On the Loose (17 page)

Wow, so far this has been a really cool experience. This girl has raked in the presents, too. And she gets a new pair of shoes? Sign me up. I want a
quinceañera
.

“So, Nash, you are my daughter’s science fair partner?”

Uh, oh. Here we go. Mr. Vega is so protective of his daughter.

The waiter brings Nash and Charlie plates full of tamales, salad, rice, and something called roast pork
carnitas
.

“Yeah, we’re working on . . . er, what did you say our project was again?” Nash glances at Frances.

Frances stares back, like Nash’s eyes are holding her captive in a trance. I give her a solid elbow to the ribs.

“Oh, right, our science fair project. We are effecting the various ethical diets of our study. I mean, we are ethicating the dietecting studies of our various effects.” Frances grabs her punch glass and drains it.

Mrs. Vega puts down his fork. “I thought you said you were studying the effects of various ethnic diets.”

“Exactly what I just said.”

Mrs. Vega balances the baby in her lap. “And you, Katie? What are you and Charlie researching?”

I reach into my oversized purse and pull out two small potted ferns. “We are collecting data on the effects of sound on plants. According to Charlie, Leafy and Spiky here are going everywhere with us for the next two weeks.” I slide one near Charlie’s plate. “Here, you can at least take one of them. That way we both look like dorks. I don’t want to keep all the fun for myself.”

The slow song ends and Esther’s father spins her under his arm. Everyone claps and
oooohhhs
and
ahhhhs
. Everyone but Frances. The DJ, set up in a far corner, announces the dance floor is open. A pop hit pounds through the room.

My friend catches my eye and whispers, “Meet me under the table.” Her head ducks under the tablecloth.

You have got to be kidding me. She slaps my knee.

Fine. I turn to Charlie. “I’ll be right back. Don’t let anything happen to Leafy while I’m gone.” And under I go.

“Katie, I can’t do this. You have to help me. I’m making a fool of myself in front of Nash.” Her eyes go wide. “Again.”

Ugh, there’s an entire gum collection under here. “Ask him to dance.”

“No! Are you crazy?”

“Am
I
crazy? Who’s the one asking for a conference under a table? Not me.”

“I can’t ask him to dance!”

“Yes, you can. And you will. Get him out on the floor, then talk about your science project. I’m going up. See you topside.”

My head breaks the surface. Frances’s parents are too busy with the other children to have noticed our absence, but Charlie and Nash have both frozen mid-fork at my reappearance.

I clear my throat. “She thought she lost a contact.”

From a shrill voice behind me comes, “Frances doesn’t wear contacts.”

Slowly I turn around. Esther, in all of her gossamer gown glory. Her long, pink formal poufs out like a ballerina’s tutu. I wonder if she’d let me borrow that gown for the play. Probably not. I have a feeling this girl doesn’t share much.

After bumping her head, Frances makes it back up for air. “Oh. Hi, Esther.”

“Did you see what Grandma Vega got me for my birthday?” Esther holds up the diamond cross around her neck. “Isn’t it the best?”

Frances rolls her eyes. “No, actually I think the dictionary set she got me for my
quinceañera
was the best. And every time I come across a word like
expurgation,
I cherish it all the more.”

“Who are your friends?” Esther runs her manicured hand over the top of Nash’s chair. “You know, the dance floor is open. I might be persuaded to dance with you. I don’t want to leave out a single guest.” She eyes Nash like I was eyeing the cake earlier.

“He’s dancing with me.” Frances lurches out of her chair, grabs Nash’s hand, and drags him all the way to the dance floor.

Esther’s dark eyes caress Charlie.

“Great party.” He smiles nervously at the she-cat. Then his hand finds mine. “Katie, this is my favorite song. Come on.”

Charlie doesn’t let go until we are in the center of the dance floor, surrounded by other people getting down with their bad selves. He lets go of my hand only to grab my waist and pull me closer.

