My Life Undecided (30 page)

“If she’s just some ‘nobody,’” I ask suspiciously, “then why did you invite her?”

A mischievous grin appears across Shayne’s lips. “Because her older brother was cast in the next season of Reality Bites.”

I scowl in confusion. “The MTV show?”

Shayne nods, extremely proud of herself. “Yep. I got an inside scoop. So I figure we should probably befriend her now. You know, in case

they come here to film anything.”

The limo slows to a stop and I sit and stare at her in absolute astonishment. “Are you joking?”

She stares back at me as if she doesn’t understand the question. “No.”

“But—”

Shayne quickly shushes me as the limo door opens and Brianna’s head pops in. “Hi, guys!” she says.

“Bree!” Shayne cries, like she’s greeting a friend she hasn’t seen in ages. Brianna climbs inside and Shayne gives her the obligatory air

kiss before introducing the rest of us.

I wave and offer her the most enthusiastic salutation I can muster.

Jesse hooks her up with champagne before tapping on the glass divider and tel ing the driver we’re ready to go.

“This is so cool,” Brianna exclaims, glancing around the limo. “Thanks so much for inviting me to come along. It’s real y hard meeting people

at a new school.”

Shayne’s eyes twinkle as her smile broadens. “Of course!” she says, her voice as bubbly as the champagne in her glass. “A party without

you is like a martini with no olives. It just doesn’t taste right.”

Everyone in the limo simultaneously bursts into laughter.

Everyone except me, that is.

Because while they might be amused by Shayne’s seemingly witty and creative use of metaphor, I’ve already heard that one.

About three weeks ago. Sitting in the passenger seat of Shayne’s premature birthday present while she begged for my forgiveness.

If I remember correctly, she even cried.

And you know what? It worked.

I ate it up and then I asked for more.

It’s al becoming painful y clear to me…painful y quickly. Shayne never wanted to be my friend again. She never wanted things to be back the

way they were. She only wanted the spotlight. And the minute it was turned on me—the minute she felt even a hint of the cold darkness it left behind

—she had to do something to direct it back to where she thought it belonged.

I was fooled. Just like everyone else, I was drawn into the fantasy. Lured by the bright, shiny light like an insect buzzing ful -speed into an

ultraviolet fly trap.

And that’s exactly how I feel right now. Like I’ve been baited and zapped.

I should have known it was just another act. The tears, the apology, the vulnerability. She served up exactly what she thought I would respond

to. What she knew I would respond to. And I was so desperate for things to return to normal—for things to feel safe again—that I completely ignored

what was right in front of me the whole time. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that Shayne has built a façade so impenetrable, so

impermeable that even I’ve never seen behind it.

It’s almost as though Shayne Kingsley isn’t even a real person. She’s an il usion. As fake as the plastic vegetables decorating the kitchen of

a model home. Designed to give off the perception of reality. The perception of perfection.

And with Shayne, there isn’t anything but perception.

I turn and glance out the window. I can barely make out my reflection in the tinted glass. But the person staring back at me is a stranger. I’m

not the girl I used to be. I’m not the insecure, overaccommodating sidekick who’s too afraid to be alone. Who’d rather live in someone else’s

shadow than have to think for herself. And as hard as I’ve tried in the past three weeks, I can’t return to my old life. I’ve seen too much. I’ve stood at a

distance and watched my world from the outside. And once you’ve been given a glimpse of that perspective, you can’t go back. Nothing on the

inside feels the same anymore.

Everything is made of plastic.

“Who died?” Hunter says, scrambling across the car and plopping down on the bench seat next to me. “You look so serious.”

Shayne lets out a lofty laugh and repositions herself next to Jesse. “I think Brooks is just being her moody self again.”

Hunter leans over and kisses my neck. His muffled voice teases me. “Aww, are you in a bad mood? Do I have to cheer you up?” Then he

lets out a vociferous growl that sounds like a hungry bear and pul s me onto his lap.

