Page 117 of Trick-or-Treated

“Fifteen hundred pastries,” he says. “She planned every one. The rest of us just did what she told us.” He shifts his weight. “I’ve never seen anybody work like her.”

Someone near the cider stand claps. He waits for them to stop.

Then he finds me in the crowd.

“And she’s got the strongest, most beautiful thighs that have carried her through years of exhausting work.” His voice doesn’t waver. “Thanks to her, we’ve got the best pastries this festival’s ever had.”

Someone whoops.

I laugh before I can stop myself, and my heart starts to race.

I glance over at my mother. She’s looking at Marcus curiously, that shrewd look in her eyes.

Oh, God.

But I can’t stop grinning.

Marcus clears his throat again, clearly uncomfortable with speeches. “Enjoy the festival.”

I look at Marcus. I look at Cole and Gabe.

I look at my mother.

The crowd whispers, staring at me. I could walk away. I could salvage what little of my reputation I have left.

But Suzanne didn’t kick me out.

And I know what I want. What I need.

My heart pounds, but I know my own mind. I do. I’m not the boring girl Bryan dumped by text, and I’m not the careful, sorry daughter Mama wants. I’m mine.

I stalk around the pavilion and up to the podium, taking the microphone from Marcus.

“Thank you, Marcus,” I say, and he smiles. Big and open.

“I choose him,” I say quietly, but the microphone echoes my voice over the festival. Everyone falls silent, turning around to look at me. My face flushes and I continue. “And Gabe. And Cole. And I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m not ashamed. I’m not confused. And I don’t need permission. This is my choice. I’m choosing them. I’m choosing happiness.”

I look at my mother, who’s staring at me, stunned.