Lily and the Wedding Date Mistake Page 3

If he really wasn’t supposed to be here, then I shouldn’t be here with him either.

  “Relax,” he said. “I’m not a serial killer or anything. I got an invitation.”

  Was this guy a mind reader? How did he know what I was thinking?

  His admission did relax me a little, but my eyes still darted around, searching for him now. He was obviously close enough to see me, but I couldn’t see him.

  Where was he?

  “So, should I ask to see your invitation or am I to assume you’re the serial killer at this table?” he said.

  I shook my head. “Gina’s my aunt.”

  “Then why aren’t you inside with your family?”

  “I was with my family. I needed some air.”

  “And you came out here where the air is plentiful and not spoiled by an air conditioner.”

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  Who was this guy?

  “You’re astute. Is this your first Cardoza Hall wedding?” I asked.

  “Nah, I practically grew up out here, hiding from the Bloom elite.”

  He grew up in Bloom? Then why did he seem so unfamiliar? I’d lived here my whole life. I knew everyone in this town. From the butcher to the baker to the teachers. So why didn’t I know smoky boy?

  “Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?” I asked. “Hiding out?”

  He smirked. “Well, I wasn’t playing parcheesi.”

  I wrinkled my nose at the corny attempt at a joke.

  “What are you hiding from?” I asked. Normally, I didn’t pry into people’s lives, but something about this guy made me want to dig a little deeper.

  “The same thing all kids hide from.”

  “Parents?”

  “That and other things. Fortunately for me, Cardoza Hall offers their very own sanctuary from the crazy.”

  Crazy. This guy didn’t know crazy. Crazy was being called the ugly twin or brace face your entire life. Crazy was having zero social life. Crazy was crying a bit too hard while reading romance novels because you know that no one will ever love you like that. This guy didn’t know crazy. But I did.

  “You’re bad at that,” he said.

  “Bad at what?”

  “Hiding what you’re thinking.”

  Crap.

  How close was he, anyway? Did he have eagle vision or something? I wish I had my glasses. Then I wouldn’t feel like I was trapped behind a blurry, one-way mirror.

  “It’s not a contest, you know,” he said.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you were thinking it, weren’t you? Probably imagining that I’m some rich boy whose only problem is deciding what color to paint his yacht or what Bentley to drive to school. I’ll bet you were going through every crap thing in your life and saying to yourself, if only he knew. You think I don’t know about having a messed-up life, but I do. I know more than you think.”

  I swallowed. “So, we’re two messed-up kids. So what?”

  “So what? Do you think that messed-up people like us come along every day? They don’t, you know. We’re a rare breed, cut from misery’s finest cloth. We should stick together. Form a support group. A club maybe.”

  “What? Like the messed-up lives club?”

  “Sure. The MULs. One L, though. It will distinguish us from the Messed-Up Lives League, which is trademarked, by the way. We can make T-shirts.”

  “And posters.”

  “Run a podcast.”

  “Sharing stories of how screwed-up our lives can be.”

  “It will be glorious.”

  I imagined him shaking his head. Based on his voice, I pictured him tall, dark, and brooding. Handsome, of course. I cursed the fact I’d lost my glasses.

  “One day, you’ll have to tell me your story,” he said. “Maybe you can even hear mine.”

  I heard a smile in his voice. At least I thought I did. I smiled myself and let my head roll back again.

  It’s funny how life works. This was the first time a person about my age who was a male and not a family member had spoken to me at a wedding, ever, and I couldn’t even see him.

  Unofficially, and way off the books, it was like my first blind wedding date.

  I cringed at the thought. Why did that sound so pathetic?

  “So,” he said. “Do you think you can tell me your name, or is this an anonymous club?”

  “It’s—”

  “Lily. Are you out here?”

  Crap. It was Rose. I jumped up, looking for my sister’s blond curls in the blur. Straight ahead, and slightly to the left, I saw an arm waving.

  My gut twisted. I needed to go see what Rose wanted, but I wanted to keep talking to this guy. Even if I couldn’t see him.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said. “Just don’t leave.”

  “Where am I going?” He chuckled. “My ride’s inside.”

  I half jogged in the direction of my sister, slamming my thighs in the corners of tables the entire way. When I reached her, I took her hand and pulled her close, glad that something was again in clear focus.

  “You forgot your glasses,” she said.

  She held them up to me, and I sighed in relief. Finally, I’d be able to see again. Which meant I could see mystery boy.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Look, I’m sorry they laughed at you,” Rose said. “I know it’s embarrassing.”

  “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

  Rose ran one hand up my arm. “It’s okay.” She looked me over. “Are you going to be out here for a while?”

  I glanced over my shoulder, hoping I could get a peek at mystery boy before I went back inside. But all I saw was the dancing flame that stood between us.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Well, you should clean up first. Your makeup is running, and your hair is frizzing.” She pulled a ponytail holder off her wrist and held it out to me.

  Mortified, I grabbed it, sprinted to the bathroom, and gazed into the mirror.

  I gasped.

  She was right.

  My skin was shining like a lighthouse, my hair was a frizzy mess, my mascara was running, and there was a water stain on the front of my dress.

