Magnolia Page 7

  He eyes me sharply from across the table. “Seriously? That was months ago.”

  “Yeah, but . . . you know how parents are,” I offer lamely. The truth is, I wouldn’t get in a car with him behind the wheel even if my parents didn’t know. I’m not that stupid.

  “Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever.”

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Morgan says. “Lucy and I should meet up at your house, Jemma. We can say hi to Nan, and then we can ride over together.”

  “Yeah, I’ll stop by Ward’s and get some burgers on my way over,” Lucy offers.

  “Wait, you wanna eat burgers before a crawfish boil?” Morgan asks.

  “Heck yeah. Crawfish are too much work for not enough food. Better to go with a full belly.”

  Reluctantly, I nod. “Sounds like a plan.” It’s not that I don’t want to hang out with them—I do. It’s just that I feel guilty about leaving Nan. Of course, she’s spent most of her time alone in her room, listening to music and writing in her journal. I’ve tried to give her some space, but still . . . it’s comforting knowing that she’s there, just on the other side of the wall that separates our rooms.

  Besides, it somehow seems wrong to go out and have fun while your sister sits at home with a brain tumor, you know?

  * * *

  After school, I head straight to the barn. Daddy’s done teaching early on Thursdays, so he’s already there in his workshop, stripping the paint off an antique cabinet. A Hoosier cabinet, I think it’s called.

  “Hey,” he calls out over the blaring music. “You got a date with Delilah?”

  “Yup. That kind of day.” Ever since lunch, my head’s been a mess. I mean, I said I’d meet Patrick at the party on Saturday. Does that make it a date? Are we actually dating? After all, I’ve kissed him twice now—first at the historical society gala and then again on Friday night, when he’d walked me to my car after dinner. Both had been nice kisses. Keyword “nice”—as in, not earth-moving. No fireworks or anything like that. And besides that one film class we’d taken together, we pretty much have nothing in common. So what’s the point, really?

  Am I dating him just to have someone to go out with? Or is the attraction real? Honestly, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s the whole bad-boy thing—which I realize is beyond stupid. Besides, he’s not that bad of a boy. But he is the total opposite of Ryder, which means that going out with him is the complete opposite of what my family wants me to do. Maybe that’s it, then—a minor rebellion on my part.

  Daddy sets down his sander. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really,” I say. “I thought I’d take some targets outside today. Down by the creek. Want to come with me?”

  “Sure. Just let me put my things away. Can you get my Ruger out of the safe for me?”

  “Okay. I’ll get you a headset and goggles, too. Meet you outside in five?”

  He’s smiling now. “You got it, half-pint.”

  Ten minutes later, we’re down by the water, setting up the targets.

  “Hey, did you and Mama ever get a chance to look at the film school stuff I gave you?” I ask as we get everything moved into position. “You know, the NYU catalog and application materials?”

  His hand drops away from the target he’s straightening, and he turns to face me with drawn brows. “Honey, how can you even think about going off to New York now? With everything that’s going on with your sister?”

  I swallow hard. “But . . . I wouldn’t be going anywhere till next year. She’s . . . I mean, she’ll be fine by then, right?”

  He shakes his head. “I think you need to stick with the original plan, okay? State schools.”

  Silently, I nod. I can’t argue with him, not now. But I’m not ready to concede, either. I mean, what harm is there in applying? I sigh uneasily. Everything just seems so tumultuous and uncertain right now. Senior year isn’t supposed to feel like this. Or is it? It’s definitely not what I expected; that’s for sure. Somehow I expected all the pieces to start falling into place, the hazy vision of my future to begin to come into focus. Not this—confusion and doubt.

  “You ready?” Daddy asks, and my attention snaps back into focus.

  I tighten my grip on Delilah and take my place opposite my target. My dad moves beside me. I slip on my goggles and headset before taking a deep, calming breath—in through my nose, out through my mouth.

  Arms fully extended, I raise the pistol, my gaze trained on the spot I’m aiming for—a red circle the size of a quarter more than two dozen yards away. I take one more deep breath and manage to find my center, all extraneous thoughts gone from my head. It’s just Delilah and me now. When I squeeze the trigger, everything feels somehow right.

