The Dating Deal (13 page)

And I didn’t want someone who drank for a future husband.  I didn’t want that sort of life.  I wanted a husband who could hold the priesthood, and take me to the temple, and help me raise our children in the church.  I wanted an eternal family.  A forever family.  And Trent couldn’t give me that.

“As if he even wanted to,” I grumbled.  As if he even wanted to
date
me!

After all, the minute the dance was over he was back with Caitlin.  And got them “drinks.” 

And, besides, I made everything too complicated.  Conner had told me that.  Caitlin, I’m sure made everything easy.  And wasn’t that what all high school boys wanted?  The easy girl?

So, needless to say, my Sunday was kind of dark, and when Conner came to pick up his car, he didn’t exactly brighten it.  He had on sunglasses and complained of a headache.  Signs of a hang over, right?

“I want to talk to you later, okay?” he said, pressing his hands against his forehead.  “But right now, I’m feeling kind of sick.”

I nodded.  “Okay.”

I was in no hurry to have “the talk.”  I didn’t really even know what to tell him.  Well, that wasn’t exactly true.  I knew what I
should
tell him.  I just didn’t know if I would be able to actually get the words out.

But the honest truth was, I knew we shouldn’t get back together.  I knew it even before we broke up—we shouldn’t be together any more.  Because he was lying to me and how can you date a person you can’t even trust?  But I’d clung to him anyway, because it is one thing to know what is right, and a total other thing to actually do it.  And the knowing is way easier than the doing.

But it was more than just the horrible things Conner had done at the last of our dating, things he tried chalking up to “sparing my feelings.”  It was all those things he’d done since our break up.

Sure, Conner had said he learned a lesson from the mistakes he made with Laura.  And I’m glad he learned.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized Trent was right.  Conner wasn’t good enough for me.

*  *  *  *  *

Monday morning, Nina rushed up to me in a panic as I fought with my locker.  Sometimes, I swear, the thing changes its combination over night.

“Did you hear about Brian?!” Nina gasped.

I kicked my locker.  “Brian Abbott?”

Nina huffed impatiently.  “Of course Brian Abbott!  What other Brian is there?”

Since the competition against Roosevelt High was right around the corner, Brian Abbott was dang important in my life.  But lets face it, there were a lot of other Brians in the world.  Right here at our school, in fact.  For instance, there was Brian Sharp in my pre-calculus class.  And there was that cute junior, Brian Foster.  But when I tried to share this information with Nina, she sort of exploded.

“Brian Abbott!” she snapped.  “I’m talking about Brian Abbott.  Over the weekend he got into a huge fight with Raven, and then his mom, and now he moved to Colorado to live with his dad.”

I grabbed her shoulders.  “No!”  Then I shook her.  “You’re kidding, right?  Tell me you’re kidding.”

Nina removed my hands from her shoulders.  Then she backed a safe distance away before saying, “I’m not kidding.  He’s gone.”

“But I need him!”

I couldn’t let Hailey win again this semester.  I just couldn’t.  I had groomed Brian all year, perfected him.  Lately, at practice I could almost smell our victory.  That’s how close we were.  But now it seemed to be slipping away.

“No, no,
no
!” I cried, as though denying it would change things.

But it didn’t.  After my tantrum, Brian was still gone.

I slunk through my morning classes, dejected.  During Madrigals Mr. Smith seemed as destitute as me when he learned Brian had ditched us.  “Well, Megan,” Mr. Smith scratched his whiskery chin in contemplation, “there’s always Phil.”

I bowed my head, wanting to bow out of the competition.  My dream was over.  Done.  Finished.  But just then I saw Trent saunter by our class. 

It gave me an idea, a really great one!

“What if I know someone with an amazing voice?  He isn’t in Madrigals, or the choir, but he goes to our school.  Could he take Brian’s place?”

Mr. Smith’s eyes brightened.  “Sure.  Can you get him to sing with you?”

My heart sank a little.  Sank a lot.  No.  I probably couldn’t get Trent to sing with me.  He was considered cool and being in Madrigals wasn’t.  Not by a long shot.  Not to his crowd, anyway.  He probably wouldn’t be caught dead singing with us.

“I don’t know,” I told Mr. Smith anyway, giving the poor man false hope.  “I’ll ask him.”

How could I get Trent to sing the duet with me? 

Suddenly I was on a quest.

I didn’t see Trent for the rest of the day.  He didn’t come sit with me at lunch, just as I knew he wouldn’t.  Our deal was over.  Finished.  Instead he was off with his cool friends, doing cool things.  I missed him. 

In the cafeteria, as I was wolfing down my burrito (I love the school’s burritos.  They
fry
them.) Conner approached, sitting across from Nina and me.  Shock!

I covered my mouth with a napkin, embarrassed that my mouth was so full, because it was F-U-L-L.  Back when Trent used to eat with us, I was always Miss Dainty-eater, careful to take teeny, little bites, in case I thought of something clever to say.  (As if!)  Of course, being with Trent had been enough to sustain me.  I didn’t really need to eat at all.  But now he was gone.  And I was hungry.

“Did you think about what I said?” Conner asked.

“I did,” I told him, swallowing hard.  “And … we can’t get back together.”

Even with all of my thinking, and wise decision making—as wise as I knew it was—I had a hard time getting those words out, because Conner and I had been together a long time.  And it was hard, you know, to choose to be alone.