  Why me? Why now? Had mystery boy seen me looking like this the entire time? Why would he talk to me when I looked like a beached rat?

  With a groan, I set to work cleaning up. I washed the makeup off my face, smoothed my hair into a bun, and stood under the hand dryer until the water stain went away. I got a few looks for that one, but I didn’t care. This was an emergency. A boy had actually spoken to me and, maybe, if I looked normal enough, he would ask for my number.

  My heart fluttered at the thought and, in my frantic state, I washed under my armpits, my neck, and under my bra, and took about six mints from the mint basket.

  When I looked in the mirror again, I was more than halfway to decent.

  Well, as decent as I was going to be. Hopefully it would be enough.

  I gave my glasses a good washing and sprinted back out of the bathroom.

  That’s when I hit a roadblock. Literally. My dad’s seventy-year-old cousin Mabel. I’d nearly knocked her over in my attempt to get back to mystery boy, which earned me a stern lecture about how to act like a young lady, followed by a lecture on why my dress showed too much cleavage, and then some cursory inquiries about my dad and why he never called. Then, to top it off, she asked for me to help her to the bathroom.

  Great.

  I got her safely in the stall, then bolted, briskly walking out the side glass door and back into the warm night air.

  The cushioned couch I’d been sitting on was straight ahead. I could see it clearly now.

  My stomach was in knots.

  What if he wasn’t there anymore? Or what if my twenty-minute disappearing act had caused irreparable damage to our conversation? I didn’t know much about boys, but I knew about first impressions, and I knew they were called first for a reason.

  I was halfway do
wn the stone path to the couches when I heard a high-pitched laugh.

  A laugh I knew all too well.

  My sister.

  She was standing in front of the same couch I’d just left.

  I froze.

  No. It couldn’t be happening.

  Standing next to her was a boy with longish brown hair that hung into his eyes, covering some of his face. He had his phone in his hand and was holding it out to her. She had her phone out too, a big smile on her face. That could only mean one thing.

  They were exchanging phone numbers.

  My heart sank into my feet as I watched them finish their exchange, hug, and then wave goodbye to each other.

  And that was it.

  Just like that, my first wedding date was over.

  All the air left my lungs in one long breath.

  My heart squeezed as disappointment swept through me. Drowned me.

  This was supposed to be my moment. I’d had a conversation with a nice guy. He was supposed to be exchanging numbers with me. He was supposed to be hugging me. Instead, Rose had swooped in and showed him the magic of the pretty twin.

  And he obviously couldn’t resist.

  I turned back to the glass door, trying my hardest to keep my shoulders from slumping and my steps from turning heavy. But it was hard when everything within me felt like a lead weight.

  “Lil, hey,” Rose said, walking behind me.

  I opened my mouth to say hey, but I was pretty sure nothing came out.

  This wasn’t Rose’s fault. She didn’t know I was talking to that boy. How could she?

  I wondered what he looked like beneath all of that shaggy hair and that athletic frame.

  “Going in?” she asked.

  I stopped walking. I didn’t want to go back inside. I wanted to go home. Home where I could lock myself in my room and cry about how unfair life was.

  But I couldn’t do that. Just because I was disappointed and miserable didn’t give me the right to ruin my aunt’s wedding. I would go inside and send all my good vibes her way, because this was her day and it would be selfish for me to ruin that.

  “Yeah,” I said, “I’m heading in.”

  “Are you okay?”

  I sighed but didn’t respond.

  “You’re not still mad about that fall, are you?” Rose asked.

  The fall seemed like it’d happened a million years ago. I’d almost forgotten about it entirely. But it was a convenient out, and I took it.

  “Yeah. A little.”

  “Well, don’t be. We’re going to party so hard you won’t even remember falling down. I’ll made sure of it.”

  I gave her a halfhearted smile.

  “Ready to tear up the dance floor?”

  I would have rather torn into a big tub of chocolate ice cream, but I put on a brave face for my aunt Gina’s sake.

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  Rose took my hand and led me back through the glass doors, forcing me to leave behind my misery, pain, and memories of the boy with the shaggy hair.

  3

  I checked the rearview mirror for what felt like the hundredth time today.

  Partially because I couldn’t believe how much I’d changed, and partially because I was terrified of what people would say when they saw me.

  Calla Rogers, my best friend, groaned and slid lower in her seat. “Come on, Lily. If we don’t hurry up, we’re gonna be late for our first day as seniors.”

  I took one more look in the mirror.

  “Sorry. I just… I just want to make sure I look okay.”

  “Are you kidding? You look gorgeous. Everyone is going to freak when they see you.”

  That’s what I was afraid of.

  After my wedding date disaster, I begged Rose to make me into a girl. Yes, I know, I was already a girl, but I wanted to be an actual girly girl. I wanted my hair to fall in gentle curls instead of messy buns. I wanted my makeup to be perfect instead of non-existent. I wanted my clothes to fit instead of falling off. I wanted to be thought of as hot, and not just a hot mess. I thought that maybe, just maybe, if I looked good on the outside, I’d feel better on the inside too.

