I rest my head in my hands. “I’d apologize, but she won’t even give me a chance to speak.”
Jessamyn’s gaze softens. “Once, I bought a brand-new pair of designer heels. I had them in a bag outside my closet door. When I came back that night before bedtime, the shoes had disappeared. I asked your father if he’d seen them and he said, ‘Oh, you mean the stuff you put out for Goodwill?’ He’d accidentally donated a pair of Jimmy Choos to charity.” She shakes her head, lost in the memory. “I didn’t speak to him for a week.”
“Then what happened?”
She grins. “He bought me an even more expensive pair.”
“I don’t think shoes will work here,” I say glumly.
“It’s not about the shoes,” Jessamyn replies. “It’s about what the shoes represent. A simpleI’m sorrycan go a long way.”
“If she ever listens to me again . . .”
“Give her time. She’ll hear you out.”
“But it hurts me to know I can’t fix this.”
“Well,” Jessamyn says, “imagine how much it hurtherto see you with someone else.”
I glance up. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right; I’m your mother.” She blots her mouth with her napkin. “I’m just glad you’re speaking to me. I’m used to you grunting through dinner.”
My mouth quirks upward. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome, Joseph.”
“Joseph?” I repeat.
It’s Edgar’s father’s name. I’ve seen photos of him, with his name and a date scrawled on the back. He looks exactly like King Maurice.
Jessamyn presses her fingers against her temples. “Oh my God. I’m getting so old.” She smiles at me. “Give it a day. You two will be all over each other.”
I wince. “God, Mom!”
She laughs. “Now, there’s the Edgar I know and love.”
At leastsomeonedoes.
I have planned it to perfection.
With Ms. Pingree’s permission, I have raided the drama club costume closet, picking out an ill-fitted yet passable prince’s tunic, crown, and boots. A plastic sword is strapped to my side. I sneak into the biology class greenhouse with a pair of art room scissors and cut the stems of a dozen tulips, gathering them into a bouquet before a teacher can catch me in the act. Then I stride proudly into the cafeteria, my gaze narrowing like a beam on Delilah.
I can feel the entire room watching me, and their whispers are cobwebs I easily brush aside. I march to her table, fall to my knee, and present her with the flowers. “Milady,” I say, “your eyes are but twin stars in my universe. Your voice is sweeter than a robin’s song. You are the very beat of my heart; the rush of my blood.”
I believe I’m doing quite well. The cafeteria has begun cheering me on, and two spots of color appear on Delilah’s cheeks.Chris was correct; I am surely going to win back Delilah. After all, what girl doesn’t want a knight in shining armor?
“ED-GAR! ED-GAR! ED-GAR!”My borrowed name echoes in the room.
Those two roses blooming on Delilah’s cheeks have somehow spread, making her entire face as red as a lobster. She doesn’t meet my eye, and if I’m not mistaken, she seems to be sinking farther and farther under the table.
She still hasn’t taken the bouquet. I shake it a little, still on bended knee, and clear my throat. “You’re the breath in my lungs. You’re—”
“Done,” says Jules, appearing out of nowhere to yank me upright by my velvet collar. “Get your royal ass away from my best friend.”
She tugs at my tunic, spins me around, and shoves me toward the cafeteria door. It’s all I can do not to stumble. The voices of other students follow me out:Nice try, man. Better luck next time.Iwould have said yes!
I realize that I’m still holding the flowers. And that they’ve already begun to die.
