CHAPTER FIVE
April 2003
Summer ran her finger around the rim of her Diet Coke and tried not to stare at the door of Butterfield’s like a total freakazoid. Play it cool. Don’t think about it being ten minutes after the appointed time. Rhett will be here. You haven’t been stood up for tutoring.
Because that would be beyond pathetic.
Like miles and miles beyond pathetic.
She sucked in her stomach and tried to look nonchalant. She’d worn her hair down in looping curls that sat fat on her shoulders. Heeding Nessa’s advice, she’d worn the navy tank beneath the soft, flannel, plaid shirt she’d bought on a trip to Charleston after Christmas. She didn’t like the way her stomach pooched out, but her boobs looked good. Her jeans had flared bottoms that just hid her worn Merrell slip-ons. Nessa had argued for her wearing wedges, but it was a tutoring session. Hair down and tight tank were the only concessions Summer was willing to make. Oh, and light lip gloss. A girl had to have lip gloss when tutoring Rhett Bryan.
The bell on the door jingled, but it was just Dr. White coming to eat the midweek patty melt. Everyone made jokes about the cardiologist’s diet. He told everyone to cut out butter and fried foods, but visited Butterfield’s for chicken-fried steak and hamburgers at least once a week.
The bell jangled again, and this time there was payoff.
Rhett’s hair was mussed, a few tendrils clinging to his forehead. His eyes swept the diner, smiling at a few adults he obviously recognized, before finally landing on her. She felt heat slide into her stomach and her heart squeeze when he headed her way.
“Hey, Rhett Bryan,” Joe Butterfield brayed from behind the counter. Joe wore a stained apron and a Gamecock ball cap. “Ain’t seen you in a while. How’s the team looking for district, kid?”
“We’re gonna take state this year, Mr. B. I feel it in my bones.” Rhett wore a clingy athletic undershirt and tight baseball pants. It was like scoring the Rhett Bryan jackpot because he looked beyond hot. Miles and miles beyond hot.
“McCroy’s looking good. Hear he’s throwing ninety-three,” Joe continued. The owner of Butterfield’s had an addiction to every sport at Mangham High.
“That’s what Hunt says,” Rhett said, skirting a table of older ladies eating pie. They all smiled sweetly at him. “Hey, Mr. Joe, can I have a burger? No onions, extra tomato.”
“Coming your way, kid,” Joe said, holding up a metal flipper.
“Sorry I’m late,” Rhett said, sliding opposite her. He smelled like outdoors—that boy-mix of wet dog, sunshine, sweat, and maybe some kind of cologne. It should have been gross, but it wasn’t. “Hunter’s dad spent ten minutes trying to talk me into going to Florida with Hunter. He just wants someone there to keep Hunt out of trouble.”
“Trouble?”
Rhett lifted broad shoulders. “You know Hunt. He’s a great guy, but . . . you know.”
She didn’t. Hunter McCroy was someone she’d had little opportunity to know. His family had money, and thus Hunter had attended some fancy private school through his freshman year. He’d shown up sophomore year, making girls’ hearts flutter with his dark-brown eyes, gorgeous tan, and ability to whip the baseball past a batter at frightening speed. He drove a big truck, wore the most expensive clothes, and had taken his rightful place among the upper hierarchy of Mangham High School by the end of school that first day. Summer had shared a few classes with him, but he’d had little cause to talk to her, much less look her way. “Everyone makes bad decisions.”
“Except you. You’re a good girl,” Rhett said, unzipping his book bag and pulling out a binder.
“I’m not a good girl.”
“It’s not a bad thing. Don’t be mad.”
“I’m not. It’s just not true.”
“What’s one bad thing you’ve done? Turned in homework with ragged edges? Left teeth marks on your pencil? Forget to recycle your milk carton?” His teeth flashed and dimples appeared. Holy hell. The Dimples.
“No.” Summer felt flustered, mostly because she couldn’t think of anything bad she’d done. Okay, so she was a rule follower. Big deal. She didn’t have a family with money who could fix things for her or smooth her way. She had to make good grades, follow the rules, and keep her head down. “I’m just not perfect.”
“I think it’s sweet.”
Sweet? That was the kiss of death coming from someone like him. “I’m glad my ability to follow rules and make good decisions gives me ‘sweet’ status.”
“You’re mad. Don’t be. I like that you’re different from other girls. You don’t flirt and bullshit people.”
“I don’t know how to flirt.” God, she’d said it before she could think better. Why had she said that? Who says something like that?
“It ain’t hard. Just bat your eyelashes and touch a guy’s arm every chance you get. Maybe squish your boobs together,” he said, his eyes doing that twinkle thing that made her thighs warm. Then his gaze lowered to her boobs. “First time I’ve seen those out. Should I feel honored?”
Summer turned the color of the tomatoes on the plate heading their way. “Uh, no . . . I just . . .”
Rhett grinned. “You’re too funny, Valentine. Hey, that’s a song. Maybe I’ll call you my Funny Valentine. You got some ketchup around here, Mr. Joe?”
