Do Over (9 page)

Dad was standing in the foyer looking at Aster’s remaining moving boxes. I hadn’t told mom, but Aster would be fully, officially moved in this week. I felt kind of bad for Aster. She was giving up her apartment to move in here. When she and Dad split up, finding a new place and moving again so soon was going to be a pain.

“Hey, kids.” Dad automatically eyed his watch, checking my curfew. “I thought you were out with Lauren?”

“No. Blaine. He was a loser so Trey gave me a lift home.”

“Good. Grab a box, Trey.”

I toed off my heels and lifted a box. “He’s going to help me with the playlist for prom.”

Aster came down the stairs, carrying an empty basket. “Hey, thanks, guys. You know, I can get you a playlist of the songs we use at the games to pump up the crowd.” She lifted a box, arching her back.

“Okay, thanks.”

***

Lying on the beige carpet of the game room beside Trey, I tapped the fluffy, feather-covered end of my pen against his cheek. “Thumbs up or down?”

Trey pressed his sock-clad feet against the seat of my sofa. “No.”

“The king and queen have to dance to
something
,” I pointed out.

“Not that.”

I clicked the button, switching the player to another ballad and kept my gaze on the bookshelf. “Do you think my dates from Trallwyn have been respectful because of Dad? Like, they think he’ll have the team beat them up or something if they get out of line?”

Trey rolled his head toward me. “Yeah.”

“Hmm. Guess I’ll have to re-work my dating strategy for college.”

Trey ran his index finger up the inside of my arm. “Do you want them less respectful?” he asked suggestively.

 “Sometimes,” I admitted.

Dad popped his head in. “Trey, you’d better hit the sack. You’ve got a game coming up and sleep’s important.”

***

“My sister’s being such a freak about the prom.” John shoved a hand through his hair. “She’s still a junior, but she thinks our prom is going to drag hers down.”

His sister sounded smart.
I said nothing, just kept my head lowered and sorted the massage lotions alphabetically.

“Dude, you’re so lucky to be an only child,” John said to Trey.

Trey didn’t answer.

John carried on his diatribe, and I moved the bin to the conference table. I thought my parents’ divorce was bad, but they hadn’t whined half as much as John did about his sister. She must be a piece of work. “I’d like to meet her.”

He started in about her again, and Aster came in mid-complaint. “Ready for your massage?”

John ran to the table. Aster used lemon grass lotion and motivating words. With each stroke, his mewling lessened, tapering off like skinny jeans.

I glanced at Trey. He was busy rubbing his own legs.
Good boy.

“See you on the field,” John said. “Time for a takedown."

Aster followed him out, leaving me alone with Trey. I stocked the supplies on the second shelf and shoved an empty tray on the top shelf.

Trey joined me and ran a hand back and forth across my inner arm.

I turned toward him. My eyelids lowered. “Don’t do that. It makes me feel…” I stopped, uncertain what I wanted to say.

“Feel what?”

I shook my arm free, shoved a hand into his hair, and kissed him.

Open-mouthed, deep, intense, and passionate.

Trey tasted amazing. The kiss made me want to move nearer. I ran my arms down the length of his, then pulled back to suck in a breath and attempt to form a coherent thought.

His gaze was locked to my lips. He reached for me, pulling me in. At first, I let him, dying to be closer. When I realized what I was doing and how much I wanted to press against him, I jerked back. Then, without looking at Trey, I walked out.

***

I checked the clock. Another second ticked by. This Sparkle meeting felt like it started at four in the morning, ten years ago.

“We’ll go old school and call prom MORP,” John said, “You know, do everything backwards. Girls can ask the guys, and everyone can dress down.”

Our clothes? Dear Lord. What next?
The Sparkle banner sagged behind John, not liking his ideas either. Or, maybe I hadn’t used enough tape today. Maybe both. I put my chin in my hand and leaned against the conference room table. Aster must have used the green tea lotion on him. He reeked of it. Now, I’d never smell green tea again without envisioning ruined prom.

“But, I’ve already bought my dress.” Carla ran a hand through her black hair and tapped her pen against her spreadsheet. “Its fuchsia.

Fuchsia would look fantastic with her dark skin.

Lauren crossed her arms over her chest, tacitly refusing to write this latest suggestion on the board. “Mine dress is stunning.”

