg out and watch a movie?”

“Sure.”

“Can you do me a favor first?” she asks, walking back toward the living room. “I think I left the cover off the grill out back. Can you go put it back on?”

“Uh, okay.” I move toward the sliding-glass door at the far end of the kitchen. “Want me to grab some popcorn when I come back in?”

“Sounds good.”

I don't know why I'm not suspicious about the curtains being drawn over the glass doors. It's not something Mom ever does, but it doesn't even occur to me to be cautious. So I throw them aside and reach for the handle. I've already pulled the door halfway open when I finally look up and notice the candles.

There are hundreds of them. Big candles. Small candles. Candles lining the walkway. Candles floating in the pool.

And a cake covered in candles sitting on the patio table, where Tommy is standing, wearing a tuxedo.

I suck in a breath. This is the last thing I expected. Of all the movies I watched, of all the plans I'd made,
I
was always the one acting out the crazy scenes. It was never Tommy pulling a page or two from the Hollywood playbook.

“Tommy.”

It's all I can manage to say. He holds up a hand.

“Please—just let me say this.”

Then he moves so quickly toward me that I hardly have time to blink before he's taken my hands in his.

“You've spent endless hours trying to show me how much you love me. In your letter, you told me about all the planned dates, the choreographed dances, and you did all that stuff just for me. You wanted me to feel love. And I did feel your love, Marijke. I was just scared of it.

“The other night I watched that movie
Sixteen Candles.
When that Jake guy covers a cake with them to celebrate the redhead's birthday, something sort of clicked. I could see what you liked about the guys in those romantic comedies. They are willing to put themselves out there. They will say what's really in their hearts.”

Tommy takes a deep breath and looks into my eyes. My heart seizes, then stutters.

“I should have told you this every day,” he's saying, gripping my hands a little tighter, “and I'm so sorry I waited this long.”

He pauses, then swallows.

“I love you, Marijke. I'm
in
love with you. I've never said that to anyone—I've never
felt
this way about anyone. But I know this is real. I can't imagine my life without you, and I'm begging you to give me another chance.”

I almost choke on my own breathing. I stopped believing that Tommy was capable of this kind of gesture. Now
that he's done it—well, I don't know if I want it anymore. Not if he's just trying to win me back for the sake of winning. I blink hard, the tears glossing over my eyes. As they begin to spill onto my cheeks, Tommy reaches up and brushes them away with one hand.

“Say something, baby,” he says softly.

“What do you want me to say?” I ask. I hardly recognize my own voice.

“That you still love me. That I haven't screwed up too badly. That it's not too late.”

“Too late for what? What are you asking for, Tommy?”

“For you. For you to be a strong and successful runner. For you to go to the college of your dreams or train for the Olympics or climb Mount Everest or do whatever you want to do. I believe in you. I want to be here for you. Let me prove it.”

He steps back and reaches over to the cake. He slides it closer to the edge of the table and gestures for me to step closer.

“Read it. Please.”

The wax from the birthday candles has started to pool around their bases, but I can still read the words scrawled in red icing.

WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME?

“I asked you to go on one date with me next week,” Tommy says. “And I know that prom is a big date, but I want it to be our first date—our
second
first date. I want to
walk into that room with you on my arm and everyone looking at us with all kinds of envy because we're so happy to be together.”

I swallow hard. He must know I'm still unsure, because he puts a hand on my hip and I let him pull me into him until our bodies are so close, I can feel the heat of his skin and I can smell his aftershave. I can't help myself—I've missed that smell so much, so I take a deep breath in.

“You know what else happens in movies, Marijke?” he asks me, his voice soft. He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair away from my eyes.

“What?”

“Second chances. The main characters make mistakes, but they all realize it at the end and come back to fix what they've done. I'm ready to fix my mistakes. It's just up to you to let me.”

“You aren't the only one who made mistakes,” I say quietly. “I based my life around you. If that's the person you want, Tommy, then you are out of luck. I'm not that girl anymore.”

“I'm counting on that.”

I let my lips slide up into a smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Tommy blinks rapidly. “Okay what?”

“Okay, I'll go to prom with you.”

His grin shines brighter than the candles around us. “So would it be okay if I kissed you? Just to seal the deal?”

I don't answer him. Instead, I rock up onto my tiptoes and press my lips against his first.

The sizzle is immediate. Tommy's lips against mine have always ignited something deep inside me. And there it is—the last aspect of the perfect movie romance: chemistry. It's the one thing that the movies capture that real life has in common. It's the one thing you can't fake, because it's as certain as science.