But I learned some things while we were apart, I could survive without him, life went on without him, and I could actually have fun without him.  I also learned I should live without him.  He wasn’t good enough for me.

Conner seemed dejected.  But it sorta seemed as though he knew that would be my answer.  “I really blew it, huh?”  He set his jaw.  “Can we still be friends, though?” He looked into my eyes.  “Can we eat together?  Maybe take things slow?”

I was surprised that he wanted to.  I’d figured he would run back to Laura.  Maybe he really had changed. 

“Of course you can eat with us,” I told him, glad that he wanted to.  Glad that we might be able to salvage a friendship out of this mess.  I hadn’t really thought that was possible.  But who knows, maybe it was.  And if it was, that’d be great.  And I’d try not to hold a grudge.  I’d try super, super hard, like I’d make it a goal: forgive Conner—and his back-stabbing(s).

I wasn’t sure what he meant by “take things slow,” though.  Was he saying he still hoped we might get back together someday?  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

But in any case, whatever he meant, he ate with Nina and me, and it was sort of like old times, but sort of not.  I would never look at him the way I used to. He wasn’t my hero anymore.  He had let me down. 

Still, I had to give him credit.  He seemed to be trying to make up for past mistakes.  It was nice.  I was glad he was trying, glad he cared.

After school I had to work, but it was only a short shift.  When I got home it was still early enough to call Trent—only it took me a long while to work up my nerve, because I knew he was going to turn me down cold.  I knew it.  The Deal was over.  There was no reason he would feel obligated to help me out, especially when it was something I knew he didn’t want to do.  At all.  Why bother asking?  Why put myself through that kind of humiliation?  But picturing Hailey’s smug face gave me strength.  I would beg him if I had to.

But when I called his house, he wasn’t home.  “Trent’s working at Flips tonight,” Mrs. Hayes said.

I quickly explained to Mom my urgent mission and sped to Flips.   If I didn’t ask Trent now, I never would, and if by the slightest off chance he was miraculously willing to sing with me, we would need as much time as we could get to practice.  There was no putting the question off until tomorrow.

When I got to Flips, Trent was talking with his band by the pool tables.  His band.  Yikes!  I shoved my shyness aside.  I didn’t have time for it.  I was on a mission.  I hurried over to Trent. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

Trent looked surprised to see me.  “Sure.” 

His band went backstage to set up, and Trent gazed at me questioningly.  “So, at lunch it looked as though the deal worked.  Your boyfriend came back.”

“Yeah,” I said distractedly, trying to get the thoughts of Trent from the other night out of my head—thoughts of him holding me in his arms as we swayed to the music.

Focus, I ordered.  You’re on a mission. 

I had to divert my gaze from Trent’s alluring, brown eyes.  Instead, I stared intently at his shirt.  “I have a huge, gigantic favor to ask of you,” I told it.

Trent seemed interested.  “What?”

When I started explaining, he backed away, shaking his head with a smile.  “I’m not singing with the Madrigals,” he said before I had even fully explained.

“But you have to.  Please!  I need you.  I
can’t
let Hailey win.  You have an amazing voice, Trent, and I
have
to win.”

“Megan, I’m really sorry.  I’d love to help you.  I would.  But I don’t do show-tunes.”

He started to walk away!

I was so desperate, I wanted to beg.  But instead I got an idea.  I grabbed a cue from off the wall.  “Play me,” I told him.  “If I win, you’ll sing with me.”

Trent turned back, smiling.  He looked intrigued. 

He raised an eyebrow.  “And if I win?”

“Whatever you want.”

He thought for a moment, then his smile grew.  “You’ll sing with me.  Right now.  Tonight.”

A chill ran through my body just hearing him say that.  No way was I getting up on the stage in front of this crowd—our entire school, basically—and singing. 

I swallowed.  “You’re on.”

I watched him rack the balls, feeling uneasy.  We have a pool table at home, and I’m pretty good—super good really.  I crush everyone who visits.  So, I felt pretty confident I would win.  But what if I didn’t?

As we began to play, I started to sweat, realizing Trent was better than anyone who came to visit.  I felt sick, realizing he might actually win.

And though the game was close, he
did
win.

Once he pocketed the eight-ball he stood smiling at me, looking every bit as smug as Hailey.  “You’re good.”

“Yeah,” I said through gritted teeth.  “I’m a real champ.”

He put away our cues, then smiled at me some more.  “You ready?”

“Trent—I can’t.”

Just do it like you did for me that night.”

“I was a goof.”

“You were great.  Seriously.”  He took my hand.  “Come on, before you chicken out.”

“I
am
chickening out.  I already have.  Done deal.”

“No, come on.”  He squeezed my hand.  “I’ll be with you, right next to you.”

If I wasn’t so nauseous at the thought of getting up on stage, this moment would have been mega, big-time romantic.  No joke.  His hand was so warm.  And his words reassuring.  But …

“I can’t.”

“Do it and I’ll sing your show-tunes.”

I blinked.  “You’ll do it?”

He tilted his head with a grin.  “If you’ll do it.” 

Trent led me up on stage, and I clung to his hand for dear life as he announced that I was going to sing.  The crowd cheered as though I was cool, as though I was a star.  It was nice.