  Too bad it won’t last.

  ACT I

  Scene 9

  The fight started just minutes before we show up at the party on Saturday night. It’s immediately obvious that Tanner is getting the best of Mason, who already has a black eye and a bloodied lip by the time Lucy, Morgan, and I make our way across the grassy field and push through the gawking crowd.

  “What’s going on?” I ask no one in particular, shouting to be heard over the ruckus.

  “They were arguing about football, what else?” Jessica Addington says.

  “You know, about the game with West Lafayette,” Rosie adds, stepping up beside me. “Ryder said something that made Tanner mad, and he totally lost his shit and tried to get Ryder to fight. Ryder refused and walked off. And then, I don’t know, Tanner called Ryder a pussy, and Mason flipped him off. . . .” She trails off, shaking her head.

  “Next thing I know, Tanner went after Mason,” Jessica finishes for her. “Stupid football rivalry—makes the boys act like idiots.”

  Jessica’s on the cheerleading squad with us, and while I wouldn’t call her one of my BFFs, we are friends. I’m pretty sure she’s got a thing for Mason, which would explain the worry in her eyes when Tanner’s fist makes contact with Mason’s nose and blood gushes everywhere.

  “Somebody do something!” she cries, glancing around wildly, her dark ponytail smacking me in the face.

  “Ryder!” Rosie yells, her hands cupped around her mouth. “Where’d he go?”

  I spot Patrick off to my right, moving toward the flying fists. “Tanner! That’s enough, man.” He tugs ineffectually at the back of his collar in an effort to draw him off Mason’s prone form, but Tanner just continues throwing punches.

  I have to physically restrain Morgan from going to her twin’s rescue. Tanner’s totally out of control, and I don’t want her to get hurt. I tighten my grip on her arm, my fingernails digging into her skin.

  Finally, Ryder breaks through the crowd and steps into the fray. In a matter of seconds, he manages to pull Tanner off Mason and throw him to the ground a few feet away. He stands over him, his hands clenched into fists. “What the hell’s your problem, man?”

  Tanner’s half Ryder’s size—he was crazy to pick a fight with him to begin with. Maybe he’s thought better of it now, because he just lies there spent, panting.

  Now that Tanner’s been subdued, Morgan rushes toward her brother, kneeling beside him as she helps him to sit. Jessica hurries to his other side, handing him a wad of tissues.

  “Asshole!” Mason calls out as he presses the tissues to his nose.

  “You want more of this?” Tanner growls, but Ryder grabs him by one arm and drags him to his feet, pulling him away from the crowd. Ben follows behind.

  Patrick appears beside me. “Hey, Jem.” He drapes an arm across my shoulders. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to show. You almost missed the excitement.”

  “Is everyone going to just stand around and gawk, or is someone getting Mason some ice?” Lucy calls out.

  Jessica rises and jogs over to the cooler under the pavilion and fills a bag with ice. “Here you go,” she says breathlessly when she returns.

  I shrug out from under Patrick’s arm and join the crowd gathered around Mason. He looks terrible.
One eye is swollen shut and his nose—or maybe it’s his lip?—is gushing blood.

  “Your cousin’s a real douchebag,” Morgan directs at me with a scowl.

  I hold up both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t blame me! He’s just a second cousin, anyway.”

  Mason struggles to stand, but Morgan and Jessica press him back to the ground. “I’m fine,” he says, though he looks anything but.

  “Just put the ice on your eye,” Jessica says. “Or maybe your nose. Wow, you’re really bleeding. Anyone got a rag or something like that?”

  We all look around helplessly.

  “Maybe in my car,” Rosie says, rising. “I’ll go see.” She hurries toward the line of cars parked off in the distance.

  Just then, Ryder reappears. “Here,” he says, unbuttoning his plaid shirt to reveal a white T-shirt beneath it. In seconds, he’s stripped off both shirts. He wads up the T-shirt and hands it to Morgan.

  Morgan takes it with a nod. “Thanks. What’d you do with Tanner?”

  “Ben’s driving him home.”

