“No, so I can?—”
“Chase, I’ve embarrassed myself so many times in front of you, I imagine you’d understand why I’d rather not have to endure it again. Please show some compassion and just let me crawl under a rock.”
“The entire world has seen my bum, so I know what embarrassment is like. Pippa, you have not done a thing to embarrass yourself.” There I go with the flirty tone.
I’m balancing on the thin edge of honoring my friendship with Freddie and flirting with his sister. But we’re dancing, just like I wanted to do at prom. I don’t have to try to avoid thoughts of Pizza because she’s right here. But where will that leave me tomorrow? Where will I stand with my best friend? I go back and forth in my mind, but when on the field, I’m known for making snap decisions. As if the guys on the team chant my name from the bleachers, I go for it, hoping for a touchdown.
“No, Pippa. You’re adorable.”
Her head tips from one side to the other like she didn’t hear me right. Like she’s trying to list what other words sound likeadorable.
“Horrible? Incorrigible? Deplorable? Restorable?”
“I said adorable,” I repeat.
Looking around with suspicion, she asks, “Who put you up to this? I’m not adorable. I’m plain, regular, and average. Normal? Ah, that must have been it. You said I’m normable. Is that American slang?” She bites her lip and leans in. “I’d like that to be true. I tell myself to be normal every day. I’m not. For instance, I once crashed a wedding by literally crashing through the garden hedge. Thankfully, no one was injured, but I did pop out of the cake, so that was something. No, Chase. There is nothing normal about me or my weird luck.”
“Sounds delicious. What kind of cake?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I’m not interested in normal.” All those years ago, I had a crush on this girl not only because of the way she made me feel but because of who she was, is—herself. There’s nothing fake or contrived about Pippa Thompson. What you see is what you get...and I want it.
“Maybe you’re getting me mixed up with someone else. I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself and I’d like it to stop.” Her voice lifts a few octaves as the music goes quiet between songs. “See? I cannot imagine tonight being more awkward.”
Mr. and Mrs. Thompson and my mom meet us on the edge of the dance floor. My father trails behind as if he’d rather be mucking pig slop than be here.
“You two look lovely together,” Mrs. Thomson says.
“A handsome couple,” her dad chimes.
“Almost like it was meant to be,” Mom adds.
Dad looks like he wants to snap something in half. Likely my neck.
Pippa goes very still like a bunny in a field that heard a rumble in the distance. She opens her mouth as if to speak when her mother cuts across her.
“Ruth and I have been conspiring.” Mrs. Thompson rubs her hands together.
“Just a little proposal,” Mom says pointedly while eying my father.
The two women exchange a glance and exclaim, “We think you should get married.”
Ruddy-cheeked and with a glass in one hand, Mr. Thompson pats his belly with the other. “I think it’s a jolly good idea.”
“You can just start with a dinner date. But we know you’re perfect for each other. You went to the same school and are both educated. Chase, Pippa doesn’t have to worry because you’re asuccessful athlete and come from a top-notch background. She has a great career and wants a family. It’s perfect.”
At the wordathlete, I sense my father stiffen.
Pippa’s eyes are just as big and brown and beautiful as I remember, as I dream about. She has a dark ring around the iris and inside, lighter flecks sparkle like gems. My breath gets lost somewhere in my chest. Warmth radiates from where my palms touch her soft skin. The chatter and clinking of glasses in the background take on a muted hum.
My gaze drops to Pippa’s lips as if I’m waiting for her to say something...or do something.
Instead, her mother’s voice breaks through the fog. “Our Pippa here has been single for far too long,” Mrs. Thompson declares as if it’s a travesty.
If that’s the case, I agree.
“Mum,” she hisses.
