Second Time Around (22 page)

Lane pushed her lunch tray toward Toby so he could finish her goulash. “So you don’t object to me trying out?”

He shrugged. “I’m not going to be the one to hold you back.”

“But…?” There were things unsaid.

He draped his arm over her shoulder and leaned his head against hers. “Those plays take a ton of time. Time we could spend together.” He tried to feed her a bite of garlic bread. She pushed it away, so he ate it himself. “Of course, if you don’t want to spend time with me…”

She scoped for a teacher and seeing none, kissed him on the lips. “Of course I do.”

“Then it’s a no-brainer.” He stood, taking his tray. “Gotta get to gym. See ya in history.”

Yeah. See ya.

She pulled her tray back and nibbled on the leftovers. Why did he have to pull the guilt trip on her? Yet she’d expected as much. Which is why she hadn’t told him her intentions until lunch. If only she hadn’t told him at all, just tried out, gotten the part, and
then
told him.

“Hi, Lane.” Melissa Peterson sat beside her, her shirt slanted off the shoulder like Jennifer Beals’ in
Flashdance.
That was the only similarity.

Lane would rather have sat next to Freddie Krueger. She concentrated on what was left of her lunch.

“Fine,” Melissa said. “Don’t talk to me. That’s just like you, you know. Being a stuck-up snob, thinking you’re too good for Dawson.” She laughed. “As if you could ever make it in Hollywood.”

Lane stood. “I don’t need this.”

Melissa grabbed her sleeve, pulling her back down. “And we don’t need you—especially not at the auditions.”

“Who’s
we?”

Melissa swept a hand around the lunchroom. “You see anybody who isn’t turned off by your better-than attitude? Acting like we’re nothing. Like our plays are nothing.”

“I never—”

She stood to leave. “My advice to you? Don’t try out after school. Let the rest of us who love Dawson get the parts. Frankly, Lane, you’re not that good.”

She was gone before Lane could even think of a comeback.

Lane noticed the girls at the next table talking behind their hands, looking at her.

She got up, taking her tray—

Dropping her tray.

Laughter all around.

It was not a good day.

After school, Lane slammed her locker shut.

“Well?” Toby said. “What’ll it be? Me or Romeo?”

She shrugged. She still wasn’t sure what to do.

He walked his fingers up her arm. “I’m real. He’s not.”

Good point.

Lane spotted Melissa Peterson walking by with two other girls. They looked at her, Melissa said something under her breath, and they all giggled. She waited for Toby to come to her defense—yell at Melissa and tell her to back off.

But he didn’t. “Surely you don’t want to spend the next six weeks with her,” he said. “Not when you could spend it with me.” He pulled her close for a kiss.

The vice principal cleared his throat as he passed by. They separated. Toby took her hand. “Come on. Come with me. I have a surprise for you.”

Lane looked down the hall toward the drama room.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he said.

Why not? She was tired of thinking about it. She let him lead her toward the door.

“How much farther?” Lane asked.

“Not much. Keep your eyes closed.” He had his hands on her waist, pushing her. The ground was uneven and she stumbled often, but he kept her safe.

Finally, he let her stop and positioned her just so. “Okay. Open your eyes.”

They were on the crest of a hill and could see for miles. The trees were still weeks away from budding and the ground was splotched with snow, but the view of open fields and groves of trees stirred her.

“It’s gorgeous.”

He pulled her back against him. “Just like you.”

“Where are we?”

“It’s my grandpa’s land.”

“I didn’t know your grandpa owned land.”

“Neither did I, until recently. I heard him and Dad talking about Grandpa’s retirement. He bought this land back in the fifties and has been holding on to it ever since.”

“What for? Farming’s bad now.”
We had to sell our land.

She felt him shrug. “‘Maybe nothing, maybe something’ was what I heard him tell Dad.”

“Is he going to sell it?”

He hugged her tighter still. His voice was soft. “Maybe.”

Volumes were said with that one word. She turned her face, trying to see his.