  I chance a glance in his direction and swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Because let’s face it, the sight of Ryder wearing nothing but jeans that ride low on his hips is pretty impressive. I mean, obviously I’ve seen him in less at the beach and whatnot, but there’s something about those faded jeans and the way the waistband dips low on his abdomen. . . .

  Patrick must have noticed me staring, because he tightens his grip around my shoulders. “Hey, you wanna go for a walk?”

  “Sure,” I say lazily. But as he leads me away, I can’t help glancing back over my shoulder at Ryder, who’s shrugging back into his plaid shirt, his fingers flying over the buttons.

  I let out a sigh and turn back toward Patrick. “Where’re we headed?”

  “Right here is good,” he says, pressing me against the split-rail fence. As his head dips down toward mine I lay my palms flat against his chest.

  “Wait.” I push against him, wanting to create some space between our bodies. The crowd isn’t more than fifty yards away, and I feel exposed.

  “What?” he asks, a hint of impatience in his voice. “You need a beer or something?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “I missed you, Jem,” he says, one hand sliding up my thigh, beneath the hem of my vintage red polka-dot halter dress.

  I smack his hand away. “You saw me yesterday at school and later at the game.”

  “You know what I mean.” His mouth moves toward mine, his breath warm against my cheek.

  My mind is whirling, my heart thumping against my ribs. There’s something . . . I don’t know . . . a little dangerous about Patrick. I want to run, but I’m somehow frozen in place like a deer in the crosshairs.

  His lips find mine, and I suck in my breath sharply as his tongue skims over my teeth. I want to feel something, to have the earth move beneath my feet. But there’s no butterflies fluttering in my stomach, no lightning skittering across my skin. Instead, I’ve overly aware of the mechanics of it all—lips, tongue, hands. He deepens the kiss, and I feel myself pulling away mentally even as I participate physically.

  My mind begins to wander. I’m thirsty now, and I wonder what my friends are doing back over by the creek. We weren’t planning on staying more than an hour or so, and it’s probably been half that already. I want to check the time, but my cell is back with my purse. The tall grass tickles my ankles, and I shift my weight from foot to foot, resisting the urge to reach down and scratch.

  He draws away, peering down at me sharply. “What’s wrong?”

  I have to think of some excuse, and fast. “It’s just . . . You think Mason’s okay?”

  “He’s fine. Seriously, you’re worrying about that shit right now?”

  I take a deep breath before speaking. “Well, we just left him lying there bleeding.”

  “With half a dozen people tending to him, including his sister.”

  “Yeah, but I came with Morgan. If she decides to take Mason home—”

  “Then I’ll drive you. Okay? C’mon, Jemma. Relax.”

  I nod, glancing over at the crowd. The music is cranking now, and everyone’s moved over to the covered pavilion where the piles of crawfish, corn, and potatoes have been dumped into plastic kiddie pools lined with newspaper.

  Everyone except Ryder, that is. He’s standing away from everyone else, his hands thrust into his pockets. I’m not positive, but I think he’s looking right in my direction, watching Patrick and me.

  Goose bumps rise on my skin, and I shiver.

  “You cold?” Patrick asks.

  I nod, even though I’m not. Still, it’s as good an excuse as any. “I left my sweater under the pavilion with my bag.”

  “Okay, okay. We’ll go back. Looks like the food’s out, anyway.” He reaches for my hand, and I let him lead me back to the party.

  Mason’s sitting on a picnic table beneath the pavilion, the bag of melted ice discarded on the table beside him. Jessica, Morgan, and Lucy surround him, chattering noisily over the music’s din. I find my sweater and then hurry over to my friends.

  “He keeps talking about this new quarterback they’ve got like he’s the best thing since sliced bread,” Mason is saying, obviously rehashing the fight. “I mean, dude, give me a break. Ryder’s the best in the state. I’ve had enough of his trash talk.”

  Rosie steps up to the table, her cheeks flushed. “Hey, have any of y’all seen Ryder?”

  “He’s here somewhere,” Morgan says, glancing over her shoulder toward the spot where I’d seen him standing not fifteen minutes ago. It’s empty now.

