How to Say I Love You Out Loud (24 page)

“Smile!” she prompted me. “You look totally hot!”

I managed a halfhearted smile in the mirror, but there was nothing to turn it real. I glanced at my phone a final time, but the little envelope on the faceplate alerting me to new mail never
blinked. Alex didn’t respond. Alex isn’t coming.

Friday night after my shopping trip with Erin, I e-mailed him. Bolstered by Erin’s speech and remembering what my mother had said—
“I like brave. It’s a good look on
you”
—I sent a short message, not wanting to put him on the spot with a phone call or late-night personal visit. I explained to him that I’d really like a chance to talk and
that I would really like to introduce my family to him if he was willing to give me another shot at friendship. In a last-minute burst of courage, I invited him to join us for the ball.

Now the e-mail just seems silly and I wish I’d never sent it.

I looked at my phone all morning, while pretending to do my homework and clean my room. I ran my finger over the screen a million times while Erin was over helping me get ready. She seemed
surprised he hadn’t responded, but I couldn’t be.

“Alex gave me a lot of chances,” I mumbled, staring down at the dark phone on my lap. “I told you, he’s done.”

Yet I guess I didn’t totally believe it, not really, until this very moment. It’s six thirty, Alex has not shown up, and it’s time to go. I’m the last person to climb
into the limo, my pathetically hopeful eyes sweeping the empty street a final time. His car is not driving down it.

There is a feeling of vastness in my stomach, an ocean of unshed tears. It is only in this moment that I accept the truth of how badly I wanted things to turn out differently. And this truth
brings an awful sadness I must battle back.

I lower my head, plaster on a smile for my mother, and climb into the car.

Once we’re on our way and I know there’s no chance of the night turning out differently, I try to forget about the e-mail and my silly fantasies about what could’ve been.
It’s kind of fun riding in a limo, and Phillip seems to get a kick out of it. My father produces a bottle of sparkling grape juice and we use the champagne glasses from the limo’s bar
to toast the evening.

At first, when we pull up in front of the Four Seasons, my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I lower the window and take it all in—there’s an actual red carpet, the news
reporters with microphones and cameras, the cheering, glittering crowd . . . the overall sense of noise, color, and chaos.

Phillip’s going to go batshit crazy. I know it.

But then a representative from the Happiness Circuit approaches our car and calmly and quietly explains there is a separate, private red carpet entrance around the block for kids who are shy or
have sensory issues. He directs our driver, and a moment later, I feel a huge sense of relief as I assess the private entrance. It still boasts a red carpet, but there is only a single photographer
to capture the arrivals and a much smaller, quieter crowd.

Phillip is given his headphones and emerges from the car with little prodding. The crowd on the second red carpet has clearly been instructed not to clap, and instead, the various community
members and Happiness Circuit representatives hold up signs—
WE
’
RE PROUD OF YOUR ACCOMPLISHMENTS!
,
CHEERS TO YOU!
,
and
ENJOY YOUR SPECIAL NIGHT!

Still, Phillip is on a mission to get past the crowd, and despite my mom’s instructions for him to slow down and pose for the camera, he continues on his course.

At the last minute, I call his name, and when he turns to me, I pull out my secret weapon. From my clutch, I retrieve a small cardboard cutout of SpongeBob, which I’d stapled to a Popsicle
stick. I wave it back and forth in front of my face, knowing it will produce a smile.

There it is! I hear the click of the camera in the nick of time, and I smile along with him in satisfaction. My mom deserves one good picture for her memory box, and I’d suspected it would
take some preplanning to guarantee that for her.

She looks over her shoulder, blinking back tears as she throws me a grateful smile before chasing after Phillip into the ballroom.

Heavy heart aside, I’m feeling pretty good about things as I walk down the red carpet. Phillip has successfully entered the Sparkle Ball. My family is in good spirits. I’m wearing a
beautiful dress and it’s time for a party.

But I’ve taken only three steps when I catch sight of something—
someone
—just before the entrance that makes me stop dead in my tracks. It would be easy for him to
blend in to the background, dressed as he is, like all the other men in the crowd, in a tuxedo.

