What You Always Wanted (34 page)

I can't help what comes out of my mouth. “Wow, you really are thick.”

Angela jabs my side with her elbow. I give her a look that says
What? I thought you were letting him have it! This is your chance! Tell hiiiim!

Nothing.

“I think it just got too awkward in here for me,” Tiffany says with uncomfortable laughter, grabbing her tray and looking to Angela. “I'm going to my advisory period. See y'all.”

Angela glances from Tiffany to Red to me, then to her half-eaten lunch. She follows Tiffany without another word.

“You really are pathetic, you know that?” I begin.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He takes a sip of his Dr Pepper, careful not to look me in the eye. He's
so
not an actor.

Kids start filtering out of the cafeteria. I'm running out of time.

“I think you're scared.”

“I ain't scared of nothing,” Red says, turning on his Southern charms. He shuffles the chicken tenders on his plate.

“You are,” I insist, tossing my food back into my lunch box. “The possibility of a real and happy relationship is right there, and you're just—”

“Right where?” This playing dumb thing is the opposite of endearing.

“It's right in front of you!” I resist reaching across the table to smack the top of his head. “Please tell me you're not as stupid as I think you might actually be.”

He presses his lips together and glances at the passing students carrying their trays to the trash. “I can't.”

I fold my arms over my lunch box, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I know who you're talking about, and of course I've thought about it.” He adjusts the collar on his blue polo shirt. “But I've known her my whole life.”

“And that's bad, why?”

“I don't know how to make the switch. She's always just been Jesse's little sister, and all of the sudden I'm supposed to make out with her. Won't it be weird?”

Now I'm looking around to see who's within earshot. Thankfully the room is nearly cleared out. “It won't be weird if you like her.”

“I do, I just . . .” He shakes his head and stands, gathering his trash and turning to leave. “Jesse would beat the crap out of me.”

“He would not. Look, all I'm saying is . . . my best friend deserves to know the guy she likes actually cares about her.”

“Maddie.” His Adam's apple bobs. “I appreciate you trying to help me here”—he throws an arm casually over my shoulders —“but don't you think maybe you should work at repairing your own broken relationship before you start playing cupid? I mean, I know Valentine's Day is coming up and all, but—”

“I don't know why I even bother.” I smack him on top of the head and leave him alone by the trash cans.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It's never really bothered me that my birthday's on Valentine's Day. It's like a double party—double the gifts, double the cards, and double the candy. And I've never cared that I didn't have a valentine.

But this year, no amount of conversation hearts can sweeten my mood. I had my valentine all lined up, and I couldn't even hang on to him for more than a month. Whatever. The varsity baseball team is out of town, so I wouldn't have gotten to see Jesse today anyway. Though a “Happy Birthday” text would have been nice. Unless he forgot.

And now I'm just depressed. I hurt him. I was the problem. Me. Anything I say to him now to try to get him back will just sound like a load. No. I need to figure me out first. Me first, boys second.

At least my family still loves me, even after the attitude I gave
them throughout most of Ma's pregnancy. Rider's missing—he called, though, which was nice—but Christopher is home and getting stronger every day, and it's good to have the family at home to celebrate with me. Dad whipped up his famous lasagna—the only thing he knows how to make—and Ma taught herself how to make cake balls—a miniature kitchen disaster, but still tasty. Presents include a one hundred dollar gas card, a sterling-silver star charm on a dainty chain necklace, and an authentic vintage poster of
Desk Set
, one of my favorite Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy films.

“Birthday girl.” Dad sticks one of the gift bows to the top of my head as he clears the table and throws the wrapping paper into the trash. “One more year and you'll be an adult!”

“Oh, no,” Ma says, reaching for another cake ball. “We're not talking about that.”

There's a knock on the door, so soft I almost don't hear it.

Ma perks up in her chair. “Well, I wonder who
that
could be,” she says, as if she somehow knows exactly who it could be.

My heart swells with hope that Jesse is standing on my porch, arms full of flowers and a sign that says I'M AN IDIOT. I'M SORRY. I LOVE YOU. BE MINE.

I scramble from the table and dash for the door, hiding my disappointment from Angela that her brother is nowhere to be seen. Hello. He's playing baseball.

And I'm working on me.

“Happy birthday, beautiful!” Angela exclaims, tossing a handful of paper confetti high into the air over our heads. “And look.” She points next to her left eye to a glittery red star outlined in black. “We match!”

“Love it!” I brush confetti off my shoulders and take the bow out of my hair. “Do you want to come in? We were just gorging ourselves on cake-ball experiments.”

“Nope,” she says, rising to her toes in excitement. “I've come to take you
out
.”

“Out? Where?”

“I can't tell you that. It'll ruin the surprise,” she pouts. “But we need to go, like, now. They're waiting.” She claps a hand over her mouth. “I've said too much already! Get your purse, and let's go!”

“Well . . .” I glance back at my parents in the dining room, smiling and chatting with each other. “I was sort of hanging out with my family. Let me ask if they mind—” I pause at the devious smile that creeps across her face. “They already know?”

