What You Always Wanted (11 page)

I look to Angela for help, and she shrugs. “You won't get much more epic than a choreographed musical number.”

I glance back up at the dancers and see Jesse walking slowly alongside them, trailed by a gorgeously tan girl I assume is Gabby, his homecoming date. She stops to take in the scene, but after a quick nod to me, Jesse grabs her hand and keeps moving.

Even Jesse has someone to hold hands with. And dance with.

I want this for me.

Brian wants to dance with me. He organized a miniature flash mob, even spent who knows how much personalizing an extremely tacky homecoming memento to tell me so. A remarkably nice gesture considering I haven't spoken to him outside of rehearsing our lines together after school this week. He probably really didn't mean to spread news of my kissing status to the entire Fernwood High populace. And it would be nice to have an excuse to get all dolled up.

A smile fights my lips until it wins, and I take the awful mum thing from him. I wonder which moving box my dresses are in.

“Popcorn!” Tiffany cries as she bounds into the Moraleses' TV room carrying three bags of popcorn—one for each of us.

“Shut up!” Angela hisses, taking a bag from her. “You'll wake the little monster.”

I shut the door behind Tiffany, dim the lights, and clear my throat. “I hereby call this meeting to order, the first of what I hope will be many.”

“Meeting?” Angela asks. “I thought we were watching movies.”

“Boo!” Tiffany tosses a handful of popcorn at my face. “You promised us hotness!”

“And hotness you shall have.” I snatch a piece that landed in my hair and eat it. “Ladies of the newly-formed-just-this-second Teens for Classic Movies Club, I'd like to—”

“Wait.” Tiffany throws more popcorn at me. “We're a club now?”

“
Classic
movies?” Angela groans. “How did I forget you haven't seen any movies made in this century? You with the star on your cheek from whatever that movie was. I suppose we're watching that one tonight? Something about it raining?”

“Yes, we'll get to it,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. “I'm telling you, the classics are—”

“Like black-and-white grainy movies where people sing and dance every few minutes?” Tiffany asks, preparing to take aim with another handful.

“Some of them are, but not all.” My confidence dips, but I hold my head higher. “Look, you wanted to know why my standards are so high, and this is it. Ladies, I'd like you to meet”—I fix them with an expectant stare, and Tiffany gives me a drumroll on her legs—“Mr. Gene Kelly.”

Holding my breath, I present them with a crisp printout of Gene, then carefully watch their eyes for any hint of a reaction. Sharing this part of me is not an emotionally simple task, which
is why I generally keep the whole truth to myself until absolutely necessary. And I guess it's not to that point just yet, but I feel I've found a pair of girls who won't judge me. Who may even join me in my madness.

I hope.

“Oooooh,” Angela purrs, taking the picture from me. “He's handsome.”

“Lemme see that,” Tiffany says, leaning over Angela's shoulder to take a look before sinking back into the couch. “Meh. He's okay, I guess.” She shrugs. “Who else you got?”

I don't answer, and instead sift through the stack of DVDs I brought from home, selecting
Anchors Aweigh
as our starting point.

“Tiffany, I know you're a fan of tight, clingy uniforms, so there will be plenty of eye candy in this one since Gene and Frank Sinatra are in the navy.”

“Oh, that sounds nice.” Her expression brightens. “Is this your favorite Gene movie?”

“I'm not telling you which one is my favorite. It'll be more fun if you guess after you've seen them all.”

“Well, uniforms are good.” Angela tucks her legs underneath her and grabs the throw hanging over the back of the sofa. “What else does this movie have to offer for me?”

“Um . . .” I let out a sigh as I slide the disc into the player. “A flash of muscular man-thigh when Gene runs around in his boxers?”

She straightens, fully alert. “I approve. Let's meet your boyfriend.”

“And his thighs,” Tiffany adds.

The movie is a hit. They laugh and sigh in all the right places, and I'm pretty sure I hear Tiffany “Mmmmmm” every time Frank sings. Next, I introduce them to the ultimate fan favorite,
Singin' in the Rain
. I find myself watching the girls more than the screen, because there's nothing like witnessing someone, for the first time, enjoy films that are close to your heart. That are so much a part of you and who you are.

I nestle deeper under the quilt, using the armrest of the leather couch as a pillow. Despite my efforts to stay awake, my eyelids betray me somewhere between
Summer Stock
and
An American in Paris
, and I drift to my favorite place.

I stand in front of the vanity mirror to stare at my reflection, framed by huge round lights. My long sapphire dress flutters around me as I twist and double-check that everything is in order.

I turn and there he is, my perfect man in a dark blue suit. Gene pulls me close, cheek to cheek, one hand at the small of my back, the other clutching mine. I close my eyes and melt against him as he sing-hums in my ear, nonsensical words and phrases, and we sway to the rhythm of his made-up song.

“Look who I've found,” he sings. “Madison . . . what you've done . . .”

The most beautiful voice I've ever heard. The most beautiful voice . . .

“Madison? Are you okay?”

I bolt upright, sections of my hair falling around my face from my bun piled high on top of my head. Blinking a few times at the daylight streaming in through the open door, I become aware of my surroundings. Blankets strewn everywhere, popcorn and DVD cases all over the floor.

