Midnight Hour (Shadow Falls: After Dark #4)(134)

“Have you seen the caps and gowns?” Holiday asked.

“They’re dorky looking,” Della said.

Holiday frowned. “I’m still not sure what we’re having for snacks.”

“Just have pizza,” Kylie said. “It doesn’t have to be fancy. It’s going to be midnight.”

Holiday frowned. “You guys didn’t have a prom, I just want it to be nice.”

“It will be,” Kylie said.

The phone rang. Everyone held their breath. Even Holiday.

She picked up the phone. “Shadow Falls Academy … Hello Mr. Garcia,” she said.

Miranda wished she had sensitive hearing like Della and Kylie.

Miranda bit down on her lip, looking to Kylie, Della, and back to Holiday. What was he saying? Was it good news?

Then Della let out a big cheerful whoop!

Holiday motioned for silence, but was smiling. “Thank you,” Holiday said and hung up.

“So I did it. I did it? I’m in?” Miranda asked.

Della and Kylie jumped up, grabbed her arm, and started twirling around.

“No one breaks up the three musketeers!” Kylie said.

Miranda took in a big gulp of air, then suddenly started crying. And they weren’t happy tears. “I want to tell Perry.”

“Then why don’t you?” his voice came from the door.

Miranda swung around. Exhilarated she’d confirmed her place in the college with a solid score, exhilarated Perry was here. But damn if she

wasn’t still madder than a wet hen who’d been shampooed, blow-dried, and permed.

“Let’s take a walk,” Holiday said and started out.

“But I want to see Miranda kick his ass,” Della said. Kylie got her by the elbow and pulled her out. As Della passed Perry, she growled,

“You’re lucky I like you.”

Holiday shut the door as she exited.

Miranda stared at him. “I’m not sure I can forgive you.”

“Good,” he said. “Because that makes two of us.”

“I needed you,” she spit out.

“And I needed you. But for eight hours I was almost certain I’d lost you.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve never loved anything as

much as I love you. And you willingly risked your life and put me through hell.”

“You think I don’t know how that feels?” she countered. “You left me for nine freaking months! I never heard from you.”

“You had my number,” he tossed out.

“And you had mine,” she tossed back.

“You had Shawn,” he countered.

“That’s not fair. We weren’t together—and I broke it off with Shawn so we could be together.”

The emotions crowding the air space made the room feel small. But the emotion making it hard for Miranda to breathe wasn’t anger, but …

“I still love you,” he said.

“Me, too.” A lump rose in her throat.

“How about we apologize?” he offered.

She nodded. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he answered.

He took a slow step closer. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Maybe,” she teased.

He smiled. “Then I’ll wait until you decide, because from what I hear, you can really kick ass now.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, I got something for you.” He turned and walked out of the office, but in seconds he walked right back. He carried an ice cooler.

He set it on the sofa and opened it up. “Breakup flowers.” He handed her a bouquet of bright yellow daisies. “And make-up flowers.” He

reached back in and handed her a bunch of red roses. “And…” he reached back in. “Congratulation flowers for scoring so high on your test. I

knew you’d do it.”

She couldn’t hold them all so he put the daisies down. “And”—he picked up the cooler, and held it so she could see inside—“three gallons

of ice cream. Because you said I smell like birthday cake and it made you want ice cream. And since I plan on sticking to you like glue until

you have to go to college, I figured we should have lots of ice cream on hand.”

She dropped her flowers. He dropped the cooler. She ran into his arms. “Now you can kiss me!”





Chapter Thirty-nine

Class of 2016

Every yesterday is a memory of dreams.





Every tomorrow is a vision of hopes.





Together we unite





To accept our differences





To appreciate our uniqueness





To make our world a just and fair place





Join us at the midnight hour

June 16th

for the Shadow Falls Academy Graduation

At eleven p.m. on June 16th, Miranda kept putting her hair up, then down. She pushed a strand behind her ear. Then just for grins, she added

her old streaks. Pink, black, and green. Turning her head, she stared at herself in the mirror.

It felt right. It felt wrong.