His lips press against mine. I use them to try to numb my mind. To try to smother this nauseating feeling that’s overcoming my entire body.

Hunter devours me. His hands are everywhere. I taste something funny in his mouth and I realize this champagne is not the only thing he’s had to

drink tonight.

The limo jerks to a stop at a red light and the champagne sloshes out of my glass and down the front of Hunter’s suit jacket.

“Crap!” I yel , rol ing off of him and reaching for a pile of napkins. “I’m sorry.”

But Hunter waves it away. “Hey, no sweat. It’s al part of the experience.”

It’s then that I happen to look out the window and see where we’ve stopped. And even though Parker is real y just one stretch of road with a

long line of stores and buildings down either side, I know this particular location is no coincidence. That some force greater than me has chosen

this stoplight as the place to pause and pul my attention outside.

Because right beyond this glass, not one hundred feet from where I’m sitting, is the Main Street Diner, where Brian and his friends like to

spend their Saturday nights.

And sitting in a booth next to the window, shoveling pancakes into his mouth, laughing at his friends’ jokes, and having a grand old time…is

Brian.

I know Shayne is talking to me. And I know there are going to be repercussions for not answering right away, but I can’t help it. I’m no longer

concerned with anything happening in this limo. Al I can do is stare longingly at the little brown cabin—one of the oldest establishments in the town

—and think about what it would be like to be sitting in that booth next to him.

“Brooks!” four voices yel in unison, and I final y pul myself away from the window.

I can hardly remember where I am. I can hardly recognize the faces around me. I think one of them was once supposed to be my best friend.

And another slightly resembles my date. But my vision is blurry.

I glance down at the champagne in my hand.

How many glasses of this did I drink?

Everyone in the limo erupts with laughter. Hunter drapes his arm around my shoulder and pul s me closer to him, nuzzling his lips against the

base of my neck. “God, you’re such a lightweight,” he teases with his sexy Southern drawl. “That’s good, though. It’l make it much easier for me to

take advantage of you later.”

I laugh. But only because everyone else is. I’m honestly not sure what’s so funny. But then again, I haven’t real y been listening to a word

anyone has been saying. I’ve been too busy trying to solve a complicated logic problem in my head.

But real y, when you break it down, it’s not that complicated at al . It’s actual y quite simple.

I look over at Shayne. Perfect, beautiful, flawless Shayne. In her magazine cutout dress and makeup counter face and hair salon updo. Then

I think about what’s underneath and how far she goes to keep that hidden and I almost laugh aloud.

Then I look at Hunter. Perfect, beautiful, flawless Hunter. With his sexy accent and windswept hair and Roman numeraled birth certificate.

Then I think about what else I like about him, what we have in common, what special, memorable moments we’ve shared together, and my mind fil s

with empty space.

Now I look out the window. My eyes focus right on Brian. On his untamed frizzy hair. On the friends who surround him—people who, at one

time in my life, I never would have given the time of day. But I don’t see any of those things. I only see him. The person who makes me feel like I’m

worth something…al on my own.

And then everything is clear to me.

Hunter is the il usion and Brian is the truth.

Hunter is the perception and Brian is the reality.

Hunter is everything I thought I wanted…for al the wrong reasons. The perfect guy…who’s just not perfect for me. The choice I made for five

years while I struggled to embody something that doesn’t real y exist.

And Brian is the choice I need to make now.

I glance at the intersection ahead of us and I see the light on the cross street turn yel ow. I don’t have any time for explanations. I lunge for the

door handle and yank it toward me. The door flies open and I tumble out onto the sidewalk.

The cold December air slams against my bare shoulders like a knife slicing into my skin. It seeps effortlessly through the flimsy fabric of my

dress, sending violent trembles through my body. As though someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

Note to self: next time you bolt from a stretch limo in the dead of winter wearing nothing but a formal gown…be sure to grab your coat first.