Amy shifted and ducked her head.

Could clothes be the answer?
Had John’s threat to their gowns cost him his power? My hand shot up. “I move that John be removed from planning.”

Carla’s hand flew up. “I second the motion.”

In a blur of rage and disgust, the Sparkle task force overthrew John. His eyes closed for a second and his shoulders relaxed. He passed me the rhinestone gavel without a word of protest. He mouthed, “
Thank you, God.”

***

“Heard John’s out,” Trey said. “His ideas suck?”

“Cheetos.”

“So?”

“Look, I love Cheetos in all their forms: crunchy, puffed, flings. But would you really want your date’s orange cheese fingers sliding into your hair during the waltz?”

Trey shrugged. “Sure.”

I squeezed a blob of Brazil Nut massage cream on my fingers. “Well, come here, then.” Wiggling my fingers, I advanced. “Duck down, so I can reach the back of your hair.”

Dad entered and put his hands on his hips. “Got another recruiter call, Trey. Time for you to decide where you’re going to college.” In response, Trey crossed his arms over his chest and took a step toward the exit.

I wiped my hands on one of the rally towels, noticing how soft the Brazil Nut cream had made the back of my hands. On me, the lotion kind of smelled like a cake. On Trey, it mixed with his shower gel and smelled yum.

“Acceptances must be rolling in,” Dad said. “If you need help choosing, we’ll put Paisley on it. She can map out a strategy.” Trey shifted from one foot to the other and retreated another step. Dad frowned. “I’ve seen your car, so I’m guessing you won’t need a financial aid plan. She’ll factor in colleges with good sports programs.”

I leaned against the table and gave him instructions. “I’ll need a list of where you applied so I’ll know where to start. If you’ve applied to any of the schools I’ve applied to, I’ve already got those mapped out.” I frowned. “Well, not their sports programs or classes for kinesiology majors.”

“Trey’s not majoring in PE,” said Dad. “He has good grades.”

“Really?”
I don’t know why that surprised me. He didn’t come off as an idiot, and he was in some of my AP classes. I just never really thought of him as studious. “What’s your major going to be?”

Trey shrugged.

I narrowed my eyes. “Is this like the grey car and all the girls? Can’t commit?” I reached for my backpack. “I have a spreadsheet formula that will pick your major for you if you answer a few key questions.”

Dad dropped down into his chair. “Take care of it for him, Paisley.”

Trey’s hands tightened against his arms and his knuckles turned white. “Pre-med. I’m going pre-med.”

Silence.

Trey appeared serious.

My mouth dropped open a little.
Pre-med? Trey?
“You know that deals with
people
?”

“I am going to be an orthopedic surgeon.”

The bag dropped from my hand. Even dad swiveled his chair back to face us.

Dad nodded at Trey with a considering look. “Okay, then.”

***

The next week, I kicked off Sparkle with a pressing need to increase our coffers. One thousand dollars wouldn’t cover much. “Tell me some killer fundraising ideas.”

“Scavenger hunt,” Zoe said.

“Bake sale,” Amy whispered.

“Let’s auction off the football players.” Lauren wrote the ideas on the dry erase board as she spoke. She added an exclamation point to the end.

“They owe us,” Carla said, unfolding the edge of her spreadsheet. She hadn’t glanced at it too much lately. She could calculate to a thousand in her sleep.

“Yeah,” a girl at the back said. “Bidding starts at a dollar.”

“Two.” Carla jotted the numbers down.

Zoe rolled her eyes and stood. “I’ve got a date, so I can’t stay for the whole meeting.” She spritzed a heavy rose perfume in her path and walked through the mist on her way to the door.

The spray made Amy cough and Lauren wave the air.

Zoe paused in the doorway. “Put me down for a twenty to start the bidding on Trey. Ta.”

I said nothing.

Carla nodded and wrote down the offer.

The volunteers kept the ideas coming.

“Start a prom blog and sell ad space.”

“Carnival.”

“Yeah. On the site of the old football stadium, on Prom Field.” Lauren clearly still had anger issues.

I understood. “We’re no longer calling it Prom Field.”

Carla rubbed her chin, and the fluorescent lights picked up a gleam in her dark brown eyes. “Divorced parents can offer up their wedding gifts. We’ll call the auction,
Broken Dreams Funding Future Dreams
.”

