He kicks a stone with his mud-soaked sneakers. “That’s what playing substitute for an absentee mother will do to you.”
I’ve gone too far with my teasing. I touch his forearm. “I’m sorry, Ten. I didn’t mean to… to make you think ofher.”
He looks at my hand. I snatch it back, return it to the strap of my tote bag.
“Try not to tell your friends about my very masculine ambitions, or I’ll be turned down when I ask one of them to homecoming.”
It feels as though he’s just flicked my heart. Which is stupid becauseI don’t even like Ten. I mean, I like him more than I liked him this morning, but I don’tlike himlike him.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Want to go to homecoming with me?”
“Me?”
“My first choice was Mrs. Dabbs, but she was taken.” He delivers his comment so seriously I blink. “That was a joke.” A blush stains his jaw. “Not a funny one,” he mumbles.
I’m way too shocked… thrilled… dazed to give him an answer.
He rubs the back of his neck. “You’re probably already going with someone.”
“Actually, I am.”
He flinches.
“I’m going with Rae, Mel, and Laney. We decided to go dateless.”
“Is that a thing here? Going as a group instead of as a couple?”
“Not usually.” I bite my lip. “We’re going to be so late for class,” I say, although what I really want to say is,Will you ask someone else?I don’t want him to go with someone else, which is all shades of selfish and strange since I have no claim on him.
Finally, he shrugs. “I didn’t really want to go anyway.”
“I’ll save you a dance if you come.” Could I sound any lamer?
“I don’t dance.”
“What? I assumed all good stay-at-home moms were avid ballroom dancers.”
He chuckles.
I heave a theatrical sigh. “If you’re really against dancing, then I’ll save you a”—I push more wet hair off my face—“long, boring conversationoffthe dance floor. We can discuss sauce-making.”
A soft grin settles over his face.
And that smile undoes me way more than it should.
12
BwirlingHearts
By the end of the day, I’m still reeling that Ten asked me to homecoming. I mean, the fact that he talked to me in the first place is shocking enough, but asking me to be his date to the school dance… that’s got my heart spinning. Or like Steffi would say—she loves naming her choreographies—bwirling.
By the time I reach my coaches’ house, I resemble a sewer rat from all the puddles I biked through, but I don’t even care. I leave my shoes by the door and go change into leggings, a workout bra, and a T-shirt with a Buddhist quote that would make Mrs. Larue proud, then go straight to the piano parlor.
“I’m sorry about Monday,” Lynn says, ushering me inside.
The shy girl with the smoky voice supplants Ten’s image inside my mind and squashes my high.
“I didn’t mean to be so… nosy.” Confessing this out loud makes me realize that Ten wasn’t totally wrong about me. “I was so mesmerized by the girl’s voice that I wanted to put a face to it.” I study a patch of discolored velvet on the chaise where the sun bleached the deep teal. “And maybe Iwasa little jealous.”
