Maybe This Time(55)

I lifted my chin. “You think big-city parties hold a monopoly on drunk guys? I would argue that country drunk guys are even drunker and more handsy. So yes, I know how to hold my own.”

“Because everything about the country is worse than everything about the city,” Micah said.

“What?” I asked.

Micah turned to me, her mouth tight. “You’re already checked out, aren’t you?” she said. “You have stars in your eyes and a fire at your back. Is that why you stopped telling me things?”

My stomach clenched. What was she saying? “No—no, I’m not checked out,” I stammered. “I’ve just been a bad friend, I’m sorry. We’ll talk, let’s talk. Just not …” I looked at Andrew. “Now.”

She shook her head. “Whatever. I’m tired. I’m going to get started on the cleanup.” With that, she walked away.

I stared after her, tempted to follow, but I knew my best friend needed some time. I’d give her that.

“What was that about?” Andrew asked.

“Me. It was about me.” I owed Micah a major apology and a best-friend talking session. It would all work out. I’d make sure of that.

“So was she right?” Andrew asked. “Is everything about the city better than everything about the country?”

I turned my attention back to the lights in the distance, thinking about his question. “No. The stars are way better in the country. City stars are pretty lame.”

He looked up as if he needed proof of this. “I’d agree with you on that.”

I watched him take in the dark sky for a moment. Then I retrieved the business card from my pocket. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“That wine lady has a sister.” The card spoke for itself. It read Country Catering with a picture of a chef hat on it. “For your dad. She applied for the program, I guess.”

“Oh.” He seemed to read every word on the card twice.

“It would probably be too close to this year’s mentee, though, yeah?”

“Maybe. But we once did two years in nearly the same place.”

“Well then you’ll have to put in a good word for wine lady’s sister.” Maybe Andrew Hart would be closer than I thought in four months.

He smiled and finally put the card in his pocket.

I grabbed hold of the railing, then leaned back and looked up at the sky once more. I felt it again: the slight cool tinge in the air that meant fall was coming soon. “Oh!” I said, pulling myself upright. “You know what else is better in the country than in the city? Our Fall Festival. It’s the best.”

“Let me guess,” Andrew said. “You work the Fall Festival. Are there actually flowers there?”

“There are. And a huge corn maze. And a band,” I added. “Usually a decent one even.” That was to say: not Kyle’s band. “And so much food.”

“I guess that’s our next date, then.” Andrew looked at me when he said it but his eyes quickly moved back to the view.

“I better”—I pointed over my shoulder—“find Micah.”

“Good luck.”

When I found Micah, she was in the kitchen laughing with Jett and her dad. I stood for a while, waiting for my chance to talk to her, but instead Jett assigned cleanup chores and we went our separate ways. By the time we were done cleaning up, Micah was back to her bubbly self and I asked her to sleep over at my house the following weekend. She agreed that we needed a sleepover. Hopefully that would fix everything.





WILDFLOWER

A flower that grows in the wild or is exactly as it would appear if found growing in nature, unaided. In some places, it is illegal to pluck a wildflower in nature, but even wildflowers can be grown in captivity. Tamed.





There was something about the Fall Festival that I loved more than all the other events. Maybe it was the weather: the leaves bright with color, the stifling heat of summer finally gone. Maybe it was that the festival took place on Mr. Hancock’s farm—twenty acres of animals and apple trees and cornfields. Maybe it was the smell of a million foods being fried at once, or that I got to wear a sweater. Whatever it was, it was perfect.

I carried a tin of wildflowers in one arm and a small bale of hay in the other. I headed toward the food court section of the event, which consisted of a semicircle of food booths bordering thirty picnic tables.

“You actually do own a pair of jeans,” Andrew said. He stepped away from a food booth, lifting his phone and snapping my picture. “This one is for proof.”

“And you own a pair of cowboy boots.” I stared in shock at his footwear. “When did that happen?”

“Micah took me shopping last week and insisted.”

“She’s hard to say no to.”

Micah and I were in a good place. After the Birmingham benefit, we’d had our slumber party. I’d apologized for being so checked out and for not telling her about what had happened with Andrew and with Kyle. She’d helped me discover, with an extensive list of pros and cons, that Andrew and I could absolutely not work, at least not beyond friends. And everything was all right.

“She is.” He put his hands in his pockets and his eyes went to the tin as I placed it on a table. “Nice flowers.”