#famous(70)

“I have something for you.” He pulled a Burger Barn box from behind his back. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. I looked around; they’d spread fries along the edges of the entire walkway, like the most downmarket rose petal path that ever existed. Apparently that joke never got old.

He pulled open the cardboard top and pulled out a soft, orangey-yellow corsage.

“Daffodils?” I frowned, confused. “How did you know I liked . . . ? Wait, how did you even get daffodils in October?”

He smiled, his mouth pinched closed like he was working to keep it from going full-teeth.

“I have my sources.” He bent down slightly, catching my eye. “Do you like them?”

“I love them.” I was too stunned to play it cool.

“Good.” He reached for my fingers, gently drawing my hand up. I could feel the warmth of him pressing into my fingertips, but it was hard to focus on that, since his touch was rapidly shivering around my entire body. I willed myself not to get visible goose bumps. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slipped the flowers—the perfect, beautiful, totally out-of-season flowers—onto my wrist.

“Ready?” He swept his arm out over the fry-lined path grandly. I laughed. “Original and high-end.”

“Sure. Let’s go embarrass ourselves.”

I put my arm out to link with his, but he reached his hand around me, setting it lightly on the small of my back.

Breathe, Rachel. He’s playing a game for the cameras.

We made it into the limo, and he sat down next to me as they closed the doors, his hand ferreting between the layers of tulle until it found mine.

There were no cameras on us now.

How would I be able to remember it was just pretend when it felt so real?





chapter forty-eight


KYLE

SATURDAY, 3:49 P.M.

So far everything was going according to plan. The daffodils had been hard to swing. Apparently they don’t grow in fall. Good thing Monique knew about Mrs. Ettinger’s greenhouse at the Arts Center. When I told her I wanted her help making a corsage of Rachel’s favorite flower, she actually squealed, like some middle-aged middle schooler.

Ollie had said the flowers would be clutch, and he was right. It was almost like I could see a layer of ice melting off Rachel as I put them on her wrist.

And she was letting me hold her hand.

I grabbed the remote for the sound system and clicked it on. Monique better have been right about this one. I’d never heard of this guy, and the picture on the “Best Of” album looked old. Like, history class old.

Cupid, draw back your bow-oh.

And let your arrow go-oh.



“Oh, Sam Cooke! I love Sam Cooke.” Rachel turned to me, eyes shining. One strand of hair was falling across her face, begging me to touch it, to stroke it away from her cheek. I swallowed. Take it slow. That had been Ollie’s advice. And he had three older sisters.

“Yeah.”

Rachel smirked.

“Do you even like him?”

“I mean, this song is pretty cool.” She raised an eyebrow. I laughed awkwardly. “Honestly, I’ve never heard of him till today.”

The door opened, and Mary escorted the cameraman inside.

“What were you guys talking about?”

“Just the music,” Rachel said. She drew away from me a bit on the bench seat.

“How about you talk about the dance? Just be natural.”

Rachel: face like she’d swallowed rotten milk. I laughed. She turned to me, frowning, then grinned.

“Okay, ready? I’m closing the door, so listen to Charlie on this.” Mary drew away. “Start chatting!” Slam.

Rachel stared at me, then the camera, frozen.

“Are you excited for tonight?” I asked, looking at her until she locked in on me. Her eyes: even deeper and darker and more mysterious than usual. Maybe just because I hadn’t seen them in days.

“Yes, definitely,” she chirped. She looked happy but closed. Like when she was talking to other people in class.

“I hope they play good songs,” I said. “Maybe some Motown. That’s great to dance to.” I felt awkward saying it, not sure how to deliver the line. But Monique had said: Sam Cooke and Motown and some guy named Otis something, who I couldn’t find because I forgot his last name.

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Rachel said. She smiled just the littlest bit, her dimple winking hello for a second. She really looked at me then. Defenses: briefly down. “It’d be like they planned it just for me.”

At first it was hard to figure out how to talk to Rachel while the cameras were on. But then it got to be like a game, me making sure she noticed the things I planned, her accepting them, warily at first, then more and more happily.

AT THE ROSE GARDEN:

ME: Too bad there aren’t any daffodils. They’d match Rachel’s corsage.

MARY: (absently, yelling at her assistant) Is that what we ordered? Find some orange roses to put them against, I guess. They’ll complement each other.

RACHEL: (smirks at me)

AT DINNER:

WAITER: Split pea for the lady, Caesar salad for the gentleman.

MARY: No, no soup! Soup is slurpy. Jesus, I called ahead, this isn’t that hard.

RACHEL: (sneaks one bite while Mary’s running around finding another salad so we can eat the dinner we pretended to order) It’s exactly like my mom’s.