What You Always Wanted (12 page)

I open my mouth to ask him why he didn't warn me to wear long pants, but I already know the answer. He's a boy.

We hit a dip and my jaw decides to snap shut, the inside of my cheek producing a lovely
crunch
sound between my teeth. I'm so busy waiting to taste the blood, I don't consciously clamp my hands back where they were before, but there they are.

“Seriously,” he says, swatting them away as if they're insects. “Verbal abuse only, remember?”

And of course, because he asked for it, I've got no comeback. I lean back and away from him, finding a metal rack to grab on to instead. A sneeze overtakes me so suddenly I barely have time to cover my nose and mouth. It's quickly followed by two more, complete with watery eyes.

“You better not be sneezing on me,” Jesse calls over his shoulder, giving the beast more gas instead of waiting for my reply.

“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask with a little more grouch than I prefer.

“I thought your attitude toward the
country
needed a positive boost.” He emphasizes
country
with one-handed air quotes.

“And riding on this thing is going to improve my outlook how?”

“Just shut up,” he says, rolling his head back in annoyance since I can't see his eyes.

We burst through another patch of giant weeds before turning onto a trail that weaves between spindly pines. My body slides a bit closer to Jesse, a sign that we're headed down a slope. The trees get bigger, and the sky seems farther away
the deeper into the woods we venture. How much land do they have?

I cover my face for another sneeze and rub at my eyes. My eyelids. Something is very wrong with my eyelids. They're thicker than usual . . .

Another sneeze. I can't stop massaging my eyes.
What's happening?

“Jesse,” I say between sneezes, “I think something's—”

“Shhh!” He stops and cuts the engine, motioning for me to get off.

With a sniffle and a soothing palm smashed against one of my eyes, I follow him down the trail. He crouches low, leaning his upper body forward and bending his knees as he walks like he's sneaking up on someone. I instinctively mimic the awkward position, doing my best not to make any noise. But then I sneeze and Jesse ducks his head at the sound.

“I. Can't. Help. It!” I whisper. “I think I'm—”

He turns to shush me again, pressing a finger to his lips before pointing down the hill and continuing to creep along. Irritated, I walk at a normal height, one hand on my hip, the other scratching at my eyes.

After a few minutes of stepping over twigs and fighting back sneezes, we come to a clearing with a nearly dry creek dribbling through the middle of it. He points across the water to the grassy bank. At first I don't see anything important, but a slight movement causes me to look closer.

“It's a baby deer thing!” I whisper, hoping it won't hear me and run. Make that
they
. “Two of them! And mommy! How adorable!”

Two little brown babies with light spots are curled up in the grass next to an adult deer, relaxing in the shade alongside the water like they do this every Saturday morning.

Jesse bites his lip to keep from laughing, and his body shakes. “A baby deer
thing
?”

Too overwhelmed by the cuteness to glare at him, I step closer to get a better look.

“I think this is the biggest smile I've seen from you,” he says from beside me.

So of course my smile widens.

“Have you ever seen a deer this close?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I don't think I've even seen one in person at all.”

My eyes pool with tears, but it's not an emotional response. Sneezing is imminent.

I swallow, sniffle, and rub my eyelids in an effort to distract my sinuses. “They're amazing. How'd you know they were here?”

“That was luck. I saw the little ones hopping around close by last week. Thought you'd like to see them. Sorry for rushing you earlier. I wanted to get out here before the feeder went off.”

“Feeder?”

“Yeah, we feed them corn. Keeps them around during hunting season.”

The thought of Jesse shooting one of those babies in a few short years sends a quiver from the back of my neck down to my toes. And I sneeze.

All three deer crane their necks in our direction, then hold still as stone, like their lives depend on it. Someone needs to teach them that a moving target is harder to kill.

“I think I just became a vegetarian,” I say, wiggling my nose to prevent another sneeze that's coming on.

Jesse tilts his head to the side and takes a step toward me. It's my turn to freeze like a statue. His eyes search mine, brows pulling together.

“What's wrong with your face?” he says just above a whisper.

Exactly what a girl wants to hear from arguably the most attractive guy at school while alone with him in the woods. It's like he was born without a romantic instinct.

“What do you mean?” I back away from him. “What's
wrong
with my face?”

The already apprehensive deer take the opportunity to make a break for it. I wish I could run away right now too. I also wish I had a mirror or that I could look at my reflection in the surface of the water like you see in shows, if that really even works.

“Your eyes are all red and . . . puffy. Are you crying?”

“No, it's the pressure in my forehead!” I massage between my eyes. Cue another sneeze. “I don't feel so good.”

“You don't look so good.”

“Yes, we've established that.” My eyes and nose may be malfunctioning, but I know my scowl works.

“Allergies?”

“No. I mean, I've never had to deal with allergies before.” I'd certainly remember this sort of facial failure if I had.

“Well, we have a different set of trees and weeds than you do up North,” he explains, starting to climb the hill toward the four-wheeler. “I'll take you home. You need meds.”