Joe set the plate down, reached to the table behind Rhett, and slapped the half-empty bottle beside him. “Paige made a lemonade pie this morning. Think there’s two pieces left. They’ll be on the house.”
Joe left before Summer could protest. Last thing she needed was a piece of pie. While Rhett doused his fries with ketchup, Summer buttoned her flannel shirt.
“What’re you doing?” Rhett asked, watching her.
“I’m . . . cold.”
He smiled knowingly. “That was flirting.”
“Huh?”
“You said you didn’t know how to flirt. I was showing you how.” He took a bite of burger and chewed, closing his eyes briefly. “Oh man, I was starving.”
Summer didn’t know what to say. It was as if she’d entered some twilight zone where the best-looking guy in school was flirting with her (albeit for a lesson) and calling her a special nickname. What in the heck was going on?
Rhett ate half the hamburger, washed it down with the water, and looked at her expectantly. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Are we going to get down to business? I gotta get an A in Wilson’s class. I got goals, Funny Valentine.”
Summer gave herself a mental shake. “Right. Let’s get to it.” She pulled out the first worksheet Mr. Wilson had given them on derivatives and the notes she’d taken with the practice work. Better to start at the beginning so she could clarify any errors he’d made.
Rhett finished his burger and both pieces of pie while she showed him what he was doing wrong. She’d just given him a few problems to work on when the bells jingled again.
Graysen pushed through the door with her best friend, Katie B, shadowing her. Both girls wore cutoff shorts and thin hoodies that fit snug against their waists. Like a uniform. Their ponytails bobbed back and forth as they headed toward Rhett and Summer.
“Hey, y’all. We had to take a break from making paper lanterns. My fingernails are destroyed.” Graysen glanced down at the French-tipped manicure and frowned.
“Still making them?” Rhett asked, scooting over to make room.
“There are only, like, a million of them,” Graysen said, sliding into the booth beside him and laying her head on his shoulder. “I missed you. Come help me.”
Gag.
Rhett kissed her head absentmindedly and refocused on the page in front of him. “I gotta finish this first.”
Graysen’s gaze went to Summer. “So Summer helped you?”
“Yep.” Rhett didn’t look up.
Graysen delivered a smile that was perfect, thanks to braces and Crest Whitening Strips. “You look pretty, Summer. You should start wearing your hair down.”
“It gets in my way,” Summer said, trying not to be annoyed that Rhett’s girlfriend had crashed her fantasy. She glanced at Rhett’s worksheet. He’d made two mistakes already, but she didn’t want to point it out in front of Graysen.
Katie B scooted in beside Summer, nudging her with a hip bone that doubled as a rapier. “Gray says she’s making you over for prom.”
“I don’t know ab—”
“She should wear her hair down, don’t you think?” Graysen said, narrowing her eyes critically as she assessed Summer. “You’d look good in red. I have the perfect dress.”
“I don’t think we’re the same size, Graysen,” Summer said, wishing the two girls would go back to doing whatever it was popular kids did on things like prom committee. Still, one tiny sliver of her ego felt bolstered that she sat in Butterfield’s with three of the most popular kids in their school. Hey, she was human.
“Don’t worry. It’s stretchy. Besides, you can wear Spanx.”
“Spanx?” Summer echoed, wondering if she should be offended. Wonder how much babysitting money those puppies would take.
“You know, those girdle things Oprah wears,” Graysen said, snagging a french fry off Rhett’s plate and popping it into her mouth. “I’m so starving. I forgot to eat lunch today . . . and dinner.”
Who the hell forgot to eat?
Obviously, skinny girls.
Then Summer remembered the way her stomach poofed over the jeans . . . and the fact Graysen had suggested she wear a girdle. Maybe Summer should forget a meal every now and then. Maybe two meals.
Rhett winked. “Why you girls gotta talk about underwear? You aren’t supposed to do that around guys. We can’t handle it. Turns us into raving sex fiends.”
Graysen giggled. “I’m not talking about lingerie, dumb butt. I’m talking about figure support. Get it straight.”
“But I like your figure.” He leered at her.
“I know.” She wiggled her eyebrows and gave the same grin Summer’s father had given her mother when they’d argued about prom. It was the “we were naughty and we liked it” grin.
Summer wanted to throw up. Not just because Rhett and Graysen were so damned cute together, but because Graysen was still fixated on Summer going to prom. And now she’d told everyone Summer was her makeover project. The whole thing was getting bigger and bigger by the moment, and if Summer didn’t relent and go, everyone would think she was weird or petulant or . . . ungrateful for the charity. She could just hear people in the halls. “Graysen is so sweet. She wanted to help that pathetic fatty and that bitch didn’t show up. Let’s nominate Graysen for sweetest, prettiest, most wonderful girl in the whole of South Carolina!”
Rhett and Graysen were an inch from locking lips.
“Get a room,” Katie B said, picking up a french fry and launching it at Graysen. Summer averted her eyes from the almost PDA and looked at Rhett’s paper. He’d totally screwed up the problem he’d worked. He’d need more than a few tutoring sessions to make an A in calculus.