I fight to get traction in my dainty, bejeweled heels as they skid and slide along the icy concrete beneath my feet. I can hear the shouts

behind me. The voices demanding to know what I’m doing. Why I’ve lost my mind. The jokes about my inability to consume alcohol. And then I hear

Shayne. The voice of a dictator. Insisting that I get back in the car immediately.

But I don’t pay any attention.

She can jerk on those strings as much as she wants. They’re not attached to me anymore.

I turn and look at Hunter, whose face is one giant question mark. “I’ve made a mistake,” I try to explain to him. “I said yes to you for the wrong

reasons and I’m sorry. I real y am.”

The light up ahead turns green, I close the door, and the limo sails off into the night. I don’t pause to say goodbye. I don’t take a moment to

remember the good times. I just head straight for the front door of the diner. And I don’t look back.

Curtain Call

I haven’t been inside
the Main Street Diner since I was a kid. It’s one of those quaint and homey log cabin types of places that’s been around

forever. One of the few establishments left standing from the days before our little town was infiltrated by box stores. It’s a local favorite. And when I

say “local,” I mean the people whose families have lived in Parker, Colorado, for generations. Like since gold was discovered. And, apparently, this

is where they al come on Saturday night.

I burst through the door, breathless and stil shaking from the cold.

I know I could dance around the subject for hours. Sidle casual y up to Brian’s table and make meaningless smal talk about the diner and

the town and how nice it is to see everyone again, but I don’t. I’ve wasted enough time with things that have no significance and I don’t want to wait

anymore.

“It was more than just a dare!” I cal out from across the restaurant.

The chatter from the various tables tapers off and sixty-five heads turn toward me. Like an audience settling into the theater as the orchestra

starts up. Conversations halt. Cel phones are switched off. Al eyes are on the stage.

And I have the floor.

Brian catches my eye and gives me an uneasy glance that clearly spel s out “What are you doing?”

“The kiss,” I explain, striding purposeful y toward him. “It was so much more than just a dare.”

Although I can feel the inquisitive stares from everyone in the restaurant—the steak-and-eggs locals, the gossipy, gum-chewing waitresses,

Brian’s stupefied friends—the only person I see is him. Brian’s intense, soulful eyes penetrate me, digging deep into my subconscious, dissecting

my thoughts, breaking down my ability to shield myself from the world.

“And you,” I continue, al owing myself to be pul ed into his powerful gaze, “you’ve come to mean so much more to me than I ever thought you

could. Than I ever thought I could let you. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before. I’m sorry I’ve been so blinded by stuff that doesn’t even freaking matter. You

were right. I’ve been living someone else’s life. Playing by someone else’s rules. Letting anyone else but myself make decisions for me. I was so

terrified of making the wrong ones I figured the best thing to do was not to make any at al . That way I could never be held responsible when things

went to hel . Because in my experience, when I’m in the picture, things always go to hel . I’ve been making bad choices my entire life and I’m through

with it. I’m ready to make a good one. I’m ready to be with you.” I pause and search his face for a reaction but I’ve yet to see one. And his blank

stare is like a splinter in my heart. “That is…if you want to be with me,” I whisper.

There are quiet murmurs emanating from every corner of the restaurant. Hushed voices questioning my identity, my integrity…and most of

al , my sanity.

I guess it’s not every night that a girl in an evening gown bares her soul to the whole diner.

I suck in a breath and hold it. The beautiful oxygen floods my lungs, calming my anxiety like a drug. I didn’t realize how much air I’d used up in

the last thirty seconds.

Brian stands up. He’s nearly six feet and I have to look up to maintain eye contact, but his enchanting gaze never releases me. I can see the

corners of his mouth start to twitch—the beginnings of a smile.

Without uttering a sound, he runs a single finger along my hairline and down the side of my cheek. Then he leans in and gently touches his

lips to mine. It feels like my whole body has been set on fire. The sights and smel s of the old diner fade away. The noises around me dissipate.

And for a brief moment, it’s just us. Standing ablaze in a hol ow space.