Much Ado About a Boy Read online

  They melted into the crowd of kids in the lunchroom, and I gave Krista a smile. “Wanna talk about it?”

  Krista twisted her hands in her lap. “Um, yeah, I probably should. How’s the duo with Bentley going?”

  “Great!” I could feel my face lighting up. “He’s struggled at first with the language, but now he’s doing really well.”

  “It is Shakespeare,” Krista said. “It’s always hard.”

  “For sure,” I agreed.

  On the table, my phone buzzed. I picked it up, and my heart did a somersault when I saw a message from Bentley. Hey, are you in the cafeteria?

  “It’s him.” I beamed at Krista. “Do you mind if he joins us?”

  Her face went pale and she pulled at the stretchy bracelet on her arm. “It’s okay. I need to take off anyway.”

  “Wait, you don’t have to—”

  But she was already hurrying away.

  I twisted in my seat just as Bentley entered the room. He stopped in the doorway and our eyes met across the crowded lunchroom. My pulse roared in my ears. There was something here, something tangible. Bentley flashed a crooked grin and raised one hand, pointing toward the lunch line.

  This would be the first time we’d been seen at school together. Did that mean we were a couple? Would he hold my hand? My skin buzzed with anticipation and I ran one hand over my hair. I’d worn it in twin braids today down my back with loose tendrils around my face. Hopefully, it wasn’t frizzed out by now.

  A few minutes later, Bentley came toward me, tall and handsome, carrying a lunch tray. He set it on the table and grinned at me. “Well, hello.”

  “Hey.” My voice came out breathy and happy, like some kind of anime character.

  “How’s your day going?” He reached out and squeezed my shoulder before taking the seat Krista had vacated.

  “Good, you?”

  Bentley eyed his lunch tray; the cafeteria was serving spaghetti and meatballs today, and it did not look at all appetizing. “I should know better than to eat lunch here,” he muttered, digging into the pile of pale red spaghetti with his fork.

  “I have a PB&J,” I offered. “I’ll split it with you.”

  His eyes lingered on my face for a moment, making me feel like the most beautiful person in the whole world. How could I get so lucky as to have someone like this wanting to be with me? It made my head spin.

  “So … split?” I tore the sandwich in half and offered him a piece. With Mom’s homemade wheat bread and raspberry jelly, it looked much more appetizing than the grease-soaked piece of garlic bread on his tray.

  “Thanks.” Bentley’s fingers brushed mine as he took the sandwich. Electricity shivered over my skin as heat pooled low in my stomach. Who could eat at a time like this? I wanted to yank the sandwich from his fingers and throw myself into his arms.

  Okay, careful breath. That was maybe going a bit too far.

  “How’s the memorization coming?” I asked instead.

  “Much better.” Bentley smiled. “Thanks for the tips. I made a recording, and it’s coming easier.”

  We ate in silence for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. “Hey, would you like to go out on Friday night?”

  “Out? Like for a real date?” I asked.

  “Duh a real date,” he teased. Then his face became serious. “Well, kinda. I know I can’t make up for homecoming, but I’d like to try.”

  “But there aren’t any dances scheduled for the rest of the year,” I said. Prom was a few weeks ago and I hadn’t gone, but the whole school knew about Tommie and James having some kind of make-out session on the dance floor. It was a humiliating kiss that made Tommie look like she’d swallowed James’s lips. Unfortunately, someone had been taking video and we’d all seen the social media posts.

  “No more school dances,” Bentley said. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t still go out and do something special. Are you in?”

  I nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  His eyes softened. “Wear your dress,” he said.

  “My dress?”

  He reached out and took my hand. “You still have your homecoming dress, right?”

  I did. It had been hanging in my closet, mocking me all these months. But now, the thought of my dress didn’t bring up a big tangle of anger and shame. Instead, I felt a surge of excitement. “Okay.”