But to me, it would be impossible for him not to stand out.

He looks more handsome than I’ve ever seen him—mature, clean-cut, and stunning.

The look on his face is inscrutable and his eyes are dark.

Yet he is here.

Alex is here.

There’s a feeling when you wake from a particularly exceptional dream, a mixture of sadness, loss, and disbelief. Then there are those seconds just prior, when
you’re awake but still able to hold on to the images from the night, a few seconds of fleeting, too-good-to-be-true happiness.

I have that second feeling as I stand at the end of a red carpet, staring at Alex.

He is too good to be true, a mirage that will surely vanish into thin air if I stand here and continue to stare.

Except Alex doesn’t vanish. Alex starts walking toward me.

I am frozen, dumbfounded. “What are you doing here?”

He grimaces at my less-than-polite greeting, but I think I see a trace of the dimple in his cheek. “My mistake.” Alex cocks an eyebrow. “I was under the impression that I was
invited.”

“Oh. Um. Right.”

I fiddle with my clutch, snapping and unsnapping the clasp.

I am really botching this.

But it’s hard to look at him, as handsome and regal as he looks.

“Anyway, I thought you still might be looking for a date.”

At the word
date
, Alex coughs once and brings his fist to his mouth to cover it up. I realize he is nervous, which is endearing and sort of unbelievable at the same time. What on earth
does he have to be nervous about?

“If not a date . . . well, at least a friend,” he clarifies.

I force myself to make eye contact with him. “You’ve been really pissed at me. I didn’t think that had changed.”

But Alex looks away, staring at the space over my shoulder, and shoves his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo pants. I can’t help but admire his profile, his clean-shaven jaw and the
softness of his lips.

“I haven’t been pissed for a few days now.”

Really? What had changed? He hadn’t even spoken to me.

“Why not?”

He continues to evade my eyes and squares his jaw. “I saw something that changed my mind. I saw a speech.”

I inhale suddenly, with surprise.
What?

Had Mrs. Adamson made a copy of the DVD? Had she been entirely careless and just left it lying around? Or had she actively made a point of sharing my most private moment with my classmates?

I tighten my grasp on my bag. “How did you get the DVD?”

Alex shakes his head, still staring into the distance. “I didn’t see any DVD,” he answers. Only then does he bring his gaze to mine. “I was there.”

My heart stops in my chest. Again . . .
what
?

I am too gobsmacked to formulate the obvious question.

“I wasn’t trying to snoop,” he explains. “But . . . Mrs. Adamson printed out your registration form. It was sitting in the printer when I went to pick up my English
assignment.”

His head is lowered, his brows drawn. “I should have asked you before coming, but . . . we weren’t exactly on speaking terms. And I just had to see . . . I wanted to know what you
would say when you thought people you knew weren’t listening.”

I’m still a few steps behind him, trying to wrap my head around all of this. How did I possibly miss Alex? How had his presence gone unnoticed?

Then I remember the night of the contest, my staunch refusal to turn around and assess the intimidating crowd and the glaring lights that impeded my vision.

The way I made a mad dash from the room when I finished my speech.

“I would have told you I was there, but you ran away before I could.” Alex pauses, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple nervously pressing against his neck. “Then I was too
. . .” His voice falls off, even as he tries a second time to spit his words out. “Then I was too . . .”

His unfinished sentence hangs in the air for an eternity.

“Too what?”

Alex’s eyes don’t waver as he looks at me. His voice is almost harsh. “I was too
sad
, Jordyn, okay? I was too sad.” He closes his eyes for a second, full lashes
beating against the top of his cheeks. “You were so mature and so brave.” His eyes fly open. “You were so real, and more than ever, I wished . . . I wished things were
different.”

Alex tries to smile, and cracks his knuckles once, but his attempts at casualness don’t work. “I’ve been kind of miserable since then,” he admits, letting out an awkward
chuckle. “So when you e-mailed me, I knew something had to change.” He gives me a goofy smile. “So I decided to show up. So we could go back to being friends, or
whatever.”