Home
. With
my
trees.
My
life. So very far away.

“It's not my home,” I bite. “It's just where I'm living at this moment in time.” I pivot and march behind him.

Jesse's arm catches on a branch, which flies back and smacks me in the head. He doesn't notice. And I sneeze three more times before he starts the engine.

There aren't enough spotted baby creatures in the world to get me to find favor with this much nature. Texas officially hates me.

CHAPTER TWELVE

With the help of some hot-pink miracle pill my dad rushed to get from the store, my eyes shrank to their normal size and thankfully stopped itching. My voice still sounds a bit scratchy and nasally, like a perpetual whiner, but the sneezing stopped just in time for the homecoming dance.

And I look gorgeous.

At least that's what Brian said when he picked me up. Well, actually I think he used the word “good” but I upgraded.

“I like your star,” he says once we're en route, having survived the obligatory pose-in-front-of-the-fireplace-and-look-awkward pictures. Thankfully, my mom's pregnancy isn't really showing too much, so
that
topic gets to be avoided a little longer.

I smile, pleased I decided to add glitter to the star on my cheek tonight. A dance is a special occasion, after all. And I
feel all kinds of glam in my 1950s-inspired halter-neck dress. The red polka dots pop against the black, and the thick red belt around my waist really completes the look.

“You're not afraid to stand out, are you?” Brian asks.

The elastic strap on my wrist corsage itches, so I take it off and hold it, examining the arrangement of apple-green orchids. My dress is not green. But he didn't try to match my dress, oh no. It makes so much more sense for the flowers to match the boy's shoes.

And he thinks
I
stand out? “Neither are you, I'd say.”

He turns the Camry onto the main street toward the school. “Well, I don't really see the point of holding back just because of what someone else might think. I mean, if something about me is a friendship deal breaker, who needs 'em?”

I twist in my seat to look at him. “Seriously, I think you may be the only person I've met here who would ever say that.”

It's refreshing, but I'm not sure how attached to this guy I want to get. Let's see how he does at Monday's audition first.

“It might also be why I don't have that many friends.” He laughs and waves a hand dismissively.

I laugh with him, smoothing out my dress under the seat belt. “You're good people, Brian. Even if you inadvertently told the whole school I've never been kissed.”

“Hey, you know how sorry I am for that. I shouldn't have said anything to anyone,” he says as he pulls into the parking lot. “Good thing you're not afraid to stand out, right?”

Doesn't mean I need the misconception flying around that I don't
want
to be kissed. I most certainly do. Everything just has to line up . . . perfectly.

We make our entrance into the school common area, and it's like I'm stepping back into the woods from this morning, but at night. The overhead fluorescents are off, but can lights throw sparkling blues and greens against giant papier-mâché trees stretching overhead. The cafeteria tables that usually occupy the space are out of sight, replaced by a DJ presiding over the dance floor, blasting some country song from the speakers.

Two sets of arms grab me, stealing me away from Brian, who finds a cluster of guys to chat with.

“Maddie, you've ruined me,” Angela says dreamily.

“What do you mean, I ruined you?” I ask, observing her floor-length aqua knockout and Tiffany's strapless green number. All three of us have our hair down in curls.
Look out, boys.

“I've got all those stupid old songs in my head now,” she explains. “And I
like
it.”

My heart flies.

“We stayed up all night watching your ancient movies,” Tiffany adds. “All night. And I'm completely shocked with myself to be admitting this, but they weren't terrible.”

“You watched
all
of the movies I brought over?”

Angela nods. “Well, we watched one while we were getting ready for the dance too. And we have guesses for your favorite.
Summer Stock
. It has to be
Summer Stock
. The way your boyfriend looks at her even though they're both dating someone else. Whoa.”

Is it possible? Do they
get
me?

“No, it's
Singin' in the Rain
, yo.” Tiffany crosses her arms and chatters a hundred miles an hour. “She's even wearing the star on her cheek right now, just like that Lina woman.
Personally, I'm partial to
Anchors Aweigh
because of the little guy with the tight pants and the voice, if that was even him singing for real.”

My heart. It's swelling. So. Happy.

“Of course it was. Even I've heard of Frank Sinatra before.” Angela rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I get it now, Maddie. No wonder you've got a thing for legs. The dancing is pretty hot.”

“Meh, the dancing doesn't do it for me as much as the singing,” Tiffany says. “But I'll bet Jesse could have been that good if he hadn't stopped.”

What?
My breath catches. “Jesse? As in Angela's brother? A dancer?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tiffany continues. “He used to be all about it. Because of his mom, you know? Musicals, plays, everything.”

“He was really good,” Angela agrees. “Mom was ticked when he quit. She thought he was going to be her Broadway golden boy.”

Mind. Blown. My personal driver, the Baseball King of high school, was a dancer? There's no way.

“You guys are messing with me,” I say with a hand on my stomach and one at my temple. “What
kind
of dancing?”

If she says tap, I'm going to collapse. I glance at the floor to see what I'd land on, just in case.