Chosen (10 page)

“What's up?” he asked. His features looked soft in the setting sun.

“Did something happen, in the car? I'm probably wrong, but I thought I saw a strange look. Is everything okay?”

“I'm out with my girlfriend on Friday night,” Taylor said. “Everything's
better
than
okay
.”

But now there was something in his voice—an odd
tone that made me wonder if he was being 100 percent honest with me. “Are you sure?” You can talk to me about anything—no matter what. Right?”

“Right,” he said.

I waved my hand in a dismissive gesture. “No, I figured I was seeing thing. But . . .”

“But?” he prompted.

“It's just, you know . . .”

Taylor paused, taking a breath. “I know. I mean, maybe something popped into my brain in the car that bothered me just for a second. I didn't want you to see it. But it's not a big deal and tonight was about just having
fun
. Let's forget it for now. Okay?”

He held out his hand for me to take and angled his body back toward the theater.

I gave him my best understanding smile, but my feet felt cemented to the ground. I tried to keep my tone light as I spoke.

“Well, now you have to tell me. I want to know.”

Taylor ran a hand through his thick blond hair. “It's really dumb.”

“If something's bugging you, it's not dumb. Tay, you can tell me.”

I looked at him, waiting.

Finally, he sighed.

“I don't want to keep anything from you,” Taylor said. “But I feel like a jerk. I want you to be accepted to Canterwood—you deserve it and it would be an amazing opportunity. But at the same time, I don't want you to leave. That would mean—”

I touched his arm. “I know,” I said. “It's hard not to think about what might happen. Funny how we were both thinking about it, but not talking about it. I kept trying to bring it up, but I couldn't figure out how. Not that I even think I have a chance of getting accepted.”

His Converse rolled loose gravel over the pavement, making a cereal-crunching noise.

“So, do we talk about what happens if you do get in?” he asked. “Or do we wait?”

I caught my bottom lip between my teeth. I let out a nervous breath before answering. “Getting in is
such
a long shot,” I said. “I think we should wait, if that's okay. If I'm actually chosen to fill the
one
open seat available, then we talk about what happens.
If
I ever get in,” I added. “Which I won't.”

“It's a plan,” Taylor agreed. “But, Laur.” His eyes locked on mine. “For what it's worth, I don't doubt for a second that you'll get in.”

He took my hand and led me toward the theater. I held his hand tight, smiling but feeling shaken. I'd known we'd have to eventually have this conversation, but I hadn't expected it tonight. And I'd been doing such a good job convincing myself I'd never get in, it didn't even seem like a conversation worth having. But hearing Taylor say it out loud, it suddenly seemed plausible. I might get accepted. He'd sounded so sure when I'd been equally convinced I'd just get rejected. Now I wondered what would happen to me and Tay if he was right and I got accepted. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, trying to push away the unanswered question.

Taylor and I got in line for tickets. The small theater, with only two screens, was bustling. At the counter, Taylor bought our tickets and handed me one. I loved the quaint theater. Tay didn't like how small it was, but I preferred it. The cream-colored walls had framed photos of the theater in various stages of renovation over the years.

My favorite was the black-and-white photo, yellowing a little around the edges, that showed the theater when it had first opened. A man, a young boy, and a woman stood together, all smiling at the camera. Everyone knew they were the family who had opened the theater and kept it
as a family-run business all these years, refusing buy outs from the large chain theaters.

“You got tickets, I'll get snacks,” I said. I knew all of Taylor's favorites.

“Deal,” he said.

We walked over to the concession stand and I ordered a bucket of extra-buttery popcorn, a giant Sprite, peanut M&M's, and Necco Wafers.

We walked down the gray carpet, and the usher took our ticket stubs and pointed us toward the theater. The lights were already dimmed, and people filed inside. The previews hadn't started yet.

We walked down the aisle that had rope lighting on the sides. Taylor and I sat in the middle—our favorite spot. I sat down and put the Sprite in the cup holder between us. Without a word, I unwrapped my Neccos while Taylor opened his M&M's. So far, the night had not gone anything like I'd hoped. First, I'd been unprepared to talk about the possibility of going away when Tay had brought it up. And now, despite the fact that we'd agreed not to even think about it yet, things felt off between us. We'd barely looked at each other since he'd handed me my movie ticket.

I caught myself chewing on the corner of my bottom
lip—a nervous habit I'd developed at my old stable—and closed my mouth, teeth clenched together. I put a smile on my face, determined to have the fun Friday-night date I'd been looking forward to all day. Maybe it wasn't too late to turn this night around.

I braved a glance toward Tay, turning up the wattage of my smile. “Hey,” I said, taking his hand. “I'm glad we're here.”

I saw a brief flash of his adorable smile before it faded and turned back to the look I'd seen earlier in the evening. “Me too,” he said with less enthusiasm than I hoped. He gave my hand a squeeze before taking it back to pick up the Sprite and take a sip.

Once darkness came over the theater and the previews began, I let my smile drop. Everything in my life really did depend on Canterwood.

My friends were waiting to see if I got accepted. My family, especially Becca, went through the daily ups and downs while I waited. Even my teammates at Briar Creek could lose me next fall.

As for Taylor, he would either have a long distance girlfriend or . . . Unexpected tears blurred my vision. Taylor would either have a long-distance girlfriend or we'd break up.

It wasn't even something I could think about
now
. It was too soon. If I did end up getting accepted to Canterwood, I didn't want to look back at the time I'd spent with Taylor and know I'd wasted it being upset the whole time. I couldn't handle thinking about this.

In the darkness between previews and the start of the movie, I reached for Taylor and kissed him. This time, it was
Tay
who grabbed
my
hand. And this time, he didn't let go.

