It's a Mall World After All (5 page)

Colton guided me to a chair. I sat in it and glared up at him. From across the room I could see Candy talking with the same group of friends and glancing in our direction. All of them giggled. I simultaneously wondered what they said and didn't want to know. I wished I could just go home, but I had to get proof on Bryant's cheating first.

I smiled up at Colton. "Okay, I feel better. Thanks for your help. You can go now."

He stood in front of me as though ready to grab me should I make a break for it. "You still look pink."

"Maybe that's because I'm getting angry at you for making me sit in this chair."

"I'm thinking of your health."

"No, you're thinking of Bryant outside with Shelby and what's going to happen when I catch them to­gether." I took my camera phone out of my pocket and held it up for him to see. "You'll have a harder time explaining away their meeting this time."

He threw up his hands and let out a grunt of frustration. "Why do you have it out for Bryant?"

"Oh. Let me think really hard about this one. Maybe because he's cheating on my best friend?"

"He's not cheating on Brianna."

"If you don't have anything to hide, then why won't you let me go outside and see for myself?"

Colton put his hands on his hips. His eyes glittered in that dangerous underworld spy way. "He's not cheating on Brianna. Can't you just believe me about that?"

"Believe you? Colton, you're the guy who just told me your father is a doctor."

He shook his head and took a slow step toward me. I could catch a faint whiff of his cologne. "You know, for someone who's so pretty, you're way too sarcastic."

"And for someone who's so smart, you're way too—" I snapped my gaze to a place behind Colton's shoulder, pretending to see something. "Oh, there's Bryant and Shelby now."

My words did the trick. Colton's head spun around, and while he searched the club floor I jumped out of the chair and dashed past him. "Gullible," I called over my shoulder. "Way too gullible."

Okay. There are many reasons why girls shouldn't wear high heels. One of them is that they slow you down when you race across a club floor or try to outmaneuver waiters who've brought in fruit trays. I just want to make it clear that bumping into the waiter wasn't really my fault. I would have made it past him if he hadn't suddenly changed directions to avoid me while I simultaneously changed directions to avoid him.

I slammed into his chest, and the tray flew out of his hands, sending fruit chunks sailing across the room like edible confetti. Some of it landed harmlessly on the floor and windows; but unfortunately, most of it splattered into a group of Candy's friends, who all started needlessly shrieking. I mean, it was pineapple, not live tarantulas. And okay, watermelon in your hair is never going to look attractive, but it's not like it doesn't wash out.

Somewhere between the time I smacked into the waiter and the time I lost my balance and rolled across the floor, my cell phone flew out of my hand. I didn't see where it went. At that point I was more interested in peeling myself off the floor and wiping raspberries off of my face.

Colton held his hand down to help me up, which would have been very gentlemanly if he hadn't laughed while he did it. "Are you all right?" he asked.

How do you answer that question when the entire room is looking at you and you have fruit chunks stuck on your sweater? "Probably," I said.

He held on to my arm as though I might try to dart off again. "Don't slip. The floor's wet." And then he chuckled under his breath again.

Candy walked over to us, a smile wedged onto her lips despite the fact that she was clearly gritting her teeth. "Are you hurt?" she asked me.

"No." I ignored Colton, who'd started pulling fruit pieces out of my hair.

"Oh, good." Candy gripped the glass in her hand. The smile stayed on her lips, but her words came out in a tight rhythm. "I don't know what the waiter was thinking of, jumping in front of you that way. I mean, certainly he should have anticipated that you were suddenly going to pop up and tear across the room like it had caught on fire."

"Sorry," I said.

"No, no, it wasn't your fault. They're supposed to be trained to deal with anything. Even . . ." her words trailed off as though she didn't have the heart to tell me what "even" was. She let out a low sigh. "Well, I suppose it's time to move to the dance floor anyway. You might want to"—her eyes traveled up and down the length of my fruit crusted outfit and she grimaced—"freshen up a bit beforehand."

Which made me doubly glad I'd turned down her offer of a pashmina.