“Hey,” Graysen laughed, throwing the missive back at her friend.
“So who are you going with, Summer?” Katie B asked, brushing the fry onto the floor.
“Uh, I don’t exactly have a date. I’m not even sure—”
“I’m finding her a date,” Graysen interrupted, planting her index finger in her own chest. “I’m in the process of making a list and trying to see who already has a date. It’s kind of last minute, so it’s a short list.”
“What about Hunt?” Rhett interrupted. “Molly broke up with him today and she’s already asked some guy from Hazelwood Prep. I had to listen to Hunt vent all the way home this afternoon. He’s so pissed. He said he might just go to Hilton Head with his parents and blow off the whole thing.” Rhett gave Graysen a meaningful look.
Graysen’s blue eyes widened. “We can’t let that happen. You’re so brilliant, baby. Summer’s perfect.”
“Her?” Katie said, looking at Summer with horror.
Summer didn’t have time to be offended. She was trying to wrap her mind around the idea that Rhett wanted her to go to prom with Hunt McCroy.
“Hunt?” Summer squeaked before clearing her throat. “Uh, no way. We have nothing in common.”
Rhett made a face. “You don’t have to have anything in common. You’re just going to a dance. Plus, he needs a date.”
“Wrong. I’ve been told it’s more than a dance,” Summer said, looking pointedly at Graysen, whose eyes were literally sparkling with excitement. “It’s an event you look back on and wish you’d gone with someone else or wore a different dress or hadn’t cut your bangs.”
Katie B drummed her fingers on the table. “She’s right. It’s kind of a big deal. You have to go with the right person.”
“Girls are so weird. Dudes don’t care,” Rhett said, chewing on his eraser tip. Summer tried not to goggle at his beautiful lips wrapping around the rubber end because that was, again, weird. But she couldn’t help herself. Everything he did was so provocative . . . sensual . . . hot.
Okay, maybe she needed to lay off reading the Harlequins.
“So you don’t care about who you go with?” Graysen said, her words carrying a pinprick of hurt.
“Well, of course I do,” Rhett said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “You’re my girl.”
Appeased, Graysen refocused on Summer. “Don’t worry, Summer. I’ll take care of everything.”
Summer took a sip of her watered-down Diet Coke and wondered how in the hell she was going to get out of what had snowballed into a possible date with the ubercool Hunt. How could she stop all this from happening? It would be her very own Grinch-like mission. She briefly envisioned her dog, Herman, with an antler bound to his head, but then she remembered there was no way in hell Hunter McCroy would agree to go with her to senior prom. On his list of girls to ask, she’d be way down at the bottom in teeny-tiny print. A footnote. In fact, Summer was certain he didn’t even know her name. They’d spoken exactly three times. Maybe four, if “excuse me” counted.
“We need to roll, Gray,” Katie B said, looking at her watch. “I’m working for another hour and then going home to watch American Idol . . . if my mom recorded it. Last time she forgot.”
“Okay,” Graysen said, grabbing Rhett’s chin and turning him to her for a kiss. Luckily, it was of the quick variety. “Later, gator.”
“After a while, crocodile,” Rhett said.
“See ya soon, you big baboon,” Katie B said, joining in on the fun before sliding out. “Bye, Summer.”
“Bye, y’all,” Summer said, as the two girls hustled from the diner before Joe could deliver the two glasses of water he carried. On seeing them depart, he did a 180-degree turn and went back to behind the counter.
“Sorry about that, Valentine. She just can’t stay away from me,” he said, doing an eyebrow waggle.
“So I see,” Summer said, tapping problem number three. “You did this one wrong. Go back and rework it.”
“Why don’t you want to go to prom with Hunt?” Rhett asked, his blue eyes fastened on her. Not an accusation. More like he was curious why anyone wouldn’t want to go to prom with his buddy.
Because he’s not you.
“He’s not going to want to go with me. I’m not his type,” she said.
Rhett made a face. “What type? You’re a girl. You’re nice and pretty.”
“Ha,” Summer said, nearly choking on the ice cube she moved around her mouth.
“I think you are.”
His words coated her like honey on a biscuit. She almost closed her eyes and sighed. “Vision already going, huh?”
“Valentine, get a clue. You’re pretty, and even better, you’re easy to talk to. Not to mention, you’re smart. And you don’t spend all day talking about *NSYNC and getting your nails done. You’ve got substance.”
And this was why she was head over heels for Rhett Bryan. He’d never point out that she was twenty pounds overweight and a social pariah. No, Rhett found the things most didn’t look for. “You’re a good guy, Rhett Bryan.”
“Shhh! You’ll ruin my bad-boy rep.”
Summer twisted the pretend key at her lips. “Your secret’s safe. Now, work problem number three again. You need to figure out what you’re doing wrong.”
“You like to crack the whip, don’t you? Ol’ Hunt may be getting more than he bargains for.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not going to have to worry about Hunter McCroy.” She tapped the problem. “Back to calculus.”
“Fine, but so you know, this calculus is giving me indigestion.”
Rhett Bryan could always make her smile.