As the movie started, my anxiety slowly melted away. Canterwood, riding, unpleasant memories—everything seemed to be moving farther and farther away. Maybe things would change soon, and maybe they wouldn't. But for now, I felt comfortable and happy living the way someone my age should: in the moment.

Ninety minutes later, the lights came on and we walked out of the theater.

“What an awesome movie!” I said. “I was on the edge of my seat the whole time.”

“Oh, man, totally agree,” Taylor said. “It felt like it was five minutes long.”

We tossed our empty candy wrappers and half-eaten popcorn into the trash can and headed outside to wait for Taylor's dad.

“I can't
wait
until I can drive,” Taylor said. For as long as I'd known him, Taylor had been
obsessed
with cars. He had a closet full of models he'd put together when he was younger and the walls in his room were covered with posters of cars. (He'd told me a bunch of times, but I could never remember what they were!)

“Three years and you'll have your permit,” I said. “That's not too far away.”

Taylor's eyes brightened from the light of the street lamp. “What's not too far away is
dinner
. I'm so glad you chose Italian. I'm starving.”

Taylor's dad drove up to us at the curb.

We got inside the SUV and, feeling happy and excited after our great movie date, I watched out the window at the quiet side streets we passed on the way to the restaurant. Union was a small town, populated by only a few thousand people. Tonight, it looked as though most of the people that were out were either high school kids or students from the nearby community college.

Once we reached La Bruschetta, the best (well,
only
) Italian restaurant in Union, Taylor's dad told us he'd be back in an hour and a half to pick us up.

Tay pulled open the restaurant door for me. La Bruschetta had the perfect date-night ambience. The
rustic wooden tables all had flickering votive candles on top, which provided most of the dim room's lighting. The polished hardwood floors and cranberry-red cloth napkins matched the brick walls nicely. The entire restaurant smelled like garlic, marinara, and basil. The pizzas were all made in a large, open brick oven that was out in the open in the back of the room so you could watch them being made and going in to bake.

“Table for two,” Tay told the waitress who greeted us at the door.

She smiled, looking at us like we were two puppies in a pet store window and grabbed two menus before walking us to our table.

Taylor pulled out my chair and motioned for me to sit. You wouldn't know by looking at him, but Tay was one of the most polite boys I'd ever met in Syracuse, Brooklyn,
or
Union. He looked like any cute jock—in good shape, dirty-blond hair with lighter white-blond at the ends, and his perpetually tan face from playing outdoor sports year round.

But his mother, who was
huge
into manners, brought him up well, and he was always pulling out chairs for me, opening doors for me, and offering to pick up the tab. I let him do everything but the last one—I believed
that guys shouldn't do all the paying. Still, I secretly loved that he offered every time. Along with his
killer
sense of humor and soft spot for animals (especially cats—my favorite animal after horses!), his old-school politeness-slash-manners were among my favorite of his qualities.

We'd been seated at a cozy table in the back. The votive candles flickered—the flame seeming to match the rhythm of people talking and laughing around us.

A waiter brought us a bread basket, along with whipped packets of butter and a butter knife.

I reached for a roll and broke it open. Steam rose, curling into the air. The butter melted right away and I took a small, polite bite.

“Mmm,” I said. “I love warm bread. I'd be happy just eating the entire basketful.”

Taylor, ever the boy, was already working on his second roll. “Me too,” he said unnecessarily. “But since we're here, I guess we should look at the menu.” He grinned. “Got anything in mind?”

I scanned the pizza list. “Are you in the mood for pizza? We could each choose a topping for a side.”

“I'm
always
in the mood for pizza,” said Tay. “Does double cheese sound good on my side?”

“Only if pepperoni and black olives sound good on mine.”

“Done.” Taylor closed the menu just as the waiter came back.

“Good evening,” he said. “I'm Don and I'll be your server tonight. May I start you off with some drinks?”

“Please,” said Taylor. “And we're ready to order, too.”

“Excellent. For you, miss?” I noticed the absence of any pen or notepad. I couldn't imagine doing such hard work and not even needing to write an order down. I shuddered to think what would happen if I ever became a waitress at La Bruschetta. No one here had ever written down an order. Without pen and notepad, I'd never stay organized enough to do my job. I'd get fired after one night!

“Miss?” Don repeated.

“I'll have a Dr Pepper, please,” I said.

Don turned to Taylor. “I'd like a Coke and we'd like to share a medium pizza, half double cheese and half pepperoni and black olive.”

“Wonderful. I'll be right back with your drinks,” Don said, smiling.

Once he'd left, Tay looked at me inquisitively. “What's going on up there?” he asked kindly, tapping his own head.
“That's not the first time this week I've caught you daydreaming. Something on your mind?”

I laughed, my face feeling a little warm. Memories, good
and
bad, had been rising to the surface while I waited for my Canterwood letter. But now that I was sure it would be a rejection, I felt sure they would start to quiet soon enough. After all, I'd been caught daydreaming again, but this time it had been about what an awful waitress I'd make. But I didn't want to waste a second of our date on something silly.

So instead, I said, “You caught me, and you're right. I've been living in my head a lot lately—mostly thinking about Canterwood. But,” I added quickly, before I had to see a sad look even begin to cross Taylor's face, “now that I know what Kim told them, I am totally focused on the now. You caught me, though, it's true. But this time I wasn't thinking about anything Canterwood related. Not at all.”

Taylor leaned toward me over the table. His elbows rested on the table and he laced his fingers together a couple of inches above his latest unfinished roll. I was relieved when a smile bloomed on his face. “No?” he said. “Then what were you thinking about, Laur-Bell?”

Without hesitation, I replied. “I was thinking about how great this night is turning out to be.”

It wasn't a total lie. I
had
thought about that earlier.

“You're just saying that because of the extra cheese coming your way,” he said.