Lauren scribbled BDFFD on the board then wiggled a square of paper from her back pocket. “Best idea. I have the best idea.”

“Spill.”

“Okay, we’re going to go all Science-y. People will pay a fee to take a compatibility quiz.” The paper crackled as Lauren unfolded the sheet. “We’ll run their answers through a computer program. Match people. Then they have to go to my party with their match.”

“Cool,” Carla said. “You gotta shell out for love.”

Lauren shoved her strawberry hair behind her ears and nodded, almost on her tiptoes in her enthusiasm. “My mom got the app after her last divorce. Also, put me in for a china donation in your
Broken Dreams
sale.”

“Cool.”

“How do we get
guys
to participate?” Amy’s cheeks blushed a deep red.

“Easy,” Lauren said. “We get John and Trey to do it. Then the other guys will go along with the plan.” Lauren added their names to the board and circled them, drawing lines back to the idea.

“You think they’ll agree?” Amy asked.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “John owes us.”

John still came to most meetings, but he wasn’t here today and couldn’t dispute Lauren.

Lauren went on, “Pez can ask Trey the compatibility questions at the soccer clinic.” She gave me a fierce look. “Don’t tell him he’s participating until it’s too late to back out.”

“Yeah,” Carla said. “Then he’ll be really curious to see who the computer matches him up with. Bam. Who’s your date?”

“You’ll have to be Russian-spy sneaky, Pez,” Lauren said with doubt in her voice and pursed lips.

“I can be sneaky.”

“May I see the questions?” Amy said.

Amy didn’t usually speak up so much. She must be really curious.

“Sure,” Lauren said. “Ten dollars. Give the money to the treasurer.”

Carla held up her hand for the ten. After Carla received the donation, Lauren walked over to Dad’s copier. The machine whirred and spit out some copies. Lauren handed me one, Amy one, and the rest of the stack to Carla. Turning back to Amy, she said, “If you turn that in, you’re committed to bringing your computer hook-up to my party.”

Amy covered the paper with her hands. “I don’t know. My mom won’t let me officially date. And what if he doesn’t like me?”

“Good point,” Carla said, and clutched the ten-dollar bill in a tight fist.

She was such a good treasurer.

Carla turned to Lauren. “Can we announce the results at the party? Like, you only have to hang with him for an hour? Like 9-10 p.m. or some set time? Then everyone will show, no matter who they’re hooked up with.”

I said, “Call it:
Meet Your Date at Eight
.’”

“Or,
Who’s Your Date at Eight?
” Carla said.

“Even better,” I agreed.

Amy chewed on her thumbnail and Lauren patted her on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your hookup will look like a rock star after you try some of my secret recipe punch,” Lauren said. “I’m calling it:
No High School in September Punch
.”

The seniors shivered.

Cool name.

We ended the meeting with that.

***

I neared the sidelines, holding the dessert tray steady while appreciating the cloud cover that prevented the sun from melting the samples. Tiny chocolate, strawberry, and lemon cream puffs posed ready to trap the men into craving more.
Come and get it, boys.

Not one to baby them, I’d never brought snacks before so the jocks eyed the sweets warily. Then, like the caged mouse who knows he’ll be zapped if he reaches for the food pellet, they moved forward anyway, drawn by the promise of a treat.

That’s right. Closer. Closer.
I mentally coaxed them.

Ian, the nearest jock, froze, sending a cautionary signal to the rest of the pack.

I shouldn’t have approached timid Ian first. But, I knew what to do. I slowly lowered the tray. “That’s okay. The guys on the swim team said they work up an appetite at their practices.”

“The mermen?” Ian asked, disdain in his tone.

“Those water wussies?” John asked. “Hand the tray over.”

I bit my lip to contain my smile.
Suckers. Take a miniature one for free, cause the next one is gonna cost ya.

“Crap, Pez. These are good.” John reached for the last vanilla cream.

I pulled the tray away. “One per customer.” I snagged the puff and held the baked treat to Trey, the lone resister. I blinked at him innocently, wondering what the holdup was. Teen boys were always hungry. Dad had been coaching long enough for me to know that. Holding the sample toward Trey’s mouth, I said, “Open.”

His resistance lasted less than a second. When I touched the tiny vanilla cream to his lips, they opened, and he let me push it in.