  “Yeah,” Mason says. “I’m his ride home. Hey, didn’t you say you needed a lift too, Jess?” Mason attempts a grin in Jessica’s direction, but between his swollen eye and busted lip, it looks more like a grimace.

  “There’s no way I’m letting you drive,” Morgan says resolutely. “You might have a head injury or something, you moron. Lucy can take my car, and I’ll drive yours. It’s okay, Jess—I don’t mind dropping you off.”

  “Fine,” Mason mutters. “Whatever.”

  Rosie plops herself down on the bench beside me. “Crap, I needed to ask Ryder something. Anyone know why he left so early? Did he take anyone with him?”

  “No idea,” Morgan says, shaking his head.

  I wonder what she wants with Ryder—and if those rumors I’d heard about the two of them hooking up are true. Not that it’s any of my business, but still.

  The thing is, Rosie’s pretty—really pretty. Sure, she’s dumb as a rock, but a lot of guys don’t care about that. She could have her pick of cute boys, but instead she continues to pine away for Ryder. Quite obviously, I might add.

  Sometimes I think about pulling her aside and telling her to have a little self-respect, but what’s the point? She wouldn’t listen. She doesn’t like me very much, cousin or not. Besides, if the rumors about them hooking up are true, well . . . maybe there is something going on between them. How the heck would I know? And more important, why should I care?

  Patrick reaches for my hand. “You wanna go dance?”

  I shake off the thoughts of Ryder and Rosie. “Sure. C’mon, Luce.” I thump her on the shoulder.

  “What am I, chopped liver?” Morgan asks with a frown.

  “I thought you were too busy playing nursemaid.”

  “Nah, I think Jess can take it from here.” She rises, tossing aside Ryder’s now-bloodied T-shirt. “You’ll take good care of him, right?”

  Without waiting for Jessica’s reply, she follows us out onto the packed earth behind the pavilion that’s serving as a dance floor.

  When I glance back, I see that Ryder has reappeared, standing beside Rosie. He leans down to say something in her ear, and she nods.

  Patrick moves closer to me, blocking my view. He’s one of those guys who seems to think that jumping in place while pumping one’s fists in the air somehow constitutes dancing. I only catch glimpses of Ryder leading Rosi
e to the dance floor between bobs of Patrick’s head.

  Curious, I turn my body slightly, angling away from him, trying to get a better view of Ryder and Rosie without being too obvious about it. Somehow, Ryder’s eyes seem to meet mine across the crowd. I freeze, seemingly forgetting how to dance as I watch Rosie wrap her arms around Ryder’s neck. His gaze leaves mine as his arms encircle Rosie’s waist. She presses her cheek against his chest, and they start swaying back and forth, slow dancing.

  To a fast song. Ugh.

  When Patrick reaches for my hand and pulls me up against him, I let him. Anything to take my mind off what I just witnessed.

  ACT I

  Scene 10

  Okay, the fridge is fully stocked, and I left a couple casseroles in the freezer for you.” My mom glances down at the list she’s left on the kitchen counter and sighs. “Are you sure you don’t want to go stay with Lucy? Dr. Parrish said they’d be happy to have you. I could just give her a call and—”

  “And who’ll feed the dogs and cats? C’mon, Mama, I’ll be fine.”

  “We could board them. I can call the kennel now and see if they—”

  “Just stop.” I can’t help but roll my eyes. “We’re not boarding the dogs. Stop worrying and go before you miss your flight.”

  She glances down at her watch. “Daddy’s picking up Laura Grace right now.”

  Laura Grace has a degree in nursing even though she hasn’t worked as an RN since before Ryder was born. But she insists that she can advocate for them at the hospital in Houston—you know, talk to the nurses and relay information, stuff like that. I think more than anything, she just wants to be there to provide moral support for my mom.

  “Actually,” Mama says, “maybe I should see if Ryder’ll come over here and stay with you.”

  “No way. Forget it. I told you. I’ll be fine.”

  “I just hate the thought of you here all by yourself. Besides, Rob’s leaving for Jackson in a few days, and Ryder’ll be alone. He could come stay in the guest room.”

  She can’t be serious. “What the heck, Mama? Why don’t we just share a bed?”