The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(32)

“Lunch is on me today,” I say.

“Oh my God,” Kimmy squeals. “I love tacos.”

After everyone’s eaten several, Shane murmurs, “Tell your aunt she’s a fantastic cook.”

“You should come over sometime.”

The whole table looks interested, and I think I might’ve just invited everybody for Sunday lunch. “Do you guys have plans?”

“Nope,” Theo says without hesitation.

“I have to ask my mom,” Mel tells me, “but it’s probably cool. And I’ll bring lunch tomorrow, if you guys want. This was fun. I’ll make sure to bring some veggie stuff, Sage.”

“Wow. Thanks.” Lila looks about as surprised as I feel.

These four sophomores are really nice. I mean, I never would’ve gone out of my way to meet them because they’re … average. Normal. And I always feel self-conscious with people who don’t have any baggage … because I’m deceiving them, and they deserve better. But maybe I need to make friends like this to stop feeling that way.

Kimmy and Shanna say they’ll let me know tomorrow. I wonder how Aunt Gabby will feel about our Sunday afternoon being invaded by a bunch of teenagers, then I decide she’ll be happy; she’ll think my wanting to have people over is a milestone. I hope she doesn’t make a huge deal of it … but apart from Ryan—and now Lila—nobody has ever been to our place.

After lunch, on our way back to class, Shane asks, “You want to hang out Friday night?”

“Sure.” I’m not ready to bring him home for a night like I used to spend with Ryan. “We could catch a movie at the Capitol.”


There’s no multiplex here. Instead, we have an old-fashioned theater built in the 1890s. It’s a little run-down and the roof leaks during a hard rain, but the current owners are working on restoration. The only problem is that they can’t afford to shut down, so there’s always random construction going on, something roped off or covered in plastic. But I like the charm of the ornate moldings and the worn but fabulous carpet. The concession stand is covered in gilt, and there’s a heavy crystal chandelier on the domed ceiling. Upstairs, the Capitol even has a balcony, which is usually closed; that doesn’t stop couples from sneaking up there to make out. Since the place is understaffed, they usually get away with it.

“That sounds good,” he says.

I expected he might make an excuse due to money and suggest hanging out on the square instead. That’s the low-rent option for weekend fun in this town. Those who don’t have cars or can’t afford DQ, Coffee Shop, or a show will buy a drink at the convenience store near the courthouse, and then just wander around the square until the cops run them off. Sometimes they bring music and dance on the front steps, but that’s mostly drama dorks trying to start a flash mob of four. People don’t pick on them, though, because all the beautiful people are out at the Barn getting shit-faced.

“There’s only one show on Fridays,” I tell him. “At eight.”

“Then I’ll be at your house at seven thirty.”

“Do you need the address?”

“That’d be good.” I scrawl it on a piece of paper, which he sticks in the zip pocket on his backpack. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Oh,” I add, remembering. “You might want to swing by the P&K after school. My aunt said they’re looking for help.”

Shane’s relief is a tangible force, warming the air between us. “I definitely will.”

When he slides a hand beneath my hair—unstraightened and I didn’t even have time for a ponytail—I think he’s going for a kiss, right in the hallway. But he just cups his palm around my nape, fingers strumming slowly like I’m a tune he’s trying to learn. Chills start on my neck, roll down my shoulders to my arms, until I have goose bumps. I’m wearing a shrug or he’d see them. Reflexively, I tug at the sleeves, making sure they’re all the way down.

“Class,” I mumble, unable to string two words together.

Shane lets go, and I manage to get to chem without stumbling over my own feet. Today, I actually beat Ryan, so I get our supplies from the back table. The beakers and things are already at our lab station, so I start setting up as best I can. The teacher watches me take the initiative, then scribbles a note in the grade book. Ryan barely reaches his stool before the final bell, looking more rumpled than usual. Since his head is one enormous cowlick, that’s saying something.

I listen while we get the instructions for our experiment, then I turn to Ryan. “You ready?”

“I got your note. About my stories.”

“Yeah.” It’s true; he can make a trip to the QwikMart sound like an epic adventure.

“I guess … you have plans tomorrow night?” He says it with such awful resignation, like he can’t imagine a worse fate than not hanging with me.

“I do. But…” The invite slips out in response to his puppy eyes. “You can come to lunch on Sunday if you want.”

“I’m there.”

“I invited a bunch of people, apparently. We’re girl heavy, so—”

“Tell me you didn’t just invite me for my Y chromosome.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this angry. Ryan doesn’t have a temper; at least, not that I’ve ever seen. Until now. His brown eyes practically throw sparks behind the black frames of his glasses.