What You Always Wanted (21 page)

After a deep inhale, he closes his eyes and mutters, “This is going to be so much work.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Now that we're talking again, I have my after-school driver back until the end of this year. In January, Jesse has practice with the baseball team after school, but Angela will be done with volleyball so she'll chauffeur me around until I'm able to afford my own set of wheels—a slowgoing effort. Hard to save much working part-time at $7.50 an hour.

I don't love being dependent on other people for rides. Even though it's handy that my current carpool driver is also my instructor for my super-secret dance lessons twice a week.

We pull out of the school parking lot and head in the opposite direction from the playhouse.

“Wait, where are we going?” I ask, my legs bouncing in anticipation of getting to practice.

“Miss O's” is all he says.

“Who?” I slouch in my seat, wondering why he didn't just drop me off first.

“It's a cupcake place.”

“Cake?” I exclaim, my mood brightening. “This isn't some kind of trick, is it? You can't joke about cake with me.”

“No tricks,” he says through a laugh. “I have to pick up an order for my mom and bring it to the playhouse.”

The small cupcakery, a cheerfully decorated space of pink and turquoise, is crammed in a busy shopping center not too far from the high school. The sweet aroma energizes me as soon as we walk in the door. I rush to the display case to ogle the miniature cakes swirled high with frosting and sprinkled with colored sugars or chocolate chips. I want them all.

“What's their best flavor?” I ask as he rings the bell on the counter.

“I usually get vanilla,” Jesse says.

I scrunch my nose at him. “You would.”

An employee comes out from the back, pulling an apron over her head. “What can I get y'all?”

“Just picking up an order for Sherri Morales.”

I frown when the girl turns to find it. “You do realize I want one, right?”

He laughs. “I do now.”

The girl slides the box of mini cupcakes onto the counter. “Anything else?”

“Do you have a yellow cupcake with chocolate on top?” Jesse asks.

I gape at him. That's exactly what I was scanning the case for but couldn't find. My absolute favorite.

She shakes her head. “No, but we have lemon poppy seed.” She points to it, then to another. “Or maybe you'd like the chocolate with chocolate frosting?”

He shrugs. “Vanilla's fine.”

I order red velvet and Jesse pays for both of ours.

“Thanks,” I say. “I'll get the next one. Now that I know this place is here, we're coming back. And soon.”

I hover my face over the plate to inhale the goodness as I head for the bar table along the front window.

Jesse takes the stool next to me and picks at the white icing of his cupcake with a plastic fork. “Sorry you won't get as much time to dance today. I know you need the practice.”

“Oh, don't even!” I resist smacking him upside the head. No matter how true his words are, he better be joking. “We'll just have to make up the time the day after tomorrow.” I take a bite of the moist red cake and suppress an embarrassing sound of enjoyment.

“Fine.” He flits his hand in the air like he's tired of the subject.

“Do you think red velvet is really just chocolate cake with red food coloring?” I ask.

He glances at my plate before he says, “How should I know?” Abandoning his fork, he picks up his cupcake with his fingers. His mouth is open as wide as it can get, but the tower of icing heads straight for his nose.

“Just trying to make conversation. If you'd rather sit here in silence like we do on most of our rides home, fine by me.” I swivel my stool at a slight angle away from him.

In my periphery I see the entire hunk of icing fall down to his plate. I risk a glance and laugh at him.

“Finally something he can't do.”

“It just fell off.”

“Elise could eat that with less of a mess.” I snatch a napkin from the dispenser and hand it to him, motioning toward his upper lip.

He misses a glob on his nose, which shimmers with sugar crystals. “This is a sissy dessert, anyway.”

“You poor cupcake-challenged boy.” I grab another napkin and help him.

He jerks his head away, and I end up smearing the icing down his cheek.

“Would you just sit still?”

I swipe at the streak with a finger, accidentally grazing the corner of his mouth. Our eyes meet, and my mind jumps to Halloween, the last time we looked so closely at each other.

His cell phone rings, thankfully snapping me out of any swoony thoughts I had at the memory of our kiss. The kiss I keep trying not to count but can't forget.

