Magnolia (28 page)

“I guess this tumor and the surgery and everything has given me a new perspective on things. And besides, Dean and I have been talking a lot lately.”

“Dean Somers?” I ask. Dean was her on-and-off high-school boyfriend. They'd broken up during her senior year, when he was a freshman at Ole Miss and cheated on her at a frat party.

“Yeah. Dean's graduating in the spring and starting grad school, getting an apartment off campus. And, well, we were thinking . . . you know.” She shrugs.

I eye her suspiciously. “You were thinking
what
?”

“That maybe I'd move in with him.”

“You would
do
that?” I ask, unable to disguise the incredulity in my voice.

She chews on her lower lip before answering me. “Okay, maybe not now,” she says at last. “But I want to be there in Oxford with him. One thing I've learned from all of this is that life is fragile. I mean, when Patrick went out to make that beer run, do you think he was thinking, ‘This could be it for me'? I'm telling you, Jemma—you've got to decide what you want and go for it. You never know how much time you've got left. It's like that song—how does it go? ‘We might not get tomorrow'?”

“I didn't know you listen to Pitbull,” I say with a smile.

“I didn't know
you
did,” she shoots back.

“Hey, what can I say? He's Mr. Worldwide.” Behind me, my phone buzzes with a new text.

Nan looks around me suspiciously. “Why are you hiding your cell phone under your pillow?”

Busted.
“Because I thought you were Mama,” I answer truthfully.

“And you didn't want her to know . . . what?”

I exhale slowly, trying to decide how much to reveal to her. I reach for my phone and drag it out. “You kind of caught me and Ryder texting.”

“You and Ryder? Why is that a secret? Wait—do you mean you two were
sexting
?”

“Oh my God! No. Eww!” That's just so . . . tacky.

She shrugs. “Well, then, what's the big deal?”

I realize there's only one way to make her understand what a huge, enormous, monumental deal it is—I have to tell her the truth.

So I do.

When I'm finished, Nan just smiles and says, “It's about damn time you put that boy out of his misery. He's only been in love with you since . . . well, since forever.”

I roll my eyes. “No, you've got it backward. We've
hated
each other since forever.”

“Love, hate,” she says with a smile. “Such a fine line between the two, isn't there?”

And you know what? I realize then that she's right.

F
riday's football game is the last of the regular season. Afterward, we all go out for pizza. Ryder and I don't get a chance to be alone—not once. Which might be a good thing, since I'm still not sure what's going on between us exactly. Lucy and Morgan are sleeping over, so we ride back to my house together, all piled into my little Fiat.

When we pull up, I'm surprised to see Laura Grace's car there. It's late, and Laura Grace is
not
a night person. Which can mean only one thing—something's up. My stomach plummets as I consider the possibility that maybe they somehow
know
.

The house is unusually quiet when we step inside. I send Morgan and Lucy up to my room to get changed out of their cheerleading uniforms while I tiptoe around downstairs,
looking for Mama and Laura Grace. It doesn't take me long to find them. They're in the kitchen, their usual hangout spot, with the door closed. And, okay . . . I know it's a terrible thing to do, but I lurk outside the door, eavesdropping. I've got to know what's going on, in case I'm about to get ambushed or something.

So, I lean my ear against the door—this is the tricky part, because it's a swinging door—and listen.

“I just can't believe Rob would do this,” comes Laura Grace's sniffly voice. Clearly, she's crying. “The both of them, going behind my back.”

“Just because a scout came to the game—”

“You don't understand, Shelby. This . . . this is, like, the final step in the recruitment process. The man came all the way from New York to watch him play! He's here to finalize the deal.”

“And Ryder's already had his transcripts sent there? His SAT scores and everything?”

“Apparently. Which means this has been in the works for months, and no one even bothered to tell me. And then they're both like, ‘Oh, by the way . . .' ” Her voice breaks on a sob. “How could they do this to me?”

Mama makes comforting noises, and then I hear her sigh. “I just don't understand why Ryder would want to play for a school like Columbia when he could have his pick of SEC schools.
Real
football schools.”

Columbia?
What the
hell
are they talking about? Columbia's in New York City. Ryder's not going to school in New York City. If he were—if there was even a remote possibility—he would have told me.

Right? I mean, after I poured my guts out to him, telling him how I wanted to go to NYU, it seems like that would have been the perfect opening for him to have said, “Hey, guess what? Me too.”

But he didn't. He didn't even mention it, not once. I need to talk to him.
Now
.

Moving on silent feet, I hurry back upstairs. Morgan and Lucy have changed into pj's and are lying on my bed, both of them doing something on their cell phones.

“I need you two to cover for me,” I say before I've really thought it through.

Lucy sits up with a start. “Cover for you?”

“I . . . yeah.”
What do I tell them?
“I need to slip out for a little bit, that's all.”

“Slip out where?” Morgan asks, still typing furiously on her phone.

Oh my God. I've got to tell them. They're my best friends. How can I
not
tell them? Especially considering the fact that I need them to cover for me so that I can go yell at someone else I consider a friend for
not
telling me something. So ironic, right?

“I need to go talk to Ryder,” I say as I quickly tap out a text message.
Meet me at the ruins. Fifteen minutes.
“And I know you have a million questions and that I shouldn't just run out without answering them first, but I promise that I will the second I get back, okay?”

