Authors: Kiki Hamilton
The Last Dance (24 page)
There were so many thoughts racing through my head that I honestly couldn’t think of a response. Finally, I croaked, “but I thought you were in love with Q?”
Mira shrugged, looking slightly guilty. “He’s not really my type.” She bent her fingers and examined her nails. “A little too goal-oriented for me.” She looked up and smiled brightly. “But CJ’s fun.”
A ray of hope burst through me. Was Mira telling me it was okay for me to like Q?
Someone shouted at the far end of the room, drawing our attention. As we watched Kendra Brown ran up to Mrs. Monoghan, the study hall teacher, waving her arms. After a brief conversation, the teacher turned and followed the girl out of the room.
“Wonder what that was all about?” I asked.
A minute later the doors to the study hall room burst open. Laurel came marching in wearing a black trench coat, followed by two guys carrying trumpets.
“Oh, this can’t be good,” Mira murmured.
Laurel waltzed over to where Q was sitting with a bunch of guys and hopped on the table in front of him. As soon as her feet landed, the band starting playing ‘the Stripper.”
Mira hissed in the back of her throat. “Oh. My. God.”
Every head in study hall turned to watch.
Laurel swung her hips in time to the music and flung off her trench coat. Somebody hooted and a few cat calls joined in. Q sat with his arms crossed over his chest, a grin on his face as he watched.
“Why doesn’t he walk away?” Mira snapped. “He must be mortified.”
He didn’t look mortified, but I was. How could I have even let myself think I had a chance with him? “He looks like he’s enjoying it to me,” I said. And he did.
Piece by piece Laurel’s garments went flying as she twisted and gyrated to the music. The guys in the room started clapping and chanting ‘take it off’. She finally peeled down to a black string bikini. She raised her hands over her head and slowly turned so everyone in the room could see her well-endowed body. ‘Kellen’ was written across her stomach in black ink and ‘Tolo?’ was written low across her back.
The clapping was a thunderous steady chant of
yes, yes, yes
as everyone waited for Q’s answer.
“Ivy, did he just look at you?” Mira whispered in a shocked voice. She poked my arm. “He did. I saw him. Q just looked at you.”
I ignored her. I had to see what his response would be.
Then Q nodded yes.
C
oach continued to work with me on my exercise routines.
“Gotta keep you in shape, Kellen. Those college coaches want you to hit the ground running.” I didn’t mind. These were no-contact work-outs, with a lot of passing, running drills, hand and foot precision work, which was all good to rebuild and fine-tune the coordination on my right side. Plus, it gave me something to think about besides Ivy.
After I’d come up with my crazy idea I’d started the wheels in motion but I hadn’t heard anything back yet. The more time that passed, the more I thought about Dr. Anton and her brains, the more sure I became that maybe my idea wasn’t that crazy after all.
I WENT TO sixth period study hall almost every day just so I could see Ivy. But it was a hopeless cause. She made no attempt to talk to me and barely looked at me most of the time. I’d heard she’d been accepted at Harvard. She already felt so far away and out of reach. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care about her. I was sure I’d stop thinking about her soon. I had to—because I was driving myself crazy.
TOLO WAS THE third weekend of March. It was a girl-ask-boy formal event. Laurel and I had gone last year but I figured this year I just wouldn’t go. I’d purposely kept things cool between us, but when she’d stripped and asked me to the dance, I’d thought ‘what the hell?’
F
or a moment after Q nodded his head, I thought I was going to throw up.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mira hissed.
Laurel launched herself into his arms. I sat frozen, staring at them.
“He’ll regret that,” Mira snarled. “Mark my words.”
I jerked back around and stared blindly at my science notes.
I
wanted to leave but I didn’t want to reveal how upset I was—not to Mira or Q. Tears boiled up behind my eyes and I knew I couldn’t sit there any longer without completely humiliating myself. I slammed my science notebook shut and shoved it into my backpack.
“I’ve gotta go.” I didn’t look at Mira, or Q, or anyone as I bolted from the room. I just stared at the floor, intent on escaping.