Colton picked the last of the fruit from my hair. "I think Charlotte should go home and change before the dance. I mean, no one wants to be sticky all night."

"I'm fine," I said.

"I can drive you home. It's not a problem," Colton added.

I swiped remnants of cantaloupe off my sweater. "Really. A few paper towels will take care of this." I scanned the floor for signs of my cell phone, but didn't see it anywhere.

"I insist," Colton said. "You don't want watermelon juice covering you. It'll make a mess of anything you touch in the club."

I knew he'd won as soon as he said this. After all, I couldn't eat Candy's decorations, hurl fruit at her guests, and then make everything that I touched sticky. Still, I didn't say anything. I stood there trying to think of some way I could borrow a camera phone and get outside before Colton had a chance to warn Bryant. I bet you every single one of Candy's guests had camera phones on them—if only I could think of a way to borrow one.

Candy's grip on her glass loosened. "Char, it's very sweet of Colton to offer to take you home. And if you get back soon, you can join us at the dance." She twirled the stem of her glass between her fingers, giving us a knowing look. "And if you find something else to do instead, well, I'll understand."

Colton raised an eyebrow like he didn't quite understand but was beginning too. "Thanks," he said.

I couldn't meet Candy's gaze, and I certainly wasn't going to look anywhere in the vicinity of Colton's face. I looked at the floor and the smashed fruit lying around. "I dropped my cell phone somewhere," I protested weakly. "I can't just leave it."

Candy gave my shoulder a pat, which almost immediately turned into a push in Colton's direction. "When the
staff
finds it, I'll have them return it to you. It's all right to leave."

I had no choice. I let Colton lead me out of the resort and into his convertible. Thankfully, he had the top up. I didn't want to add the windblown look to my already pathetic hair.

We drove silently for a few minutes, then he took his cell phone from his pocket and placed a call. "Hi, this is Colton." He glanced at me and lowered his voice. "Hey, I had to leave the party suddenly."

A pause.

"I'll be back. There was a little accident, and I have to take Charlotte home to change her clothes." Another pause. His voice grew even softer. "Yes, Charlotte."

"Hi, Bryant!" I yelled, just to be obnoxious.

"I'll talk to you later," Colton said, then snapped the phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket.

"Nice way to warn him," I said.

Colton looked straight ahead at the road and didn't answer.

I gripped and ungripped the armrest. "How can you sit there and help Bryant cheat on Brianna? I thought you were better than that." He said something under his breath, which I couldn't quite hear, but which may have been more commands to his invisible dog. He slowed the car down, pulled into a grocery store parking lot, and killed the ignition. Then he turned to me. "We need to talk."

"Fine." I pressed my back against the passenger-side door to put as much distance between us as possible. "Talk."

Even though the car no longer moved, he gripped the steering wheel with one hand. "Would you please stop trying to break up Bryant and Brianna?"

"Me?" I sputtered. "Me? Do you realize Brianna is sitting home right now crocheting a love afghan for your best friend while he's off sharing stuffed mushrooms with another girl?"

Colton let out a sigh like he couldn't believe how unreasonable I was being, and leaned closer to me. "Bryant really likes Brianna. He's crazy about her. When Bryant talks about his future, Brianna is always a part of it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes. You're saying Bryant's the type of guy who wants to eat his cake and have his stuffed mushrooms too."

"No, that's not it." He threw one hand up in the air. "Look, if you want to be mad at someone be mad at me. This is my fault. I set up the meeting with Bryant and Shelby at the mall. I insisted he come with me tonight."

"Okay, so you're a jerk too, but that still doesn't change Bryant's behavior. Now can you take me home?" I ran my hand across the front of my new sweater. "Raspberry juice stains if you don't get it out right away."

The muscles in Colton's jaw tightened. "If you stopped accusing me long enough to hear what I'm saying, you'd see there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this."

I folded my arms and waited for him to continue. "This is the way it is," he said. "Shelby's father is one of the football coaches at Stanford. Bryant wants to go to Stanford and already has a spot on the football team as a walk-on, but he doesn't have the money to pay the tuition. He does have a chance at a football scholarship. A lot of colleges want him. A few have even made him offers. He wants Stanford to make him an offer. Shelby can help him with that." Colton held up a hand as though taking an oath. "That's all that's going on."