  Chapter Nine

  On Friday night, I was ready and waiting for Bentley at six o’clock, though a part of me kept telling myself I was stupid for falling for this again. Not that I thought he’d stand me up, but it was like making a wish on a shooting star. Even though there are other shooting stars, you can never get that exact one back. That exact moment, or feeling, is lost forever. We’d go to dinner or something, but it still wouldn’t be like homecoming.

  The doorbell rang, and my heart jumped to my throat. “I got it.” I jumped up and hurried to the door.

  Bentley stood outside, wearing a suit and a … blindfold? “Bailey?” he asked.

  “Um, yeah. It’s me,” I said in confusion. “What are you doing?”

  “You have to do the big reveal,” he insisted.

  “What?”

  “You know, where I come in and make nervous conversation with your dad for a few minutes. I try to impress him with how wholesome I am, and he tries to convince me he has a shovel and an alibi. Then there’s a commotion at the doorway and you enter grandly and I stand there with my mouth hanging open because you look gorgeous, as always.”

  I giggled. “We don’t have to do that.”

  “Yes, we do,” he insisted, making a shooing motion with his hands. “Now go back inside and have someone else answer the door.”

  My chest felt fizzy—like I’d drunk too much soda. “Okay, give me a minute.” I picked up my swooshy blue skirt and shut the door, unable to stop the tiny squeal that burst from my lips. From the other side of the door, I heard Bentley chuckle.

  I ran to find my dad and told him Bentley was on the front porch, blindfolded and waiting for me to make a grand entrance. “You have to come give him a hard time,” I urged. “Like he’s for real my boyfriend and you’re worried about what we’ll do together.”

  Dad’s eyebrows flew up. “Well, now I am worried,” he said.

  “Stop it,” I said. “We’re just friends.” But my cheeks were warm and the fizzy excitement of going out with Bentley was back, times one hundred.

  The doorbell rang, and I raced out of sight while Dad went to answer it.

  I stood at the top of the stairs, just around the corner so Bentley wouldn’t see me as he came inside. Was it my imagination, or could I smell his cologne from way up here?

  “Hello, sir,” Bentley said, very formally. “Thank you for letting me take your daughter out tonight. We’re going to have a great time.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that,” my dad grumbled.

  “She’s a beautiful girl and I am looking forward to our date,” Bentley said. There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but his words sounded completely sincere. I pressed my fingertips to my fluttering heart.

  I couldn’t wait any longer. I took a deep breath and then rounded the corner and made my way grandly, I hoped, down the stairs. The chiffon on my skirt whispered as I moved and rippled down the stairs behind me. Princess Diana walking through St. Paul’s cathedral with her twenty-five-foot bridal train could not have felt more regal.

  Bentley looked up and saw me. As I came down the stairs, his mouth fell open in a very good approximation of a starstruck boyfriend. “Whoa,” he said. “You look fantastic!”

  Butterflies whooshed through my stomach and into my limbs, making me tingly all over. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I told him.

  “Not so bad” was the understatement of the century. He looked like a cover model on a teen magazine with his fitted suit, curly hair, and sultry eyes. Well, kind of sultry, with a hint of laughter behind it.

  “Shall we?” He offered me his arm. A wave of his cologne
reached my nose, making my knees tremble. This was the date I’d dreamed about all those months ago, the one I’d thought I’d be missing out on forever.

  I nodded and put my hand on his forearm. Beneath the silky fabric of his suit coat, his muscles were lean and hard. My heartbeat notched higher.

  “I’ll take good care of her, sir,” Bentley promised my dad.

  Dad was trying to be serious, but he couldn’t keep the twinkle from his eyes. “Have fun, you two,” he said as we left the house.

  A black Navigator sat at the curb. “That’s not your car,” I blurted we walked toward it.

  “It’s my mom’s,” Bentley explained. “I had to clean the whole thing with a toothbrush in order to borrow it.”

  “A toothbrush?”

  “Only a joke,” he laughed, “but not by much.”

  He opened the door for me and I slid into the plush interior, taking in the mingled scents of Bentley’s cologne, rich leather, and a sweeter, mom kind of smell.

