Breaking Walls (16 page)

An afternoon shift at the bakery was quiet, mainly because Jones was nowhere in sight. There were a few customers and orders to take, but nothing too exciting. Julia released me early in the evening, so I headed straight home for a shower and change of clothes. I didn’t bother too much with hair and make-up, just enough to make myself presentable. And then I stopped at the only floral shop in town and purchased a budding bouquet of roses.

At ten ‘til seven that evening, and for the second time that weekend, I found myself standing in the lobby of the Sugar Creek High School auditorium, purchasing a ticket to watch Fletcher’s show. Although I’d sat in the audience the night before, I’d spent the better part of the first act focusing on anything but what was happening on stage. And I’d missed the entirety of the second act. Not only did I want to be there to make it up to Fletcher, I wanted to see the show. So I bought my ticket, clutched the roses to my chest, and entered the packed auditorium. I found a single empty seat just toward the middle of the room.

Wide-eyed and attentive, I watched as the lights lit up the curtain and a trio of girls kicked off the opening number. I sat on the edge of my seat with each song that followed, feeling the pain and heartache of the characters, enjoying the small laughs, the big laughs, and everything that made the show a success. And Fletcher, by God he was amazing.

At intermission, I didn’t bother leaving my seat. I wasn’t about to run off to the bathroom or even outside for air. I needed to stay put, ready and waiting for the second act. I was enjoying it too much to risk missing even a moment of the performance.

“Hey, you came,” Fletcher said at the end of the night, and I greeted him just outside the auditorium with the flowers. He took them with one hand as he gave me a hug with the other. “What’d you think?”

I studied the thick and creased foundation on his face, amused by the fact that he didn’t look much like himself underneath all of the stage make-up. But it was the dark eyeliner that really threw me off.

“I loved it,” I said. “You did great, really.”

“Thanks for this,” he said through a grin as he lifted the flowers higher. “I’ll add it to the three bouquets Mom brought me last night.”

“Yeah, sorry about last night,” I said. “I didn’t want you to think I just bailed
— ”

“It’s no big deal,” he said. “You’re here now.”

I watched as Fletcher looked down to the flowers, trying to wear only a small smile that would mask his deep admiration. What guy was supposed to get excited about flowers? But I could see the excitement budding in his gaze. It really wasn’t the roses that made him so happy, just the acknowledgment that one of his friends had cared enough to extend the generosity. I loved sharing that moment with him. And I was proud to be the friend that caused that smile. After being the lousy friend I’d been the previous night, bailing on his show for my own selfish reasons, I was ready to make it up to him now—I was ready to make it up to everyone. From that point on, that was my goal: make everything right.

I was happy to start with Fletcher, and I was glad that he accepted the fact that I was trying.

“I know this is a long shot, but are we talking yet?” my sister asked.

S
he slid into the booth across from me at Maurine’s Diner the next morning, watching me with wide eyes and pursed lips.

It was the first time I’d seen her since Friday afternoon. After everything that happened with Gabe, followed by my phone call with Georgia, I headed out to DU and took the entirety of the night to do the one thing my friend had asked me to do—
pause
. I spent yesterday morning tackling the little successes and only left the house long enough to catch Fletcher’s show last night. And I liked that the show had offered me a little extra pause of its own. It was another way for me to distract myself, to quit over-analyzing and over-thinking everything—to just sit, relax, and enjoy life as it was happening around me. And then I had a chance to start fixing things.

That’s exactly what I’d been doing when Bailey walked in and seated herself in front of me. I was working on my big fix for the RI program. I looked down to the notebook on the table and quickly closed it so she wouldn’t see the idea for my next, big proposal. Like many other things, my next move forward with the Raddick Initiative had dawned on me during the Great Pause of Friday Night. I was just now finding the nerve to put it in motion.

I now had exactly two weeks left to find the guts to speak up and make it happen

Wow.
Not even two weeks
.

I flipped the notebook open and studied the calendar printed on the inside flap of the front cover. There were only twelve days left until the dance finale, and thirteen days
until the winning school was announced and the scholarship was awarded. Where had the time gone?

“Oh, here’s a question,” Bailey said, scooting closer to the table. I snapped my head up and looked at her. I’d almost forgotten she was there. “Are you ever going to get off your high horse and forgive me? You’re blaming me for something that’s not even my fault.”

Right. I knew that. So I just needed to find the right way to—

“Look, I’m sorry,” she said. “Gabe needed someone to talk to, so I listened. That’s what friends do. If I thought it was really something super-important or even super-detrimental to your feelings for him, then I would’ve told you, okay? But it’s not like he’s an ax-murderer or convicted rapist or anything. He’s just a dude who likes you, Mandy. He has insecurities because of things that have happened in his past, and he’s afraid that some of those things might scare you off.
Simple—as—that.”

Right.
Because he was my strength, and I was his weakness
.
I was able to open up to Gabe so easily because he gave me strength. He built me up; he gave me confidence. He made me feel like I could accomplish anything. But Gabe couldn’t talk to me because I knocked him down. I made him weak.