And Jesse. Sitting on the couch. At my feet.

My hand flies to my face to clear my eyes and the corners of my mouth of anything that shouldn't be there.

“You were, like, whimpering,” Jesse says, his momentary look of concern morphing into pure amusement.

“Oh.” I fight back a yawn. “Dream, I guess.”

“Must have been a nightmare.”

“Hardly,” I mutter before stretching my legs out. He
would
have to wake me up right before the kissing part. “Where'd everyone go?”

“I assume they're in bed. I didn't expect you to still be in here.”

“They left me. I must have been completely zonked.” Another yawn.

“Looks like it was a pretty wild night watching super-old movies,” Jesse says, eyeing my DVD collection. “Are all of these yours?”

“Yes. They're only the most swoon-worthy movies ever made.” I sigh. “I consider it a tragedy I'll never get to see any of these on the big screen. Your massive TV here is about as close as I'm going to get.”

He laughs, tapping the uneven stack of movie cases with his foot.
Anchors Aweigh
and
On the Town
slide toward him. “Someone has a sailor fetish. Wait, do all of these movies have the same people in them?”

“A couple of them do.” I change the subject in a hurry. “So, what were you looking for in here?”

That crooked smirk of his creeps out. “I was just gonna watch some sports highlights before mowing the yard.” He picks up the remote from the floor, but doesn't press any buttons.

“You don't have a TV in your room?” I thought all rich kids had their own televisions.

“No. Do you?”

“Not anymore,” I say quickly, desperate not to dwell on my former lifestyle. “What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“Why, why, why are you awake so early on a Saturday?”

“Habit.”

Leaning back into the couch, I groan and pull the blanket over my head. If I fall asleep, maybe I can get back to that dream.

Jesse pokes my foot. “So, are you awake now?”

I huff and fling the blanket off, shooting him with my best angry glare.

“Good,” he says as he stands. “I want to show you something.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“You are
so
slow,” Jesse says from outside the bathroom door.

“Beauty takes time,” I say in singsong, trying to do damage control. There's not one speck of makeup on my face, my hair is a frizzed-out disaster, and pillow lines streak down the side of my cheek.

“Let's go,” he says, annoyed.

With as much as he's rushing me, it's a wonder I even had time to change out of my pajamas.

I crack open the door and frown. “You're at least going to let me brush my teeth.”

He takes a step back and laughs. “Oh, yeah. Definitely do that.”

“Why can't you tell me what we're doing?” I ask as I open the medicine cabinet, locating the pink toothbrush I leave here for sleepovers.

“Because this is the sort of thing you just need to see.” He crosses his arms. “And if you don't make it quick, it's going to be too late.”

I slow the movement of my brushing and raise an eyebrow at him. His jaw clenches and his eyes narrow. They're so green I can't help but stare back into them, and for a second I forget what I'm supposed to be doing.

“Never mind,” he says with a shake of his head, turning down the hall for the stairs.

“Chill out, Jesse. I'm coming.” I rinse quickly and rush after him. “I didn't know you were so easily flustered.”

Without a word, he leads me out the back, past the pool and across the yard to the shed where the equipment is kept. And grown-up toys. Several four-wheelers are lined up alongside a tractor. Jesse climbs on the dark green one and starts it with the push of a button. The roar echoes loudly against the metal walls and ceiling as he drives it out the main door to where I'm standing, and I refrain from covering my ears. He's been vexed with me enough already this morning.

“What's with the face?” He brings the vehicle to a stop in front of me.

Don't whine, don't whine
. I swallow back a wave of fear. “Am I . . . driving one of these? Because I don't even have a ca—”

He pats the small space on the seat just behind him. Emphasis on
small
. There would be touching if I sat there. Lots of touching.

“Oh.” I take a step back toward the shed. “Where are the helmets?”

Laughter is not the answer I expect, but it's the one I get.

“Why is that funny?” I scold. “Are you afraid to mess up your perfect hair for the sake of safety? I'm not afraid to wear one.” I raise my head higher to prove that I'm above such vanity.

Of course, he laughs even harder. “Maddie. We aren't racing. We won't be hitting any jumps, I won't pop any wheelies. We're not even going to leave the property.”

I bite at my bottom lip, considering his assurances.

“You can trust me.” His mouth forms that whisper of a smirk I'm beginning to think of as his signature expression.

“Trust you with my unhelmeted head? I'm still getting to know you,” I say as I sit behind him, cringing as my legs press against his hips. And now I'm staring at his thighs, his athletic shorts riding up and exposing more of his skin than I've seen. Those quad muscles are just unbelievable. My stupid weakness for strong legs.

“You know enough.”

Jesse pushes on the throttle, and my body gets thrown backward. Reflexively, I reach for him to steady myself. He straightens as my fingers dig into his sides.

“You can retract the claws.” With the hand that's not controlling the gas, he adjusts my death grip a bit lower. Closer to the thighs. “You're not gonna fall off.”

Past the lush, manicured lawn of the backyard, he steers through a patch of overgrown weeds, some of them rising high above our heads. Something pokey reaches out from the ground and scrapes at my shin, and a group of winged, mothy things escape our path.