“S-P-N-K,” he said.
“Yeah, Spunk.”
He chuckled. I liked when he was nice like he had been for a brief moment when were walking along the golf course the other day.
When class ended, Train ran out as though he had to put out a fire. Elvira came over before I could get out of my seat.
“Can I tell her?” Reagan asked.
I shrugged.
“Montana’s mom is a big-time writer. She goes by the pen name of Casey Stewart. And Train found her mother’s book and was reading it in class. He’s screwing with Montana.”
I almost blurted out, “See? Train is trying to get in my head too.” But that would be catty. Still, I wanted to kiss Reagan for backing me up.
“Ah,” Elvira said. “Now I know why your mom looked familiar when I met her. I think my mom has one of her hardback books that has her picture on the back. How come you didn’t tell me then? Or why didn’t your mom say anything to me?”
“You know how people around here can get kind of wonky about sex in books,” Reagan said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said. “My mom and I have been on the bad side of rumors and glares and fights with parents about what she does. Sometimes it’s better to keep her profession out of my social life. That’s why I told you she was in marketing. And she kind of is with her books, in a way.”
“That’s okay. What your mom does is none of my business,” Elvira said. “About last night, I wanted to apologize again. Are you mad at me?”
“Nah. You were only being honest, and you’re right.” I got out of my seat and hugged Elvira then Reagan. “Thank you. I haven’t had any girlfriends who stuck up for me.”
“Okay,” Elvira said. “What’s with the church-going outfit? It looks horrible.”
“I was trying to turn over a new leaf.” I didn’t think Train even noticed me, though.
“Don’t. And we need to go shopping.”
Mom had bought me a couple of pairs of shorts that I’d been wearing, but shopping did sound fun. And if the South was going to be my new home, then cute sandals were in order too. Suddenly, I remembered Lucy Everly’s brown leather sandals along with the debutante ball.
“Tell me about the debutante ball.” The way things were going with Train, I doubted he would even ask me to the ball. I was curious about the shindig, though.
Reagan and Elvira exchanged a giddy look. Then Elvira launched into a dissertation on the event as we headed to our next class. By the time we arrived at English, I’d learned that the ball was a rite of passage for the ninth grade girls who were celebrating their adulthood. The ball took the place of homecoming but was always scheduled for the Saturday after the last football game of the season, which was seven weeks away. And each year, Mrs. Everly hosted the ball.
“Simply put, the ball is a tradition,” Elvira said. “But in the last three years, Mrs. Everly hasn’t focused so much on a coming-out party but rather a charity event.”
“This year, I believe the charity she’s sponsoring is Feed The Hungry,” Reagan added. “All that aside, the event is fun. We get to dress up, dance, and have a good time.”
“Train’s mom wants me to go with him,” I said matter-of-factly. “But Nina thinks she’s going with Train.”
“Train won’t be taking Nina,” Elvira said, sure and strong.
“Tell that to Nina,” I said.
Nina and the ball became a distant memory when Derek stalked up to me with a smirk on his face. So far, I’d endured the looks and whispers of kids but not the team yet.
“Say it,” I said.
He covered his large hand over his mouth and chuckled. “I’m proud you stuck to your guns. We all know why you tried out. I’m proud to report that you are officially stuck in Train’s head. I’m also glad you’re not on the team. I would hate to see you get hurt by a big guy like me.” His sweet tone was a far cry from the way he’d acted when I first met him on the beach.
“So if we’re being honest, Derek”—I peered up at him—“you spurred me on too with the chauvinistic comment you made.”
“Now you know the reason I made it. Anyway, Coach wanted me to tell you to meet him in his office after school.”
I knitted my eyebrows. “For what?”
He shrugged massive shoulders. “Got me.”
I racked my brain, trying to drum up a reason. I was drawing a blank.
