Rebel Belle
Page 25

never worn a scarf in my life, but I made a big show of pulling
one out and examining the pattern.
“Why not?” Bee asked from behind me.
I put the first scarf back and pulled out another, and once
again thought about telling Bee the truth. I can’t do Cotillion because I have superpowers, but they suck. Because something is going to
happen there that night that I don’t want to be involved with. But I couldn’t say any of that. So instead, I played the one card
I’d promised myself I would never, ever play. “Leigh-Anne,” I
said. “It’s . . . too hard. Thinking about the year she did it . . .” Bee didn’t say anything for a long time, and I wasn’t sure I had
ever felt worse than I did at that moment. Damn it, I’d given up
the whole Paladin thing. So why was it still messing up my life? Bee appeared at my elbow. “Okay,” she said, tucking her hair
behind her ears. “Then I won’t go either.”
I dropped the scarf. “Bee, you can’t—”
“I can,” she said, even as she threw one last lusting look at the
shoes. “We always said we were going to do Cotillion together.” Bee may have been the only person on earth more excited
for Cotillion than I was, but she gave me a brave if entirely fake
smile. “It’ll be fine. We’ll do, like, one of those anti-prom proms,
only it’ll be an anti-Cotillion Cotillion. We’ll wear black dresses
and hang out at my house watching bad movies and drinking
bad punch.”
“It’ll be hard to find worse punch than my Aunt Jewel’s,” I
said, and Bee’s smile got a little more real.
“We’ll manage,” she said. Then she stopped to pick up the
scarf, placing it back on its shelf. “Now let’s go to the food court
and eat our weight in Cinnabon.”
“You are the bestest best friend in all the world,” I said, looping my arm through hers.
“I know,” she said, squeezing my arm against her side. “And
you in no way deserve me.”
I didn’t. Not even a little bit, and the truth of that lodged in my
throat so that all I could do was squeak, “Yup.”
As we made our way through the mall, Bee and I chatted
about Ryan and Brandon, and it could have been any other Saturday, if it weren’t for the constant gnawing of guilt. Staying
away from the Starks was the best thing to do, which meant staying away from Cotillion. I didn’t want to ruin that for Bee, but it
wasn’t like I’d asked her to give it up.
Suddenly, Bee came to a stop, pulling me up short, too. “Oh.” “What?” I asked, following her gaze. And when I saw what
she was looking at . . .
“Oh,” I echoed.
Mary Beth was standing in front of the Starbucks in the food
court, sipping an iced coffee and smiling up at Ryan. He was leaning against the wall, hands in his back pockets,
and he was smiling down at her. There was even . . . head-tilting. My boyfriend was leaning and head-tilting at another girl. And
not any girl. Mary Beth Riley, who practically had a neon sign
flashing “TAKE ME NOW, RYAN BRADSHAW!” over her head. “Is she chewing on her straw?” Bee asked quietly, and I narrowed my eyes. She was. She was totally chewing on her straw
and smiling and head-tilting and—
Before I could think it through, I was walking over to the
Starbucks, Bee trailing a few steps behind. “Ryan!” I called, smiling broadly.
He swiveled his head at the sound of my voice, but there was
no guilt in his face. Mary Beth, however, jumped a little. “Are you following me?” I asked him, coming in close to slide
my arm around his waist. “I told him Bee and I were doing some
shoe shopping today,” I informed Mary Beth, who gave me a
sickly smile.
“Actually, no. I was here to pick up my tux. Check me out,
renting a full six weeks early.”
“You’re a good boyfriend,” I conceded. And he was, which was
why I couldn’t stand idly by and let other girls chew straws at him. A thought occurred to me. Ryan said he was picking up his
tux for Cotillion. Ryan was supposed to escort me to Cotillion,
and while the night wasn’t such a big deal for guys as it was for
girls, I knew Mrs. Bradshaw was on the committee at Magnolia
House. She expected her son to go. And if I wouldn’t go with
him . . .
Bee must have been thinking something similar, because she
turned to Mary Beth. “Do you have an escort for Cotillion?” A sullen flush spread up Mary Beth’s neck. “Not yet,” she answered, and I saw her gaze flit to Ryan.
I moved in a little closer to him. Okay, this Paladin thing had
already derailed my life enough. Turning Saylor Stark down was supposed to mean getting my life back, not ruining Cotillion for my best friend and handing my boyfriend over to Mary Beth
R iley.