For the second time in my life, Alex Colby stands in front of me, conceding to the idea of friendship.

No. Freakin’. Way.

Not this time.

It’s now or never, the moment I’ve thought about nearly a million times since I stood in that rainy parking lot, weak and pathetic and
silent.

If I managed to share my most private emotions with a crowd of strangers, then I have to be able to share them with the person I care about the most.

So I don’t laugh along with him. We could turn this into a joke, or we could get serious.

There’s a lot at risk. My social survival at school. Life as I know it, in general.

My heart.

When I delivered my speech, I learned the reward was sometimes worth the risk. I hope to God giving Alex my heart is worth the risk, too.

“I’ve been miserable, too,” I admit. “I’ve been miserable way longer than a few days.”

Alex looks pained and his hand reaches toward mine, just barely covering it.

“Everything you put out there in the parking lot . . .” I take a final deep breath and forge ahead. “I want it. I want all those things, Alex. I want you.”

His hand tightens ever so slightly over mine.

“It might be hard. Leighton will likely make my life a living hell. She’ll have an entire group of people out to get me. They’ll keep saying awful things about me—and my
brother, well, she’s
already
called him every name in the book.”

Alex’s eyes darken and he opens his mouth to say something, but I put a hand up to stop him. “But I’m done trying to protect myself from the hurt that may or may not
come.” I swallow hard and stare at my feet. “Turns out trying to do so causes a way worse kind of pain. And I don’t want to hurt like that anymore. I don’t want to push you
away.”

Alex takes one step closer. His arms tighten around me, and he pulls me to his chest. “I wouldn’t let you anyway,” he whispers. He rests his chin atop my head and I hear and
feel him sigh with relief against me. Alex’s hands glide over my shoulders, and linger in a path down my back. Then he tightens his grasp again, holding me close for an eternity, like he
never wants to let me go.

The warmth of his body melts into mine. I feel the firmness of his thighs, the strength of his chest, where his heart is pounding in a rapid flutter.

Since last summer, Alex has thrown his arm around my shoulder a million times. He has given me countless silly fist bumps. He has even playfully ruffled my hair.

But Alex hasn’t hugged me, not like this.

I haven’t had physical contact with Alex in so long and I am suddenly, painfully aware of exactly how badly I’ve been craving it.

I am back in that closet at the tennis club, remembering exactly how perfect kissing Alex felt. I’d like to do it again.

Except, I suddenly remember, we are standing on a red carpet. There are TV cameras nearby. And my father is hovering in the entranceway. Probably best to stick with a hug.

I allow myself a minute, then take a step back. I nod my head in the direction of the ballroom and my dad scurries inside, like he
wasn’t
staring. The DJ is gearing up inside and
I see flashing lights from the dance floor.

I don’t let go of his hand, though. It is warm and strong and perfect, especially when he intertwines his fingers with mine.

“So, you want to go check out the party?”

Alex smiles at me, his first real, huge smile since . . . this. Since just about forever, it feels like. “Might as well,” he answers. He tugs at his lapels and a familiar teasing
light enters his eyes. “Be a shame to waste this much dapper . . .”

I swat his chest with my clutch, happy and relieved that Alex is still Alex, even now that Alex is mine.

We enter the hotel and I leave my wrap in the coat closet before we join the party.

Inside the main ballroom, it’s a black-tie carnival. In addition to the buffet, there is an entire dessert room, with chocolate fountains, funnel cake fries, and even cotton candy. There
are games, raffles, and face painting. The DJ is playing loud, cheesy music, and the younger kids never leave the dance floor, some trying to do their best to follow along with the Cha Cha Slide
and Chicken Dance in wheelchairs or with legs in braces.

Their faces are happy, washed with color and flashing lights, as they enjoy their stint as celebrities. One night where they shine instead of standing out.

Phillip seems pretty happy, too, once he discovers the video-game room sponsored by Nintendo.

I introduce Alex to my parents. Their eyes fly to our hands, which are still linked. They’ve never seen me with a boy, not one that I’m introducing as mine. My mom’s lips
twitch a bit as she tries to keep her smile at bay. My father pales slightly.