He pulls it out of his pocket and answers. “Hey, Franklin. What's up?”

I nearly snort. “There's a person named Franklin?” I ask so only Jesse can hear.

He smiles and twists the phone away from his mouth. “Last name,” he whispers to me before saying, “She dumped you? Oh, man, that's lame,” to whoever Franklin is.

I try to tune out the tough-guy style of consoling and focus on enjoying the last few bites of cream cheese icing. Most of his words blend in with the easy listening background music, but I
can't help hearing loud and clear when he says, “Girls are stupid, man. Not worth the effort.”

My chewing slows and my body feels heavy. He keeps chattering on, oblivious to my inner crisis.

I tell myself he's just feeding that Franklin kid lines, but it had to be in his head to say it in the first place. I don't know if he really feels that way himself, or if he took the opportunity to send me a hint, but I do know he just said one of the most unromantic things I've ever heard in my life.

I work extra hard at practice, maybe to prove to myself and to him that I'm worth the time he's spending to train me. He doesn't seem to notice my determination, but my body sure does. By bedtime, I'm babying a new blister and massaging my calves to keep them from cramping. But I shall not whine. I'm that much closer to having dancers' legs.

I click off my paper lantern creation above my bed and collapse onto the feather pillows, my new mantra repeating in my head:
Boys are stupid. Not worth the effort.

All boys except for one, who I can only dance with in my dreams.

I'm floating between awake and asleep when my phone vibrates from the nightstand.

Jesse:
You're mad again.

Me:
I'm asleep.

Jesse:
Obviously.

Me:
. . . ?

After a few minutes with no response, I hug my pillow, setting my mind on the ballet with Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse in
Singin' in the Rain
. It's one of my favorite scenes visually, a wide expanse of pastel pinks and purples, with Gene contrasting in all black. And it's all in his character's head. He knows he can't have the girl, but in his dreams, he sees them together. He fights with everything he has to show her he can be what she needs.

The long white veil from the top of my dress catches the breeze and floats behind me like a cape. I circle him and it clings to his body. He twists around and uses it to guide me against him, spinning and wrapping us both in the fabric.

Dropping to one knee, he leans me down across his leg, eyes studying my face.

Mine study him too. Deep brown eyes, tiny scar on his cheek, lips that part and—

My phone buzzes. Again. I consider throwing it against the wall.

Jesse:
Tell me what I did.

Me:
Gee. Could you have said something offensive, I wonder? You think girls are what, now?

Jesse:
I don't think you're stupid.

Me:
What a relief. I think I'm trying to sleep.

Jesse:
You know I was just saying what Franklin wanted to hear.

I roll my eyes, tapping a fingernail on the screen until I figure out what I want to say back.

Me:
Then you should have said that PARTICULAR girl, not “girls,” which is all-encompassing. I was sitting right there.

Jesse:
I just had to use my dictionary app. This further proves you are not stupid.

I turn onto my side and pull the sheet up over my smile, as if he can see.

Jesse:
So . . . we good?

And the smile's gone. The kiss is definitely not counting.

Me:
Was that an apology?

Jesse:
Yes.

Me:
Well it sucked. Add it to the list of things you have to make up to me.

Jesse:
There's a list? When will you decide I've appropriately rectified all of these wrongs?

Me:
Excellent use of that dictionary app.

Jesse:
Thank you.

Jesse:
That wasn't an answer.

Me:
I'll let you know when it happens.

Jesse:
I'll take the use of “when” as optimism.

Me:
Autocorrect. Should have been “if.” Good night.

Jesse:
Night.

Jesse:
And I'm sorry.

I return my phone to the nightstand and burrow under the covers. My mind speeds through the same dance scene to pick up where I left off, with me in place of Cyd, of course. But when I get to the part with the dipping and the kissing, Gene's also replaced.

With Jesse.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rica bursts through the door of the mock apartment onstage, in costume, and asks in a panic, “Are there M&M's in the greenroom?”

We're putting the finishing touches on the black box theatre before the opening of
Barefoot in the Park
tonight, and the prima donna is getting on everyone's last nerve. If Ryan gets through all three performances without wringing her neck, it will be a miracle.