He smiled. “I talked to Grandpa about it. About selling it. Or part of it.”

She turned all the way around. She didn’t want to presume, but she desperately wanted him to say…

“It could be our land, Lane. Yours and mine together. We could build a house here.”

She squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck, surprised by her own enthusiasm. She’d never thought much about having a house, having a home. Just the usual teenage thoughts. But to actually be here and see the view that her house—their house… It changed everything.

He took her hands. Then he got down on one knee. “Lane Holloway, will you marry me?”

How could she say no?

She didn’t.

Lane and Toby sat in his car in front of her house. She pulled away from him. “I need to go in.”

His eyes narrowed as he snuggled into her neck. “But we’re engaged. Let’s celebrate. Really celebrate.”

Before she was forced to think of another excuse, the porch light blinked on, then off. “The porch light…”

He glanced up, then returned to her neck, pulling aside the edge of her shirt. “So?”

She found the door handle and opened it. “I’d better go.” She got out.

He reached, as if to pull her back, but she was on the grass. “Laney!”

“The porch light. I gotta go.”

“But we’re engaged. Can’t they cut us some slack?”

She leaned down to look at him. “But they don’t know we’re engaged.”

“Then—”

She blew him a kiss and shut the door. “See you tomorrow.” She ran up the front walk and inside—where Grandma waited.

“It’s late.”

Lane pushed the door shut until it clicked. “I know.”

“You spend way too much time with that boy and I—”

Lane slipped past her and took the stairs two at a time. “I have homework. ‘Night, Grandma.”

She didn’t feel safe until she was behind the locked door of her room. Only when she found herself leaning her forehead against it did she realize her heart was pounding. It was as if she’d escaped from the boogeyman.
What’s with that?

Suddenly, her strength evaporated. She turned around and let the door guide her to the floor. Tears followed, confusing her even more.

She was just tired. Everything would be all right in the morning.

It would.

The phone woke her. Lane’s arm got caught in the covers, so by the time she answered it, her father had, too. “Hello?” he said.

“Hello?” she said.

“Laney…” It was Brandy. She was crying.

Lane sat up. “Dad, I’ve got it. It’s Brandy.”

John Holloway’s voice gained strength. “Brandy? Are you all right?”

“I’m sorry to call so late, Mr. Holloway. I—”

They heard a crash in the background.

“You okay?” Lane asked.

“Can I come over? She’s drunk again.”

Lane’s dad took over. “Meet us outside. We’ll come get you.”

By the time Lane and her dad got back from collecting Brandy, Lane’s mom had made hot chocolate. Somehow at two in the morning her teal zip-up robe looked doubly bright against the white kitchen cabinets.

Dad helped Brandy off with her coat, hanging it on the back hall tree under his own. Protective.
You can’t get to her unless you go through me.

“Would you like marshmallows, Brandy?”

She nodded and sat at the kitchen table, pulling the sleeves of her sweater over her hands.

Lane sat across from her, with her father to her left. Her mother served steaming mugs, then took the remaining seat. They all blew across their drinks, taking sips.

Only then did Lane’s father say, “I thought she was getting better.”

“She was.”

“She needs to go to AA.”

Brandy shook her head. “She won’t.” She looked up from her cocoa, her smile bitter. “She’s got it under control. Can’t you tell?”

“Did she hit you?” he asked.

“No.” Brandy looked between them. “But she’s bought a gun. I saw it in her dresser. She says it’s for protection ’cause she works late at Moby’s.”

Lane’s mother shook her head. “A drunk serving drunks.” She slapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh. I’m sorry, Brandy.”

“It’s okay. It’s true. Actually, she doesn’t get drunk on the nights she works. It’s the other times…”

Lane’s dad reached over and patted her hand. “You stay here as long as you want.”

Brandy nodded, her eyes filling with fresh tears. “Thanks, Mr. Holloway. I appreciate it.”

Lane’s mother stood. “I’ll go put out some fresh towels in the bathroom.”

Sometimes Lane really loved her family.