“You’re an actress. Act like you like me.”

Reluctantly, I slide my arms around his neck. We start moving to the beat of a very old slow song.

Desperate to take the awkward out of the moment, I look into his face and smirk. “So . . . Britney Spears’s ‘I’m Not a Girl’ is your favorite song? I had no idea. Is there anything else I should know?”

His eyes are on Esther, making sure she is a safe distance away. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Nothing? Like maybe you enjoy wearing pink underwear on the weekends? Or besides listening to Britney ballads, you also enjoy songs from your Celine Dion collection?”

Charlie tears his gaze from Esther and focuses on me. The impact of his smile catches me off guard, and my heel lands on his foot. “Oops, sorry. You know, we should probably be charting Leafy and Spiky’s reaction to this song. Unlike you, they’re probably real men and don’t go for this sort of tune.”

“Leafy and Spiky are men? Since when?”

“Since now.” I watch my hand in Charlie’s.

Charlie smiles and spins me around. I come back into his arms like we’ve practiced the move a hundred times. Aside from some junior high PE classes, I don’t have a whole lot of ballroom experience.

I search the masses for Nash and Frances. I locate them dancing near the DJ. Or Nash is dancing. Frances sways in a zombielike fashion. It’s not pretty. But they’re out there. And they’re together. And she hasn’t thrown up on him yet. I do believe this is progress.

“So are you going to the spring dance?” Charlie asks.

I have heard about this yearly March event, but haven’t given it much thought. Who’s to say I’ll still be here in March? “Oh, yeah. I just have to decide which boyfriend I’m going with. Which hearts I’ll break.”

And did I mention I’ve never been to a school dance? Yeah, I know—shocking. But dances require dresses, and until I lived with the Scotts, I didn’t have a lot of clothing options. And though it’s not a prom or anything, this dance requires a formal. The only formal dress I’ve ever owned was a twenty-five-year-old prom dress my mom found for me for Halloween one time when I went as an eighties Madonna.

Charlie’s eyes narrow on something across the room. “Smile at me. Like you mean it.”

I think of Reese Witherspoon the moment she enters Tiffany’s in
Sweet Home Alabama
. I look at Charlie like he’s the only one in the room. He pulls me closer.

“I saw you riding through town with Trevor yesterday.”

Cut scene. Smile over.

“So?” I don’t believe I like his tone. “We’re both in
Cinderella
together. Well, that is if I get a part.” And I will.

We move across the floor in silence. I take the moment to appreciate his clothing choices. Charlie Benson can dress. Not in a really deliberate I-spent-two-hours-picking-out-this-outfit way, but in a style that looks like he just threw some stuff together and ended up looking like an
American Eagle
model. His khakis fit nicely on his football player body. The shirt I’m leaning against is a button-down, decorated in a small, trendy pattern. And he doesn’t even wear athletic socks with his dress shoes.

Then I notice his frown.

“You should be careful with Trevor Jackson.”

He swings me out and reels me back in. Charlie is quite an accomplished ballroom dancer. It took me falling out of a tree last semester to find that out.

“What do you mean? I’m not dating him. We’re in a play together.”

“He’s a total player. That’s all.” Charlie’s voice is kind and caring, but it sends my blood to boiling.

“Yeah, when Trevor took me home when I was stranded at school without a ride, I thought, that guy’s such slime. How could he not think I wouldn’t see through his ploy? Because a real gentleman would’ve let me walk home.”

“That’s not what I meant, I just—”

“Forget it,” I snap. “I can take care of myself. And the day Trevor Jackson is interested in me is the day I run across campus naked.”

“Well, of course, he could be interested in you. You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re pretty—never mind. Just keep an eye out. The dude’s ruthless.”

I’m smart? And funny? Charlie Benson thinks I’m all of that? My head spins.

Why didn’t he say I was a good actress?

Oh, well. Take what you can get.

“So . . . are you saved yet?”