“Ivy!” Mira called after me. I slammed my way out through the metal exterior door. The bar to open the door sounded like an explosion when I hit it. As soon as I was outside I ran for it. Tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t allow anyone, not even Mira, to see me like this. I ran the other direction from where we parked Jefferson and cut through the side parking lot. My eyes flooded with tears, making it hard to see. My nose was running and my breath was coming out in hiccupping gasps. I swiped at my face and my hand came away smeared with black mascara.
I dodged between a red Mustang and a black Nissan. As I passed, a face looked up at me from the driver’s side of the Nissan. Ollie Walker’s eyes got as wide as two pancakes as I ran by. That just
made
me cry harder. Behind me, I heard his door open.
“Hey, you okay?”
I raced across the lot without answering and pushed my way through a hedge of old trees and bushes. The other side was a tangle of residential streets. I zigged and zagged up one street and down another until I didn’t even know where I was. I found a vacant
lot
and sat down behind on old tree on the far corner. Then I reall
y
cried.
O
llie told me he’d seen Ivy crying. Mira called me and reamed me a new asshole. If Ivy came to school before spring break started, I didn’t see her. She was leaving tomorrow morning with her orchestra group for Paris.
I told Laurel I couldn’t go to Tolo and that I didn’t want to date her. Not pleasant, but necessary.
I laid in bed and stared into the dark,
again
, thinking about Ivy. Tomorrow spring break started. Would I ever be able to fix this?
I
t was raining in Paris, which seemed so totally appropriate. It was our third day and our orchestra group was required to be up early to take the tour bus to see the sights. Brandon sat in the back with Jenny McNamara. They seemed happy to be back together. I couldn’t believe how much I missed Mira. I wouldn’t allow myself to think about Q.
Raindrops pounded the windows, streaking down the pane like tears, distorting the view. The sky was low and grey, pressing down. At the front of the bus, the windshield wipers slapped back and forth, trying to keep up with the torrent that drenched the city.
The traffic was thick as we drove around the Arc de Triomphe, our tour bus giving us an elevated view. Around us, red taillights seemed to stretch forever. Our guide kept a running dialog in her beautifully accented English, describing the sites we were passing. I listened with half an ear, staring out at the view with a sense of disbelief that I was really, finally here. Paris. Another dream come true.
Yet, there was an emptiness eating a hole in my stomach. We crossed a bridge and the guide announced that the Eiffel Tower was on the left. I turned to look and there it was. Just like in all the pictures. Iconic and magnificent, stretching into the grey mist above.
The kids on the bus started whooping in excitement and I pressed my nose against the cold window. Mira would love it if she were here – rain or no rain. I smiled. Knowing Mira, she would probably like it better
with
the rain—so quintessentially Paris.
Quintessentially. Q. Don’t think of Q words, I admonished myself. Don’t think of Q. But I couldn’t seem to think of anything else.
We drove right underneath the Eiffel Tower before we stopped to unload. There was a lot of excited chatter as the kids crowded into the aisle to exit. I waited patiently in my seat for the glut of kids to pass.
“Ivy.” Brandon nudged me as he was going by. “Get up—we’re here!” He was holding Jenny’s hand and smiled over his shoulder at her as he made space for me. “We’re in Paris!”
My heart pinged as I forced a smile and stood up. “Thanks.”
The rain continued to pour down but street vendors miraculously appeared selling umbrellas for five dollars American.
As our teacher tried to get us to queue up, I stared in awe at the beautifully intricate grid work of the Eiffel Tower. It soared above our heads like an elegant sentinel from the past. So much more magnificent in real life than the display they’d had at Homecoming.
Mr. Flynn was leading the group toward a rickety old elevator, circa sometime in the last century, to take us up to the restaurant. I was at the back of the line, trying to delay risking my life in that tiny box. I surveyed the crowd of kids to see if anyone else seemed worried about being trapped amid the antiquity when a pair of shoulders caught my eye. That looked like—
My heart skipped a beat before I caught myself. Of course it wasn’t. Those shoulders couldn’t possibly belong to Q. I was in Paris.
France.
Far, far from home.
For just a moment I gave in and allowed myself to stare longingly at the young man’s back, letting myself imagine that Q was here with me. He turned.