“Oh my God, are you that stupid?” she asked, as if she’d just read my mind. “He told
me
and not
you
because he’s not risking anything if
I
judge him. If he tells
you
and you start looking at him differently
because
of what you learn, then he’s blown it. He doesn’t want to screw things up with you. He doesn’t want to scare you off. He’s doesn’t know how to be himself around you because he’s so freakin’ in love with you that he can’t see straight. He looks at his past and he’s scared to death that he’s not good enough for you. That’s all it is,
don’t you get that
?”

My chest tightened. I couldn’t feel my heartbeat through the heavy breaths.
He was scared that I’d judge him
, that I would make him feel inadequate because of his insecurities? Gabe should’ve known me better. I would never—

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Bailey continued, waving a hand. “Take a bow, drama queen. The Mandy Show is over. You’ve stamped your feet
; you’ve thrown your hissy fit. We applaud you. Now get over yourself and stop being so damn selfish.” She started to slide out of the seat before turning back.“And F—Y—I,” she said slowly as if each one of those letters deserved the extra punch she’d given them, “you can keep giving me the silent treatment all you want, but this is the
last
time I reach out. I’m done letting you have your way. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m done being kicked around.”

And then she got out of the booth and stomped her way to the front door, never giving me a chance to utter a word. When she disappeared onto the street, I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling.

Maurine’s Diner was starting to prove itself one very unlucky meeting spot.

I would almost swear this booth was cursed.

Chapter Twelve

“Great! Just the person I was hoping to find.”

I closed my eyes. Not here, not right now. I was just in the middle of writing up a really great speech in my third (and final!) RI notebook, and having her anywhere near me would inevitably throw me off rhythm.

“What do you want, Carla?” I asked, glaring up as she settled into the seat Bailey had vacated only twenty minutes ago.

Yes, this booth was most definitely cursed.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” I asked.

“
Like you are right now.”

“It’s nothing, just…I don’t know,” I said, almost smiling. If there was one thing I knew for certain about this girl, it was that she used and abused the element of surprise. “For someone who swears she wants nothing to do with me unless it involves the destruction of my hopes and dreams, I’m a little confused as to why you came in here and chose this seat of all seats to sit down.”

I tried to keep my voice as low as possible. On a busy Sunday morning, there were people seated all around us. People who knew me, people who knew Carla. Heck, in Sugar Creek, everyone knew everyone. The last thing I wanted was for any of the other diners to overhear an argument, conversation, or anything that might raise suspicion that there was trouble brewing within the program. The petty arguing between Carla and me had gone on long enough. It was bad enough the two of us couldn’t find a way to get along, but we most definitely didn’t need to add fuel to the fire by getting anyone else involved.

She dropped both of my old notebooks on the table, the ones containing my information on the dance finale
and
the children’s reading night.

“Let’s cut to the chase here, Parker.” She wasn’t nearly as concerned about keeping her voice low. “The soup kitchen is a hit. It’s the most successful function in our district
, and it
has
been throughout the duration of the program. Uncle Rick and I have already set up our long-term plan to keep it running post-RI, and I’m dropping that nugget of information on the group this week. The fundraising ideas alone have earned us several thousand dollars, and I played a
huge
role in each and every one of those. You know that I, like Fletcher, have made a point to be at every event possible. The Neighborhood Enhancement project was a bit of a flop, but we tried, and there’s nothing Gabe and Lashell admire more than persistence. Even if I try and fail, at least I tried. That’s just another thing I have going for me.”

“So you just came here to brag, or are we getting to a point any time soon?”

“The money’s mine,” she said, smiling. “It has been since day one, and there’s absolutely no way I can lose at this point. But in order for me to win, the district has to win first.”

“Obviously.”

“And I’m going to need some help making that happen.”

“Really?
Because it sounds to me like you’ve already got it figured out.”

“I’m sitting over here, ready and willing to give you all of your stupid ideas back, so do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

I looked down to my newest notebook, stewing over the new proposal I’d been working on. As a product of my Georgia-induced ah-ha moment, this latest idea seemed like my best yet. Taking on the dance finale and reading program would significantly interfere with my new direction—in fact, it would eliminate my new idea altogether. So I had a decision to make: listen to Carla and possibly return to my former concepts, or refuse her proposal and keep focusing my attention on the direction I’d promised myself I’d go.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do you? Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

“Sure. Hit me.”

“As much as it sickens me to admit this, I don’t have the time to keep planning your stupid dance finale, and I don’t even want to begin to touch your library thing.”

“Then why did you take them from me?” I asked. “Why did you refuse to relinquish control of the dance, claiming that you had it
all
under control? And what in the world compelled you to go into my book bag, steal my notebook, and then pitch my idea to Lashell as your own?”

She shrugged. “We all have our moments of weakness, I guess.”

“And I’m supposed to just forgive you for that—your so-called moments of weakness? And, not only forgive you, but then turn around and help the district win the program so that
you
can claim the scholarship? Don’t you think you’re asking for an awful lot here?”