She hops down the steps and heads toward her bright yellow Beetle. “Your chariot awaits!”

“The playhouse?”

We pull into a reserved front-row spot in an otherwise full parking lot.

“What's going on here tonight?” I ask, getting out of the car and straightening my sweater. A few stray circles of confetti fall to the ground. “I've worked here every day after school this week, and I never heard one peep about a Valentine's Day event.”

She holds the front door of the playhouse open for me. “Valentine's shmalentines.”

“Happy birthday, Maddie!” shout the combined voices of Tiffany, Sarah, Ryan, and Brian, all with stars on their cheeks.

“You guys are so cute!” I hug each of them, refusing to let my eyes water, because that would be silly. I don't need Jesse here. I have the best friends in the world, and I'm going to be fine.

“Maddie!” Elise bounds between Tiffany and Sarah, a hot-pink feather boa in her hands. “It's your birthday so you have to wear this!”

“Aww, I would love to!” I bend down for her to wrap it around my neck.

“Now you're ready,” Elise says, grabbing my hand.

“For?”

The boys open the main double doors to the theatre, and the place is packed. I recognize a few kids from school on the aisle, but there are a lot of adults, mostly couples, I notice. The smell of fresh popcorn hits my nose and makes my mouth water. Brian hands me a red-and-white-striped bag, popcorn still warm inside.

“What's going on?”

Angela bends down to Elise. “Run and go sit with Mom.”

Elise hugs my legs before she scampers off, and Angela points to the stage, leading our group down the aisle to our row in the middle of the middle, my favorite seat anywhere. In front of the curtain, the giant white pull-down screen used to project announcements before a show displays a graphic with shimmery stars and pink curly font that says
Happy 17th Birthday, Maddie!

I gape at the full house and whisper, “Surely all these people aren't here for me. I don't know most of them!”

“Think of it as a little private viewing party,” Tiffany says, pouring a bag of M&M's over her popcorn. “Some Valentine's
Day fun for some of our friends, and maybe their friends, and maybe their parents and some of their parents' friends,” she adds with a laugh.

“But if it weren't also your birthday, this wouldn't be happening.” Angela reaches across me for the box of Milk Duds that Sarah's holding hostage.

“I don't even know what to say,” I say through an exhale, staring up at my name on the gigantic screen. “What happens next?”

The house lights dim, and there's a frantic shuffling throughout the theatre as people open their candy wrappers and shift in their seats, preparing to be entertained. The graphic on the screen disappears, replaced by MGM's roaring lion logo, and as a very familiar string melody plays through the speakers all around me, my heart sprouts wings. The screen changes. Three black umbrellas hide three figures in rain slickers. One by one, names appear in yellow overtop the umbrellas:
Gene Kelly, Donald O'Connor, Debbie Reynolds.

They pivot, and they sing. In the rain.

I can't hold in the tears this time. I'm sitting in the middle of a packed theatre, watching one of my favorite movies of all time on a huge screen, with surround sound. And popcorn.

I sense Angela staring at me just before she nudges me in the arm. “You said it was tragic you'd never get to see any of your favorite movies on the big screen.”

This thought runs through my head every day, but I don't remember telling her in those words. But I did tell—

“I have a confession to make,” she whispers close to my ear as the opening number continues. “As much as I'd like to take credit for all of this, it wasn't my idea. It was Jesse's.”

My eyes flood, throat tight. “Why would he do all of this for me?” I swipe my cheek with the back of my hand. “He doesn't want me anymore.”

“I don't think that's true,” she says, giving my arm a reassuring pat. “He's just a baby sometimes. He's under a lot of pressure, and I don't think he knows how to handle it.”

“Clearly,” I bite through a trembling bottom lip.

“Just give him time.” She slips her hand into mine and squeezes. “I think you both just need to take some time. Know what I mean?”

I nod, thinking about how time changes things. How it's changed me since I got here, barely six months ago. I've grown to love our small cozy house, and I've gained a new brother who I would already do anything for. I'm closer to my parents and somehow closer to my big brother, even being several hours away. I've finally found the set of friends I believe I was always meant to find. The kind of friends who would paint stars on their faces and organize a private Valentine's-birthday viewing of
Singin' in the Rain
.

I may be a little confused about my future, but I've got time to figure it out. Time. I just need to give it time.

“Yes,” I say, clenching her hand in return before reaching into my bag of popcorn. “I know what you mean.”

As the movie plays on, I find myself watching the audience just as much as the screen, relishing their reactions, their expressions that prove they're invested in the story, in the characters. They laugh at all the right places, and even some places I didn't realize were funny. Sharing this movie with them, it's like I'm seeing everything in a new perspective. So many people seem turned
off by the idea of older movies, so much so they don't even give them a chance, but I always knew the heart and the comedy of the classics could translate, and I'm seeing it in this audience. Right here, right now. I've never had a better birthday present.

The screen goes black, the crowd applauds, and I sit in awe of it all and do the one thing I've been thinking about doing all night. I pull my phone out of my pocket and open a new text message to Jesse.