Wait a minute.
My heart stopped.
He was smiling with a crazy-cute dimple on one side.
“Bonjour Ivy.” Q walked toward me as if he hung out under the Eiffel Tower every day. There was no limp, no weird lip thing, no curled right hand. He walked with the confidence and swagger of a star quarterback. He was as beautiful as any boy could ever be. He stopped before me and reached for my hands. “I couldn’t let you come to Paris without me. Don’t you know it’s the City of Love?”
I couldn’t think of a single coherent thing to say. Not even to correct him to say it was known as the City of Light. I liked love much better.
“Q! W..What are you doing here?” I finally stuttered.
“Didn’t I ever tell you?” That damn dimple winked at me and his eyes had a suspicious glint like he was laughing inside. “My sister studies music at the University of Paris. Our family has been planning this trip since last fall.”
He reached up to swing around a messenger bag he carried on his shoulder, looking very European. “I’ve got something for you.” He lifted the flap and dug into the interior. “Well, actually, Mira sent it.” I gasped as he pulled out the iridescent purple wrap from my Homecoming gown. The one part of my outfit that hadn’t been puked on. The fabric sparkled like a million diamonds had been stitched on its surface.
“She said you’d need this.” He straightened the shawl and the beautiful fabric sparkled in the—sunshine? I glanced up and sure enough, there was a shaft of light pouring through a parting in the clouds, like light shining down from heaven. Q swung the gauzy wrap around my shoulders, his fingers lingering. “Mira was mumbling something about Cinderella when she gave it to me—” he had a confused twist to his brow— “but to tell you the truth, I couldn’t really follow what she was talking about.”
“Mira sent that?” I asked, hope and fear twisting a web in my throat, almost choking me.
He grinned. “Mira’s known exactly how I’ve felt about you since Christmas break. I asked her not to tell you—I wanted to do that. I’ve been trying to find the right time, but…” Q reached a finger out and threaded a strand of hair out my face, his fingers gentle and warm against my skin. “It never seemed to work out. I want you to know that I didn’t go to Tolo with Laurel. We never got back together and I’ve made it clear to her that I’m in love with someone else.”
I covered my mouth with shaking fingers.
His blue eyes looked deep into mine. “I love you, Ivy. More than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.”
“You do?” I sounded pathetic. And I didn’t even care.
His voice softened. “I don’t want to lose you. Not now, not next fall, not ever.”
“But you’re going to Stanford, and—” a bit of my happiness shriveled. I practically whispered the words— “I’ve been accepted at Harvard.”
“I know. Mira told me in February.” His lips had a mischievous twist to them. “I was too.”
I took a step back. “Wait. What?”
“I’ve been accepted at Harvard, too. Their School of Engineering and Applied Sciences is doing heavy research on traumatic brain injury. They’ve accepted me both as an incoming freshman and as a subject in the study.” He grinned at me with a perfect smile. “Stanford was Plan B. In case my real plan didn’t work out.”
“No more football?” I was afraid to hope.
He shook his head. “Homecoming was my last game.”
“Oh Q!” I stood on tiptoe and threw my arms around his broad shoulders, squeezing as tight as I could. Dreams do come true.
He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, whispering in my ear, “I love you so much, Ivy.”
“I love you too, Q. More than anything.” His lips parted and he kissed me. Soft and gentle, like summer fruit and cherry coke. He slid his fingers into my hair and framed my face with his big hands. I wrapped my arms around his neck, caressing the strength of his shoulders, his muscles bunching beneath my fingers. I pressed myself close to him as our kiss deepened. I loved kissing him.
“Ah, so sweet,” said a voice clearly directed at us. The English was laced with a thick French accent. We both turned to look. It was a young man dressed in black trousers and a black vest covering his white shirt. His sleeves were held up by black armbands like a photographer from a different era. He had a thin moustache above his lip and a black beret covered his dark hair. “A photograph for the lovebirds?” He lifted an old-fashioned looking camera. “So you’ll never forget thees happy time in Paris, the City of Love.”
Click.
“I
vy—” Mira rolled her eyes— “it was
so
obvious. Everybody knew Q was crazy about you for months.”