Leah on the Offbeat (Creekwood #2)(67)

But I’ve got one eye on the road, and every time a car approaches, my heart starts pounding. I know she’s almost here, but it feels like that moment won’t ever arrive. Time is dragging so slowly, and everything’s blurry and dreamlike. I try to focus on the warmth of the sun on my shoulders. Anything to keep me centered. I feel like I’ve swallowed a helium balloon.

Then Abby’s car pulls up, and my whole brain clicks into place. Her mom turns into Simon’s driveway, and Abby slides out of the passenger seat, gripping her skirt in one hand and holding a clutch in the other.

She lets her skirt fall.

And fuck my life forever.

She looks like a cloud. Or a ballerina. Her whole dress is pale blue tulle, light as air, with straps crossed neatly between her shoulder blades. Her hair is pinned up loosely, her bangs swept to the side, and her lips and cheeks are soft and pink. It’s too much. I swear to God. This girl is too much, and I’m way too far gone.

She looks at me, and her eyes flare wide. Wow, she mouths.

For a moment, I just stare at her. Twenty-four hours ago, I was yelling at her on a football field, and now she’s grinning at me like it’s the easiest thing in the world. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or gutted. Like, come on: you’re not even going to be awkward about that? Not even a little?

I’m jolted back to earth by Simon’s mom, who sidles between Abby and me, clapping her hands together. “Your paparazzi awaits.” She’s wearing an oversized red T-shirt that says, in giant black letters, FEAR THE SQUIRREL.

“Why should we fear the squirrel?” I ask.

“Because,” she says. And then she turns around to show off the back of her shirt. Which has a picture of a squirrel and the words HAVERFORD MOM.

“Their mascot is a squirrel?” asks Abby.

I catch Simon’s eye across the driveway. Bram knows? I mouth.

He tilts his head, looking confused.

I take out my phone and text him. Bram knows about Haverford?

Simon pulls his phone out of his back pocket, glances at the screen, and grins. He writes back, He knows. Smiley emoji.

We head over to the dogwood, and Simon’s dad arranges us for pictures. Peak awkwardness. I don’t know if Simon’s parents are clueless or if they’re messing with me, but they seem determined to place me between Abby and Garrett in every. Fucking. Picture. Except the ones where I’m supposed to stand by Morgan. “Huddle up close, guys. Act like you like each other.”

How do parents do this? How do they always manage to say true things without knowing they’re true?

Mr. Spier is just about to step in it by demanding a couples’ shot of Nick and Abby—but Simon heads it off at the pass, and then the limo pulls up. I slide in between Garrett and Nick while Simon’s mom pokes her head in to snap more pictures.

The inside of the limo is essentially a strip club. Not that I’ve actually been inside a strip club. But there are seats on both sides, and a thin, fluorescent stripe along the wall, like a color-changing glow stick. And there’s a minibar—with bottles of water instead of booze. But still. I feel like I’ve stepped into someone else’s life. Like a Kardashian, or Beyoncé. I don’t want to look out the windows, or I’ll remember we’re in Shady Creek.

“I bet people think we’re famous,” says Simon.

“I mean, that’s what I’d assume, seeing a limo full of high school kids rolling through the suburbs in April,” Abby says. “Definitely a film premiere.”

“Or the Oscars,” chimes Bram.

“Couldn’t be prom.”

“Shut up.” Simon grins and elbows both of them at once.

Then Garrett stretches and—honest to God—slips his arm behind my shoulders. Master of subtlety. I scoot forward, just an inch. Far enough to put a little space between us, but not far enough for anyone to notice.

Except Abby notices. She raises her eyebrows, almost imperceptibly, and shoots me a tiny, secret smile.

And yeah.

Holy shit.

This is going to be quite a night.





31


THE DRIVER CAN’T FIND THE restaurant. He rolls down the divider, peering at us in the rearview mirror. “The American Grill?”

“The American Grill Bistro,” Garrett says.

“And you’re sure this is the mall?”

“Positive.” Garrett extracts his arm from behind my back, leaning forward in his seat. “North Point Mall, the American Grill Bistro.”

We circle for a few minutes, until the driver gives up and lets us off at Macy’s. Walking through the mall in formal wear is surreal. There are old ladies smiling at us and little kids staring, and one dude even snaps a picture.

“Creeper,” says Morgan.

Garrett takes the lead, guiding us past Forever 21, the Apple store, and Francesca’s. But we get all the way to Sears, and there aren’t any restaurants. Garrett looks perplexed. “It was definitely down this way. Definitely.”

“Should I check the map?” Anna asks.

“It should be right here.”

We all stand there for a minute in our dresses and tuxes. It’s a little disorienting. Like, I’m a suburban girl—I know malls. But this isn’t my usual mall, which means it’s like stepping into a parallel universe. I watch Simon chew on his lip while Garrett stares at the directory. “Maybe we should eat at the food court,” Anna suggests.