"You're trying to get Shelby to convince her dad to give Bryant a football scholarship?"

"Right." Colton leaned forward again. "We haven't actually asked her yet. I figure she has to get to know Bryant better before we hit her up for that. But you see, he isn't really cheating on Brianna at all."

"He's just using Shelby," I finished.

"No, it's not like that. He's not going to ask her out or lead her on or anything. He's networking. Bryant's just forming a friendship that will help his future and thus help Brianna too."

"And the flirting?"

"He isn't flirting with Shelby." I rolled my eyes.

"Being friendly is not the same as flirting," he said.

"And I can tell the difference between the two," I said.

He let out a grunt of disbelief. "I don't see how you could, since you never do either."

Like he'd know. Like he even cared whether I flirted with anyone.

"Look," Colton went on, "Shelby is the kind of girl who likes to get attention from guys—"

"Meaning she's a flirt," I said.

"But she does that with everybody. It doesn't mean a thing. And Bryant is going to tell her tonight that he's got a girlfriend. There's nothing wrong going on."

I sat back against my seat and surveyed him. "You don't consider it wrong to use people to get money for college? You don't consider it wrong for Bryant to tell Brianna he's going to a wedding reception when he's really going to a party to meet another girl?" I didn't even mention the rest. I couldn't bring myself to tell Colton about Brianna's don't-make-me-choose speech or my fears that Bryant was pulling her away from me anyway.

Colton held out a hand as though trying to show me his logic. "He needs to get into a good college if he's going to be able to support himself, doesn't he? If he and Brianna ever got married, you wouldn't want her to have to live in some run-down ghetto, would you?"

And anyone who didn't go to Stanford would obviously be doomed to such a fate. I almost pointed out that neither of my parents went to Stanford, but then didn't. If Colton considered my neighborhood as proof he was right, I didn't want to hear about it.

Colton reached over and turned the ignition back on as though he'd won the debate and the conversation was over.

He pulled onto the road, and I watched buildings and streetlamps go by while his words swirled around in my mind. "So you think the ends justifies the means. Typical utilitarian thinking. Honesty doesn't matter. The action with the best consequences for you is the right thing to do. You're so . . ." The frustration slowed my thinking process, and the word I wanted remained filed away in the vocabulary section of my brain. I shut my eyes as though this would help. It didn't. "I can't think of the right word."

He leaned back in his seat. "Look, you're a smart girl. You realize people need quality education to get ahead in this world. You don't want to spend the rest of your life spraying perfume on people, do you?"

"Condescending.
That's the word. Thanks for the help. You're such a condescending elitist." Sitting with one arm draped across the steering wheel of his sports car, wearing a Rolex, he rolled his eyes at me.

"There's nothing wrong with my job," I said.

"Right, Charlotte. Can you even afford to buy any of that perfume you spray on wealthy women's wrists?"

I gritted my teeth. "I don't need to buy overpriced perfume to smell nice, Colton. I've discovered a magical invention called soap. It does a fine job of making me smell good."

He pulled up in front of my house and smirked at me. "Okay, why don't you go use some of that magical invention right now and see if it does the trick?" He held up a strand of my hair, and then let it drop again. "You're hair is crunchy."

I opened the car door and stepped out without telling him good-bye. I'd walked halfway to my front porch before I realized he was coming with me. I'd expected him to wait in his car. Suddenly I had all sorts of anxiety about my house in general, my living room in particular, and which of my little sisters were roaming around dirty, half-dressed, or looking for trouble.

I have three younger sisters. I sort of think my parents tried for a boy, but they won't admit this to us. "We just feel so blessed to have four girls," my mom will say when questioned about the situation.

"None of whom like football, camping, or NASCAR," my dad will grumble under his breath until my mom swats him. Then Dad will put on a smile and tell us, "No, really, I look forward to paying for four weddings," and "I'm nearly immune to all the hormones."