Anything but Ordinary(51)

“I wish we had more luxurious transportation, but limos are surprisingly expensive.”

Bryce smiled at the idea of her gown on the busted leather of Carter’s seats. “It’s perfect.”

“But watch this,” Carter said, holding her elbow. “Ahem!” He clapped twice.

A chubby guy in a rumpled button-down shirt came around the car, bowing slightly to Bryce.

“This is Jeffrey. He’s in my anatomy class. He will be our driver for the evening.”

Jeffrey straightened, then said out of the corner of his mouth, “You’re still giving me fifty bucks, right?”

“Not in front of the lady, Jeffrey!” Carter said, winking at Bryce. “To the restaurant!”

Jeffrey rolled his eyes and opened the squeaky back door for the two of them. Carter had laid down a soft sheet over the patchy backseat, and in the center was a bucket full of ice surrounding a bottle of sparkling grape juice.

The Honda rolled forward. Carter had pinned up another sheet as a divider between them and the driver. He leaned over the bucket to give Bryce a soft kiss, just centimeters from her mouth, teasing her. “I don’t want to ruin your lipstick,” he said.

Bryce gave a small laugh, her eyelashes close enough that they brushed his cheek. She took in his handsome frame against the pinned-up sheets.

“Who cares?” she said, and their mouths connected. It felt like the last kiss in a romantic movie, but their night had just begun.

At the restaurant, Bryce tucked a napkin into the front of her strapless dress, and Carter ordered lobster for them to share.

“Special occasion?” the gum-chewing waitress asked with a twang.

“It’s my senior prom,” Bryce gushed loudly, and beamed at the other patrons, an elderly couple and a family with twins.

Carter disguised his laughter with a cough.

“Prom in August, huh?” the waitress said lazily, and then didn’t ask any more about it. They all turned back to their meals.

After dinner, in the car, as Jeffrey ate their leftovers in the front, they popped open the bubbly. Carter dusted off two plastic champagne glasses he had put under the seat.

“To us,” he said, topping the glasses with foamy white grape juice.

Bryce cleared her throat. She had thought of something to say at this moment, something better than the things she felt usually came out of her mouth.

She lifted her glass. “To a life worth reliving!” she said triumphantly, and Carter nodded.

They were holding their full glasses to their lips, ready to take a sip, when the car lurched forward, splashing fake champagne all over Bryce’s dress and Carter’s suit. They froze for a moment, taking in the damage.

“Sorry!” Jeffrey called back.

“Send back some napkins!”

Carter took a wad of napkins from Jeffrey’s disembodied hand. Bryce’s lap was soaked through and through. Carter started spreading the napkins on Bryce’s upper thighs like picnic blankets, pressing them down to soak up the moisture.

Bryce started to giggle. “Could you stop pressing on my lady parts, please?”

Carter shot up, banging his head on the roof of the car. “Ow!”

Then they both started to laugh, Carter’s eyes tearing up from hitting his head. He collapsed in her lap and she ran her hands through his gelled hair, messing it back into his usual bed head.



They were acting out the scene from Taxi Driver Bryce had showed him in the hospital, trying to see whose de Niro impression was better, when Jeffrey pulled up to a row of buildings.

“This is it, right?” Jeffrey called back to Carter, his mouth full of dinner roll.

“This is it,” Carter replied, and leaped around the car to open the door for Bryce.

Bryce stepped out into a street she didn’t recognize. The buildings were a mixture of old storefronts and narrow houses with wide, white porches on both levels. She could see the skyline of downtown Nashville in the near distance. Carter led her to a door next to one of the old storefronts. It stood open under a humming neon sign reading THE JAZZ HOUSE. A few scattered beats from a drum set filtered down a set of wooden stairs.

“Welcome to your prom,” Carter said, and took her hand.

She squeezed his hand tight as he climbed in front of her. Up the stairs a stooped old man in a beret sat on a stool. Carter placed a ten-dollar bill in his hand and led Bryce to a small table in sight of a group of unmanned instruments glowing in stage light against the rest of the dark little club. In front of the band was a semicircle dance floor.

The drummer lay down a few beats, bobbing his bald head to the rhythm. Bryce felt her mouth drop open in awe at his skill.

She looked at Carter, who smiled back at her, amused by her amazement. “They’ll start in a few minutes.”

One by one, the musicians took up their spots. A man with a big beard and gnarled hands at the piano, a tall woman all in black at the stand-up bass, a middle-aged man on trumpet. And finally the singer, a curvy girl not much older than Bryce in a tight, red dress, her hair styled in old-fashioned curls.

The first strains of music began, and Bryce felt her body melt. Carter had picked the exact right band. The notes didn’t feel random like some jazz she’d heard; they came together in harmony and a familiar rhythm. The singer began, with a voice like warm maple syrup.

Hold me close and hold me fast