  He got behind the wheel and reached into the center console for a clear plastic box with a Sweet Water Floral sticker on the top. “This is for you,” he said, offering me the box. Inside was a corsage of white roses and dainty, silky ribbon. My first corsage ever. I pictured making a shadowbox for it to go along with the others in my room.

  “It’s gorgeous, thank you!” I pried the lid open and the sweet smell of roses filled the air, mixing with the other good smells in the car. “I didn’t get one for you, though,” I admitted.

  “I don’t need a corsage.” Bentley grinned. “They don’t really go with my hairstyle.”

  I reached out and smacked him lightly on the arm. “Very funny. But you should have told me; I would have found a boutonniere.” The corsage had a rhinestone bracelet strap, and I slid it onto my wrist.

  “No worries.” Bentley shook his head. “Besides, this is your night. The ultimate makeup date, right?”

  “How about just a date?” I said.

  Our eyes locked, all traces of lingering bitterness falling away. His gaze dropped quickly to my lips, then back to my eyes. “Deal,” he said softly.

  I’d expected he would take me to dinner somewhere like Luigi’s or maybe even The Garden House, but instead, he drove to Peachtree Park. There was a big white gazebo in the park that was popular for weddings and photoshoots. Bentley helped me from the car and held my arm as we climbed the wooden stairs. The gazebo was decorated in crepe paper and fairy lights and to one side, sat a white-draped table with two chairs.

  My mouth fell open in stunned amazement. “You did all this?”

  He shrugged. “Not that hard.”

  Between cleaning out the car and decorating the gazebo, he must have spent all day, or longer, on this date. Excitement flooded through me.

  “Shall we?” Bentley swept his arm toward the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”

  He pulled the chair out for me, and I sat down and rearranged my skirts while he took a small box of matches from his pocket and lit the tall white candles in the center of the table. There was a small cooler and one of those heat-sealing grocery bags on the floor, and Bentley got busy. The plates were in the heated bag and covered in foil. He put mine in front of me and took the foil off with a flourish to reveal chicken cordon bleu, still piping hot, twice-baked potatoes sprinkled with cheese, long, juicy spears of asparagus, and fresh rolls with butter. My stomach growled just looking at it.

  “Did you make all this?” I demanded.

  “Nah. My mom did. She loves to cook.”

  I giggled. “Did you have to deep clean the kitchen with a toothbrush in exchange?”

  “Don’t give her any ideas! But …” He turned back toward the heated bag. “I did make this. Ta-da!” He set another dish on the table and opened the lid.

  Inside was a generous helping of boxed mac and cheese, still warm.

  “Oh no,” I whispered. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “You mean what you’ve been hoping it is,” Bentley corrected me. “My famous Frankenstein mac and cheese and mayo. All for you.” He grinned proudly and offered me a spoon.

  I leaned forward to examine the mac and cheese. “Seriously? You put mayo in here?”

  “Yup. Try it.”

  It didn’t look any different from normal mac and cheese. I scooped up a spoonful and tasted it. My eyes widened in surprise. “It’s not terrible,” I said. The mayo was subtle and actually added creaminess to the cheese sauce.

  “Told ya.” Bentley gave me a self-satisfied smirk.

  “Don’t get crazy there. I said it’s not terrible; I didn’t say it was good.” I tried another spoonful.

  “You’re eating it; that’s all I need to know,” Bentley said.

  I took a few more bites of the mac and cheese as he finished setting the table. It was oddly satisfying, and not just because of the added mayo. He’d made this specifically for me, and now we had an inside joke, something just the two of us shared. The thought sent darts of excitement zipping through me, a pulse of electricity that warmed my heart and stirred the butterflies in my stomach.

  Bentley pulled two long-stemmed glasses from his bag, then brought out a bottle of sparkling cider from the cooler.

  “If this gets any fancier, I may have to faint,” I said, pretending to fan myself.

  Bentley chucked and poured the sparkling cider. “If you do, I’ll catch you.” He lifted his glass. “Here’s to the best homecoming date ever.”