  Rose was more than willing to oblige and immediately set herself to the task of giving me a permanent makeover.

  We started by brightening my hair color from a dirty blond to almost platinum. Then she convinced our parents to get me bright blue prescription contacts in lieu of my typical glasses. My braces were already scheduled to come off this summer, and to celebrate, we maxed out our emergency credit cards by buying me a completely new wardrobe. I was also put on a strict diet and exercise program. Every morning, we jogged five miles and every night we did a full hour of yoga. All sugar and processed foods were banned from the house and eating out was a no-no.

  Needless to say, the summer was grueling.

  But I’d toned up a lot, lost ten pounds, and even I had to admit I looked good. Not as good as Rose, but surprisingly good.

  “Lily,” Calla demanded.

  I let out a breath, cleared my throat, and closed the mirror.

  “Okay. I’m ready.”

  Calla raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Really?”

  I nodded much too quickly. “Yes. Really.”

  She shrugged. “Okay then. This is going to be the best senior year ever.”

  Calla pushed the door open and stepped out the car, ready to face the new year with her typical exuberance.

  Calla had changed this summer too. Her long, black, straight hair had been lopped off, leaving her with a short, soft afro that she accessorized with a pink head band and big earrings. She’d lost a little weight, but mostly her curvy shape grew more hourglass-like. She still wore her trademark black-rimmed glasses, though hers were more for fashion instead of function.

  I climbed out of the car and locked it behind me.

  The heat hit me almost instantly. It had to be ninety degrees out, if not hotter. I was thankful that Calla and I had decided on matching denim miniskirts and white, button-up tops to keep us cool.

  The matching outfits was my idea. Honestly, this whole makeover process had made me feel a little bit distant from Calla. Like I was going on this journey without her, which sucked because we’d been best friends for over three years. Calla never acted like anything was amiss, but I still felt kind of bad doing stuff without her this summer. By keeping our clothes in sync, I hoped it kept us in sync too.

  I met her at the front of the car, and she turned to me, pulling her black bookbag straps higher up on her shoulders and smiling happily.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  I smiled back, hoping it hid my anxiety. “Yes. I’m ready.”

  I took a deep breath, and, together, we walked shoulder to shoulder toward the school. Calla and Lily. The perfect team.

  This was the new us.

  The new me.

  My senior year was going to be my best year because I needed it to be. I was going to be confident. I was going to go on my first date and get my first kiss. My life was going to change.

  I felt it deep in my gut.

  “Guys are going to fall over themselves to get to us,” Calla said. “It’ll be like The Bachelor, Bloom Academy edition.”

  “Let’s just play it cool. I don’t want to attract too much attention.”

  Calla made a face. “Why not? You ate like a rabbit and ran eight thousand miles this summer. You deserve some attention.”

  “Technically I only ran four hundred fifty miles.”

  “Whatever. The point is that you did all this”—she pointed to my entire body at once—“in less than three months. You should throw yourself a parade or something.”

  I didn’t want to throw a parade. I didn’t have any aspirations for popularity. I just wanted to be a normal girl who felt good about herself and went on a couple of dates in the process.

  That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  We reached the open doors of the school and walked inside.

 
; You know those scenes in movies where the main character walks down a hallway and everything’s in slow motion and everyone’s mouths collectively drop.

  Well, this wasn’t like that.

  But some heads did turn in our direction. Mostly girls, but some boys too.

  The first one who spoke up was Avery Knight, a tall football player with wild blond hair and the biggest ears I’d ever seen.

  “Wow, Lily McAlister got hot!”

  Misty Brown, a girl I’d known since second grade, stared at me for a long moment.

  “Is that Rose McAlister?” she asked. Then, her eyes opened wide. She tapped Grace Conners’ shoulder. Grace had been next to Misty, trying to get a lock onto her locker. When Grace turned to look at me, both girls shared the same confused expression.

  “No,” Grace said. “It’s Lily.”

  “Brace Face!” Joe Ware called from down the hall. He was the first one to see me with braces in the fifth grade, and the first one to call me Brace Face. The name caught on quickly, following me to this very day. Now, Joe’s eyes were skating up and down my body, making me feel even more self-conscious than I already was. I wanted to cower. I wanted to run back to the car and not return until after the bell rang and the hallways were cleared.

  But I didn’t, because I’d made a promise to myself. I was going to be different this year. I was going to be better. And I couldn’t just change on the outside. I had to change on the inside too. And a huge part of that was adhering to my new mantra.

  From now on, before I did anything, I was going to ask myself, would Old Lily do that? And, if the answer was yes, then I would do the opposite of that thing.

  Sure, I’d come up with it after watching an episode of The Office one night, but it still applied.

  The point was, I couldn’t be Old Lily anymore. Old Lily was scared and timid and had zero self-confidence. She’d rather read about fake lives instead of going out and living a real one.

  But this year was going to be different. This year, I was going to be New Lily.

  New Lily was bold and confident. New Lily believed in herself.

  Granted, I didn’t feel any of those things right now, but hey, fake it until you make it, right?

  I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. Then, I smiled big, showing Joe my new, orthodontically corrected teeth.