“Well, what are we supposed to tell your mom if she comes looking for you?”

“It doesn't really matter, as long as you don't mention Ryder. Say . . . say that I'm outside. That I left something in the car,” I suggest, even though I know it's a lame excuse.

“I'm confused,” Morgan says, finally setting her phone aside. “Why do you need to go see Ryder? Besides, if your mom knew that's where you were going, she'd probably throw a party, not freak out. Wait . . .” Her expression shifts dramatically, her eyes widening. “Oh my God! That's
why
you don't want her to know! Because you and Ryder . . .” She glances over at Lucy, waiting for her to make the mental leap.

“Jemma and Ryder what?
What?
” Lucy looks from me to Morgan and back to me again. And then I see it—comprehension lights up her face. “Holy shit! No way! I mean, I know you went to homecoming together and everything, but I thought that was just . . . you know, as friends.”

“Yeah, I figured his mom made him take you, or—” Morgan stops short, as if she's just realized what she's said. “Something,” she finishes lamely.

“I'll tell you everything when I get back,” I say, glancing toward my closed door. “I doubt Mama will come looking for me, but if she does, say that I went outside to get something out of the car. That I
just
left. And then text me, okay?”

They nod in unison.

My phone beeps, and I glance down at the screen.

I'm on my way.

“Crap, I'm going to have to take a kayak.” I glance down with a frown, realizing I'm still in my uniform. Not the best kayaking attire, but my parents will surely hear the car.

Morgan shakes her head. “You can't kayak in the dark.”

“Of course I can. Full moon.” I tip my head toward the window. The curtains are drawn back, the bright moon framed in the panes of glass.

“You're crazy,” Lucy says with a scowl. “There're snakes in that creek.”

Don't I know it
. I shudder involuntarily.

“And God knows what else. Drive, okay?” Lucy reaches for my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “And then if your mom asks, we'll tell her that you had to run out to the drugstore. For . . . I dunno, tampons or something. I'll say I had a feminine emergency and that I'm real picky about what brand I use and that you don't have that kind, so . . .”

“So you went to get them for her,” Morgan finishes for her.

“Because you're such a good friend,” Lucy singsongs.

I consider my options. Mama and Laura Grace are so caught up in their conversation that she didn't even notice us come in. Why would she notice a car now, especially if I'm quiet? And if she does notice, well . . . Lucy's suggestion is a good one. It sounds like something Lucy would do, sending me out late at night on a drugstore run just because she didn't like my brand of tampons.

“Okay,” I say with a nod. “Stick to the tampon story, but text me if she comes looking.”

“Well, go on, then,” Lucy says, shooing me toward the door. “You're making your mama's dreams come true, girlfriend.”

“I know,” I say. “And that's exactly why she's
not
going to find out about it.”

*  *  *

I park my car around the back of Magnolia Landing, hidden in the shadows of an old oak dripping Spanish moss. It's a short walk from there to the ruins. Ryder's already there, waiting for me. He's leaning against one of the crumbling walls, staring out into the night. He doesn't even turn at the sound of my approach.

Carefully picking my way across the bumpy path, I move to stand directly in front of him. He meets my gaze but remains silent.

You know that stereotype about redheads and tempers? Well, in my case, it happens to be true. I'm not exactly sure
why, but I'm so angry that my breath is coming in shallow pants, stars seeming to dance in front of my eyes.

“I was going to tell you,” he says at last. “I swear I was. This wasn't how I meant for you to find out.”

“Oh, yeah?” I spit out. “
When
were you going to tell me, Ryder?”

“I didn't know that scout was coming tonight,” he says, skirting around the question. “As soon as I found out, I tried to find you, but the game was about to start and you were already on the field. And then . . . you were with Morgan and Lucy after.”

I shake my head. “Don't you get it? You just sat there and let me go on and on about film school in New York, and not once did you even mention Columbia. I can maybe see why you wouldn't have during the storm. But after? I thought that we were . . . that you and I . . .” I trail off miserably. “I guess I was wrong.” I turn and stalk off toward my car.

“You don't understand,” he calls out after me. And then he's there beside me, reaching for my arm.

I shrug him off. “What don't I understand? That you're a jackass? Because trust me, I understand that just fine.”

“So that's it?” He folds his arms across his chest. “You're just going to storm off like you always do? You're not even going to hear me out?”

“Fine.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Let's hear it, then. This should be good.”

“God, Jemma.” He rolls his eyes. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

“Oh,
I'm
making it difficult?” I start to walk away, but then turn back to face him again. “You know what? I am
so
done with you.”

He advances on me, closing the distance between us in two long strides. “How 'bout this?
I'm
done with
you
. If you're too blind to see what's going on here, then that's your fucking problem, not mine.”

“Fine!” I shout, shoving him hard against the chest with both hands.

He takes one step back, both hands held up in surrender. “Fine.”

For several seconds, we stand there staring each other down. Anger radiates off the both of us in waves, crackling like electricity.

And then . . . he sort of staggers back. All his swagger, his bravado, crumbles away in a split second, just like that. “Why do we keep doing this? Yelling at each other like this?”

I let out my breath in a huff. “Because you always piss me off, that's why, acting all smug and superior.”