Bee glanced over at me, a little smile tugging the corner of her
lips. “Bummer. I mean, it seems like all the decent guys at school
are taken, and really, what are the chances of someone suddenly
becoming available?”
The great thing about best friends is that they know you
really well. And the terrible thing about best friends is that . . .
they know you really well. Bee knew that the thought of Ryan
taking Mary Beth to Cotillion was killing me. And what better
way to get me to change my mind about Cotillion than to dangle
that possibility?
I met Bee’s eyes. “You know what? After we grab some food,
why don’t we go back to the store and get those shoes? The more
I think about it, the more I think they would be perfect with my
dress.”
Bee grinned. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.” I watched Mary Beth watch Ryan, longing all over her face.
And I remembered that while Ryan might not have seemed
guilty, he had been leaning. Exactly the way he used to lean
against my locker door back in ninth grade. No, there was no
way I was letting this happen. Operation Get My You–KnowWhat Together was starting now.
So I smiled at Bee, hugged my boyfriend, and said, “Me too.”
Chapter 19
That Monday, I found myself back at Magnolia House. Saylor’s eyes had widened a little when I’d walked through the door, but she hadn’t said anything, other than, “Good afternoon, Harper. I trust you’ll be ready to take over the prayer again?”
I had, and it had gone well. Unfortunately, the rest of the practice was going less smoothly.
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Miss Riley!” Saylor snapped yet again.
As Mary Beth stammered out apologies, I rubbed my ankle and tried not to grimace.
Cotillion practice had only started half an hour ago, and this was Mary Beth’s third fall. The first one had been before we’d even put on our heels, and the second one had nearly taken out the potted fern by the bay window, but this third one had been on me.
As usual.
Normally, I stuck up for Mary Beth when she stumbled, but after the stuff at the mall with Ryan, I was feeling less than charitable.
I was also feeling slightly unsettled. David was currently slumped in one of the tiny velvet chairs in the sitting room, his legs out and crossed at the ankle. Even though I couldn’t see his face behind the Kurt Vonnegut paperback he was holding, I had a feeling his expression was somewhere between boredom and disdain. It was the first time I’d been this close to him since that night at Saylor’s, and even though I was doing my best to ignore it, it was almost like I could feel this thread stretching between us.
“Ladies,” Saylor said, clapping her hands. “I realize you’re all very busy and preoccupied, but Cotillion is one of the most important nights of your life. It’s when you present to the world both the kind of woman you are and the kind of woman you would like to be.”
“I am the kind of woman who would like to be done with this shit,” Mary Beth muttered. She’d taken off her heels and they dangled from her fingers, bumping my shoulder blades. I rolled my back irritably, hoping she’d move them away. And stop talking. That also would’ve been nice.
Saylor didn’t give any indication she’d heard Mary Beth. I’m pretty sure if she had, we would have seen Magnolia House’s first murder. Instead, she clasped her hands in front of her and turned her gaze on me. “For example, Miss Price. What kind of woman do you want to be?”
The question threw me, and I suddenly realized that this was a test. Apparently, walking away from Paladin-dom wasn’t going to be that easy.
I knew the things I wanted to do—make my school better, go to college, become the second female governor of the state of Alabama—but I had a feeling that wasn’t what Saylor was looking for. “I . . . I want to be a good woman,” I said finally. “One who does the right thing, not only for her community, but for herself. Who follows her heart even if it’s not the most popular thing to do.”
There were a few giggles behind me. I knew how lame that answer had sounded, but it was true. Doing the right thing didn’t seem like all that much, but look at Leigh-Anne. Look at what doing one wrong thing had cost her. Lame or no, that was my answer. And I hoped Saylor heard what I was really saying.
Across the room, I caught a little glare of light. I realized David had lowered his book, and was watching me, his lips pressed in a thin line. I wondered if he thought I was talking about him.
“That was a lovely answer, Miss Price,” Saylor said. Her voice sounded . . . different. A little lower, and without those clipped tones she usually used. Then she gave a little shake of her head and clapped again.
“All right, now we’re going to practice descending the staircase accompanied. On the actual night, your father will lead you down these stairs and to the gentleman you’ve brought as your escort. There is a trick to walking gracefully on the arm of a man, and luckily, my nephew David has graciously volunteered to assist us.”