  We clinked glasses, and I sipped the sparkling cider. It couldn’t have been any better if it’d been real champagne, sending bubbles fizzing through my veins.

  Bentley was right: his mom was a fantastic cook. The chicken cordon bleu was crispy on the outside, but gooey with cheese and ham on the inside. The asparagus was tender, and the rolls were to die for.

  “Your mom seems pretty awesome,” I said as we ate.

  He nodded. “She is. Always very supportive and totally involved in our lives.”

  “How many siblings do you have?”

  “One older brother.” He speared a piece of asparagus and took a bite. “And you have two, right?”

  “Yep, I’m the oldest, then my brother, Max, and my sister, Carley.”

  “I’ll bet you’re a fun big sister.” He grinned.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You’re a theater geek. You probably get all kinds of crazy ideas when you’re playing with them.”

  “Well …” I smeared butter on a roll. “I used to set up some pretty complicated Barbie games.”

  “I knew it,” Bentley said. There was a note of satisfaction in his tone. “Like what?”

  I told him about staging the entire production of Babes in Toyland when I was younger, complete with a plastic jack-o’-lantern as part of the town and Annette Funicello’s yellow Mary Quite Contrary dress, which I made from fabric scraps. He seemed interested and asked lots of questions, and from there, the conversation moved easily other things—our families, growing up in Sweet Water, school, and our future plans.

  “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked.

  “A fireman or a paramedic,” he said quickly.

  “Really?” I blinked. I hadn’t expected that from Bentley Nielsen.

  “Why is that a surprise?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged, searching for the reasoning. “I guess you’re smart and popular and seem to have everything going for you. I thought you’d want to be, like, a doctor or one of those entrepreneur guys who develops a best-selling app and makes ten million dollars by the time he’s twenty.”

  Bentley snorted. “Yeah, right. I’m not very tech-savvy. What about you? Actress?”

  “It’s that obvious?”

  He grinned. “Sorta. I mean, you have that vibe.”

  “What kind of vibe?”

  He took a sip of his sparkling cider. “I dunno. I guess like you’re biding time and have bigger and better things do to than waste your life in Sweet Water.”
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br />   “You think I’m a snob?”

  “No, of course not. I just … you always have kind of had that faraway look in your eyes. Like you can’t wait to get out there.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” I challenged. “It’s good to get out there and test yourself.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it. Just not what most of the girls around here want.”

  The thought stung. He’d had this conversation with other girls, on other dates. For one wild second, I glanced around, as if the ghosts of Bentley’s past dates would be ringing the gazebo, daring me to dream with this cute guy.

  “What?” Bentley asked.

  “Nothing.” I pulled my eyes back to my plate. Someone needed to tell my stuttering heart that this was a makeup date, nothing more.

  When we’d finished dinner, Bentley began clearing the table.

  “I can do that,” I offered.

  “Nah. It’s your night. I’ll just be a minute.”

  I reapplied my lip gloss, then wandered around the gazebo, enjoying the way my chiffon skirt brushed against my legs. The gazebo wasn’t huge, but it was definitely bigger than an average backyard setup. Kind of like the one in The Sound of Music where Liesl and Rolf dance to “Sixteen Going on Seventeen.” I’d always loved that part.

  Almost without thinking, I started humming the tune, taking little dance steps and spinning to send my skirt swooshing. I did a glissade across the floor with my arms outstretched, imagining I was Liesl running away from dinner to be with Rolf. Too bad he turned out to be a literal Nazi, because they were so cute together. Dancing around the gazebo, kissing in the rain … What would it be like to kiss Bentley in the rain? I wouldn’t even care if it ruined my dress. Well, kinda.

  Bentley broke out into applause behind me. I stuttered to a stop, suddenly aware that I was full-on dancing, one side of my skirt swept up in my hand and everything, while I sang to accompany myself. Heat flooded my cheeks. He must think I’m a lunatic.

  “Keep going. You look nice,” he said.

  “Oh no. You’re not going to King of Siam me,” I retorted.