Chapter Twenty-two
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Maggie
I’m waiting for the boy who will do anything to be my everything.
A girl sitting two tables over is wearing a hoodie with that slogan printed across the front. She’s with two friends, and none of them looks a minute over fourteen. They’re all so bright and shiny I feel the need to shade my eyes when I look at them.
Since it’s raining cats and dogs, Café Du Monde is doing only half its usual trade. Which allows me to quietly sip my coffee and eavesdrop on their conversation.
“It washim,” the one in the hoodie says. “He didn’t take off that silly Halloween mask until the end of the night. But when he did?” She presses a hand to her chest. “It was magical.”
“Youhadto have known it was himbefore,” one of her friends says. She has the most amazing head of fuchsia-colored hair.
“Well, I had my suspicions, especially when he took my hand.” Hoodie sighs and closes her eyes.
“What happened when he took your hand?” the other girl asks eagerly. This one’s wearing big, cat-eye glasses and enough turquoise eye shadow to paint half the houses in the Vieux Carré.
“Sparks. I’m telling y’all. My whole arm lit up.”
“So he takes his mask off, andthenwhat?” Eye Shadow prompts. “Did he kiss you?”
“Heavens no.” Hoodie shakes her head. “You think I’d give him the sugar before he takes me on a proper date? My momma raised me better than that.”
“So if he didn’t kiss you once the mask was off, whatdidhe do?” demands Fuchsia Hair.
Hoodie looks smug and self-satisfied. “He asked me out on a proper date.”
I wince and dig a finger in my ear when three sets of window-shattering squeals fill the room. But, oh, I remember being their age and having all those big emotions. Being giddy and desperate to fall in love, to experience the breathless kind of romance I’d only ever read about in books or watched on the silver screen.
Taking another sip of café au lait, I think back to the first time Cash asked me out. It took him nearly five months, because for whatever reason—misplaced chivalry would be my guess—he declared right from the start that we couldn’t get serious until I turned fifteen.
Of course, that didn’t stop us from spending hours gazing into each other’s eyes or holding hands every chance we got. “But absolutely no kissing,” I remember him saying a million times over. “And no formal dates until you’re of age.”
I’m not sure who put it in his head that “of age” was fifteen. But that’s the line he drew in the sand. No matter how many times I tried to pull him over it, he never budged.
Then came my fifteenth birthday. It was a Saturday that dawned warm and wet. Spring came early that year, pushing winter aside with an impatient hand.
I was sitting out on Aunt Bea’s veranda watching the bumblebees buzz happily around the flowers. The air was sweet with the smell of bougainvillea, but none of it was enough to pull me out of my funk.
The night before, Cash and Luc had met me at the park to listen to music and hang out. I’d hoped Cash would present me with something that wouldfinallymake us officially boyfriend and girlfriend. Or at the very least I thought he’dmentionsomething about my birthday.
Nope. Not a word. And I sat on that porch swing the next morning, as glum as an oyster, convinced he forgot.
Then I heard the music.
“Sparkle and Shine” echoed down the street.
“That’s you, Maggie,” Cash would say whenever Luc spun the tune. “You sparkle and shine.”
You better believe I hopped up from that swing like the seat was on fire. Running barefoot down the walk, I made it to the front gate in time to see Smurf pulling up next to the curb. The windows were down, the music was blaring, and Cash was sitting in the passenger seat with a grin as big as a full moon and an even bigger bouquet of blood-red roses in his hands.
The second he opened the door, I was through that gate like a flash, throwing myself into his arms. To this day, I still remember the way he smelled. All clean teenage boy, soap and sunshine, and the promise of a bright future.
“Happy birthday, Maggie,” he whispered in my ear.
When I pulled back, I noticed he had a new bruise on his jaw. I wondered what trouble he’d managed to get himself into since the night before. Then I remembered that Bernie Walters’s mom owned the flower shop down the way. I could certainly see Cash going in to pick up the roses, only to have Bernie follow him outside to pop him a good one.