My bubble of temporary happiness bursts. “Ever heard of a little tact? Who just comes out and asks that?”

Charlie smiles. “I do.”

“No, I’m not there yet. I’ll text you when I do.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” The song fades and a fast paced beat begins. I step away from smooth moves Charlie. “I’m gonna check on Frances then monitor our plants. I want to make sure they survived that last song.”

“What if Esther comes back?”

“Tell her you’ve got a girlfriend.” And it’s not me.

I weave in and out of dancers, but Frances and Nash are nowhere to be found. They’re not at any of the tables either. Probably outrunning Esther. Or Grandma Vega.

Taking my search into the hall, I see a familiar blur go by.

“Trevor?” It’s like I conjured him up.

He hoists a golf club bag on his shoulder and turns around. “Well, hello there. What are you doing here?”

“A party. And you?”

“Just hitting a few today before the sun sets.”

He’s a country club member. Reason number 496 why this guy would
never
be interested in me. He’ll probably grow up and marry someone with the last name of Hilton or Hilfiger.

His golf attire is adorable. Most people look like dorks in golf-wear. Not Trevor. He could wear a trash bag and still look totally hot.

He smiles and his eyelids drop a bit as he comes closer. “Katie, you did a great job during your audition.”

Now this is a man who appreciates art. Who knows talent. Who would never allow Chelsea Blake to slip her perfectly pedicured foot into my glass slipper. “Really? I don’t know. I have so much to learn.”

“I did notice there are a few things you need to work on, just to take it to the next level.”

Was that suggestive? Because coming out of his mouth, it sounded totally hot.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Maybe we should get together sometime. Work on a few things.”

My head is about to explode. Did Trevor Jackson just say we needed to get together? Is this my life? This stuff does
not
happen to me!

I shake my head to make sure I’m not dreaming. Nope, he’s still there. Looking gorgeous. And watching me. I want to get my phone out and take a picture of this moment.

“Um . . .” I giggle. “Yeah. That would be great. Anytime.”

With a single finger he taps my nose. “I’ll call you.”

I stand there in a Frances-like stupor as he struts away. Oh, my. I think I’m having a hot flash.

“See what I mean? Total parasite.”

I wheel around. And find Charlie.

“How long have you been standing there?” My face flushes. How dare he ruin this perfect moment?

“Long enough.” He shakes his head. “Frances needs you. If you can tear yourself away from Trevor long enough to help her out.”

I bite my tongue. “What’s wrong?”

“She passed out.”

“Where is she?”

“On Esther’s cake.”

“I
t wasn’t a
total disaster.” I try to console Frances at church Sunday morning. It’s not working.

“My grandmother says I’ve ruined Esther’s entire fifteenth year.”

I think Esther’s lack of personality will ruin her year before an absence of cake does her in. “Frances, really, I wouldn’t give it another thought.”

“One day later, and I’m still blowing pink icing out my nose.”

“Maybe Nash would find that sort of thing hot. I mean a girl who can produce icing on command? What’s not to like?” My eyes are on the door, as I watch all the teens filing in for the pre-church youth service. These Christians—sometimes I just don’t get it. We have church. Then we go to the sanctuary and have some more church. From what I hear, our youth service is better than Sunday School. Frankly, how could anything with the word
school
attached to it be holy? Or the least bit interesting.

“It was really sweet the way Nash tried to help you up.”

“Yeah, it was. Until my dad got all possessive and pulled that fork on him.” Frances groans and lays her head down on the aluminum seat in front of her. “My life is over. My dad’s never going to let me date. Nash won’t ever want to be seen with me again.” She bangs her head on the chair. “My own grandmother doesn’t even like me. If only life were as easy as a calculus test.”

Yes. If only.

“Maybe I could talk my dad into moving.”

“Frances, nobody but Charlie and Nash even know about it. Let it go.”

“Hey, Frances! Get all that icing out of your hair?” Hannah bellows across the room, heralding her arrival.