Flower(40)

“He came into the flower shop,” I say, echoing what I told Mia this morning. “Then he sent me those roses.”

“Tate Collins is Mr. Gorgeous and Mysterious?” His mouth falls open, eyes equally as shocked.

“Yeah.” It really starts to sink in how long I’ve been keeping this from him—since the beginning. And I can see it registering in Carlos’s face as well. I’ve been a terrible friend. “I turned him down several times. I tried to make him go away,” I say, as if this explains my lack of honesty with him. If Tate had just vanished after that first night, there would be nothing to tell—nothing to hide. “But he just kept coming back. Finally I went on a date with him, and that’s when I realized who he was.”

“You didn’t know he was Tate Collins?”

“You know I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

“But he’s... Tate Collins!”

“Trust me, I already feel like a colossal loser for not realizing it sooner.”

“And how exactly did you end up leaving Il Cielo wearing a stunning red dress and your hair looking like that on Saturday night?” His eyes sweep dramatically over my new hair color.

“Tate took me shopping. And to Q, the hair salon in Beverly Hills,” I admit.

“He took you to see Steven Salazar?!”

I nod and watch as a smile breaks across Carlos’s unwilling lips. Of course he knows where all the famous people go to get their hair done. He probably even watches Steven’s reality TV show.

“I think I might be more hurt that you didn’t text me immediately and ask me to come join you at Steven’s salon than I am about you keeping Tate Collins a secret.”

“It was stupid not to tell you,” I say, hoping my voice sounds as regretful as I feel. “It just all happened so fast, I barely had time to take a breath.”

“Your shopping and beautifying day happened fast, or your romance with Tate?”

“Both.”

Carlos’s expression softens and he drops his hand from the locker door. “I love you, and I can’t stay mad at you.” Then his eyebrows lift. “But you better not keep a single detail from me from now on. I want to know everything. Spare nothing.”

“Deal,” I say, risking a smile.

Then, without warning, he wraps his arms around my waist, scooping me up and spinning me around before he plops me back against our locker. Everyone near us glances in our direction, before resuming their conversations or sipping their coffees or swapping out books from their lockers. “You’re dating Tate Collins!” he proclaims in a hush, like he wants to be sure I realize the gravity of the situation. “The fact that you’re dating at all is astounding. But gorgeous, uber-famous Tate Collins, whose music I have been obsessed with for three years but you couldn’t care less about...that Tate Collins!” Carlos sucks in a deep breath, like he’s about to pass out.

I draw in my top lip to keep from laughing. “Yeah,” I answer softly. “I guess that would be him.”

“When Charlotte Reed decides to date, she doesn’t waste time with average high school boys, she goes big—mega pop star big. And I’ve never been prouder of you.”

His comment forces me to think about how not proud my grandma will be if she finds out. “You don’t think I’m weak?” I ask, my voice suddenly small. “You know my rule about dating, and I’ve just completely broken it.”

“You’re not weak,” he says, leaning in close. “You’ve just finally realized what you’ve been missing. It’s not like anything else has changed—you haven’t given up any of your goals, you haven’t dropped out of high school. You’re just going to have a more exciting love life to go with it.” He winks and we both smile. And just hearing that Carlos isn’t disappointed in me makes me feel better.

The bell rings, and suddenly everyone in the hallway starts to scatter.

Carlos reaches past me into the locker and grabs his calculus textbook. “See you in English,” he says. “I’ll be daydreaming about you and Tate Collins until then.”

I roll my eyes playfully and close our locker door, then head in the opposite direction to AP History.

Whatever I was expecting when I got to school this morning, it’s not what I get. No one so much as glances in my direction the rest of the day. I know others have seen the photos—Jenna Sanchez and Lacy Hamilton whisper about them while Mr. Rennert lectures on symbolism in The Catcher in the Rye. But they’re focused more on the girl in the photo’s “sick” red dress than on the girl herself—and then suddenly they’re talking about Tate’s body and Carlos grins and elbows me and I force myself to pay attention to Holden Caulfield.

But that’s when I realize I’m in the clear. Because Tate’s new mystery girlfriend could never be nerdy, bookworm-slash-good-girl Charlotte Reed. A girl like Charlotte Reed does not attract the attention of Tate Collins, worldwide music sensation. And by the end of the day, I’m grinning to myself. They’re all wrong about me.

Incredibly wrong.

*

My life starts to feel more and more normal. I finish my college applications, go to work, study for tests, do everything just the way I’ve always done it. Except for one thing: Tate. Only Mia and Carlos know about my Friday and Saturday dates with Tate Collins, the rendezvous at his house or at intimate little restaurants where Tate reserves the whole place for just us. He tells me about his music and that he hasn’t wanted to write anything new in a long time.