Georgia on Her Mind(53)

“Part of the game, Macy.”

Still. I broke a man’s nose.

We polish off the subs and the guys pile into Sam’s SUV, leaving early so they have time to buy popcorn and candy.

Tamara holds up the DVDs while Lucy and I clean up. “We got While You Were Sleeping, Sense and Sensibility and Mr. Deeds.”

I make a funny face. “Mr. Deeds?”

“I like it,” Lucy says.

“I wanted Fiddler on the Roof,” Adriane interjects, falling into the lounger, throwing a leg over the chair’s arm.

“Sense and Sensibility,” I vote, not sure I’ve seen it all the way through.

“Good choice. Sense and Sensibility it is.” Tamara waves the DVD in the air.

While Lucy mixes up the brownies, I go upstairs and throw down a bunch of extra pillows for movie cuddling.

“I think I’m in love,” Adriane declares from her chair, arms in the air, head back.

Tamara, Lucy and I look at each other. “Really?”

With an uncharacteristic smile, she gushes, “Really.”

We cheer and dive on her. In a heap, we tumble to the floor wrapped in laughter.

“Off me.” Adriane shoves at us, laughing, but she’s finished fooling around. Getting up, she jerks her top in place and flops back into the lounger.

“I’m very happy for you. Eric is great,” I say, arranging my pillows harem-style and covering them with a blanket.

“I know,” she purrs.

Tamara pops in the DVD and takes a seat on the couch. While the player cues up the show, Tamara fires off a challenge. “Best movie of all time?”

“The Way We Were,” I say.

Adriane objects. “Too sad. It’s A Wonderful Life.”

Lucy votes. “Gone With The Wind.”

We oooh. “Good one.”

I hold up my hand. “I don’t care what anyone says. I love Remember the Titans.”

“I’ve never seen that,” Tamara confesses.

“What? You’ve got to see it,” I insist, curling up on my pillowy bed.

“We’ll watch it next movie night,” Tamara suggests, and we all agree.

I get a little dewy-eyed. “Thanks again, you guys, for being here.”

Lucy smiles. “Where else would we be?”





Chapter Twenty-Three




Tuesday afternoon I cruise home along the Indian River after a much-needed shopping spree (need new outfit for reunion, don’t I?—plan ahead, plan ahead) with the Beemer’s top down.

The reunion agenda calls for a fancy Saturday-night dinner, so I definitely need to look fresh, hip and in command. Can’t have the emcee looking like a used shoe.

Overhead, the sun shines brightly in a very blue sky and the air is scented and salty. It’s the kind of day that stirs my faith. Forget about Casper, friends with boyfriends and the gorgeous life of former classmates. I’m ready to get on with my own life—wonderful.

Still in the dark about Myers-Smith, I decide to call Peyton first thing in the morning if I don’t hear anything by the end of the day.

Behind me, the plastic bag covering my new dress flaps in the wind. I use the rearview mirror to make sure it’s safe. I should have stored it in the trunk. I smile. If Dylan liked me in the blue poplin, maybe he’ll love me in this one.



When I pull into the garage, I catch sight of Drag loping across his little lawn, surfboard clutched under his arm.

“Hello,” I call to him, unhooking the dress from the backseat latch.

“You busy?” He tips his head to the side, eyes squinting in the sunlight, his sunglasses riding on his head.

I open the garage door. “I’m unemployed.”

“Then can I talk to you?”

“Sure.” This feels serious.

He leaves his board leaning on the outer garage wall and kicks off his worn flip-flops.

“Nice place,” he says, making his way through the kitchen to the living room.

“Not much different than yours, I’d guess.” I run upstairs to hang up the dress.

“Have you seen my place?” he calls after me.

“Actually, no,” I holler down from my room.

“I have two lawn chairs, a plastic picnic table and a hammock.”

I jog down the stairs. “Furniture is so overrated. Would you like something to drink? Water or Diet Coke?”

“No, thanks.” He sits on the couch, scooping his long blond locks away from his face.

For the first time, I notice his aristocratic features. His nose, jaw and chin line up perfectly.

He notices me noticing. “What?”

I blush. “Nothing.” I sit on the couch, facing him, curling my legs under me. “What’s up?”

He leans forward and knocks his knuckles on the edge of the coffee table as if he’s suddenly nervous. “I was wondering,” he says, avoiding my eyes, “if you could tell me about Jesus.”

“Jesus?” I repeat, as if I’m hearing the name for the first time—one of my more poignant “duh” moments.

“I’ve read the New Testament three times.”

“Three times?” I’m impressed.

“Yeah, and I was—”