CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You can’t be serious? You kissed Gracin Ford?” Nena’s squeal almost knocked me off my feet. I yanked the phone away from my ear. “Wait, what about Jonathan?”
“Forget about Jonathan, Nena. Did you even hear what I said? He turned me down.” I cringed as the words came out of my mouth.
“Did you ever think that maybe he did it for a reason? Maybe he didn’t reject you but what you might represent.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, Carly, face the truth. How many girls have thrown themselves at him over the years because of who he is?” I could practically hear the eye roll through the phone. “Maybe he’s thinking you’re doing the same thing.”
“Psychoanalyze much?” Sarcasm was required here. “It doesn’t matter why, it only matters what happened. And Gracin told me no.”
“Do you regret it?”
“Hell, no. Totally worth it.” I sighed and laid it all on the line for her. He’d kissed me back and, for about two minutes, everything had been perfect. “I would rather know he didn’t want me than to look back on this summer and ask myself what if. It’s better this way.” A text beeped in my ear. “Hold on, Neens.” A quick glance at the caller ID took a bit of pain from my sting. I put the phone back to my ear. “I have to go. Time to move on from the disaster that is Gracin Ford.”
“Don’t do anything stupid, Carly. I don’t have enough money for bail.”
I laughed but didn’t let on that stupid was right up my alley at the moment.
A knock interrupted my response to Denny’s text. He wanted to hook up after the show and go to a late movie. I was about to tell him yes, but Miranda waltzed into my room with a huge grin.
“What’s up, Meerkat?” Her obsession with all things animal had brought about the nickname. My little sister was probably my best friend and worst enemy at the same time. She’d start her freshman year this fall, and I wished I would be here to stop anything bad from happening to her. Then again, Derrick wouldn’t be coming anywhere near my family ever again. That was comforting.
“Did you really kiss Gracin?” Her eyes lit like first stars on a summer night. She had a framed photo of the two of them by her nightstand. He’d signed it, “To my best girl, Love, Gracin Ford.” Miranda had declared her undying love for him at that point.
I fell back on my pillows. “I’m so not having this conversation with you.” The red numbers on the clock on my nightstand reminded me it was time to face the music. Even after what had happened, I still had a job to do. And I was going to do it with more professionalism than Gracin had. In other words, no calling him a rat bastard to his face.
Miranda stood over my bed and stared at me. “You really like him.”
I started to hide my head under my pillow, but stopped myself. Why not admit it to one person? “Yeah, Meerkat, I like him a lot. But it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t like me the same way.”
Miranda nodded and clenched her jaw. “He’s a jerk then.”
I smiled at her defense of me and sat up. Taking both of her hands into mine, I thought I’d offer more truth. “No, he’s not. He’s just being honest about it. If he doesn’t want to be with me, then he shouldn’t. You know how I always try to tell the truth?”
“Except with Dad,” Miranda pointed out.
I really laughed that time. “Yeah, well there are some things Dad should never know. This is one of them. Keep it between us, okay?”
Miranda nodded.
“Okay, I’ve got to go or I’ll be late.” I pushed myself off my bed. Miranda wrapped her arms around me in a hug.
“I miss you, Carly. Mom’s always hovering around, and I can’t do anything. You’re never here. Luke’s never here either. Every time I try to go to Eddie’s house, Mom’s in my face.”
“Just tell her you need your space. She probably thinks Eddie’s your boyfriend.” In the back of my mind, I wondered if this little anti-Eddie move by Mom was a result of the Derrick situation. There was no way Mom or Dad had told her. And I highly doubt Luke had mentioned the rest of my confession to anyone. He was more of the hide-reality-in-the-closet kind of guy.
Miranda let go of me and stepped back. “I wouldn’t mind if he was.”
If my little sister was good at anything, it was making me laugh. “I’ll talk to Mom tomorrow, okay?”
“Thanks.” She ran out the door, but stuck her head back into my room. “If you want, I’ll tell Gracin what I think.”
“Thanks, Miranda. But I’ll be fine.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if that was true.
∞ ∞ ∞
The show started at seven, so I arrived at the theater at six and made a few phone calls from Dad’s office. It was quieter in there, and there was little to no chance I’d run into my brother. His avoidance skills were at an all-time high, and I wondered if he doubted what I’d told him. I also wondered if he’d talked to Derrick. Dad had demanded Luke cut all ties with Derrick, but Luke sometimes has a mind of his own. This might’ve been one of the times he chose to actually use the brain God gave him.
I kept a close eye on the clock and on the excessive amount of text messages from Gracin wanting to know exactly where I was. After the fifth one, I responded.
I’m at the theater, Mr. Ford. That was it. Simple and to the point.
Where? he responded immediately.
I’m in the main office scheduling your mani-pedi and massage for tomorrow afternoon between rehearsal and the show.
I stared at the phone, waiting for a response. It took him several minutes before my phone beeped.
We need to talk.
About what? I typed. If there was a barometer for my anger, it would’ve exploded as soon as I read his last text.
You know what.
Mr. Ford, we are not in high school. You were perfectly clear earlier in the day. It will not affect my abilities to do my job nor to ensure that you have everything you need for each performance. The formality in my text made me laugh. I loved going all fancy pants on occasion. This was one that deserved it.
After ten minutes of no response, I headed toward his dressing room to prepare for the show. Backstage was hectic, but in an organized way. Grips and stagehands fixed last minute problems. The band strolled toward the entrance to the stage without a care in the world. Gloria swished her skirts around the lead guitarist. He didn’t seem to mind. With less than thirty minutes until showtime, Gracin should’ve been making his way toward the stage too. He liked to get a look at the crowd before he went on.
I’d timed it so I could avoid him as much as possible. Apparently, that wasn’t part of his plan. When I opened the door to his dressing room, he stood in the middle of the rug with nothing but his jeans on.
“What the hell?” I stood there with my hand frozen on the doorknob.
He stormed toward me, getting close enough we could repeat our earlier performance of tongue hockey. “We need to talk.”
“There isn’t anything to talk about, Mr. Ford.” I stressed his name as I pushed past him. Was I being childish? Yep, but he deserved it.
“Carly,” he whispered, but I didn’t turn around.
Heading straight to his wardrobe, I yanked out his usual costumes for the first half of the show. I moved back toward the door, holding his leather jacket in my right hand. Gracin hadn’t moved from the doorway, so I had to push by him again, slamming the jacket against his chest.
“I’ll be at my station,” I said without glancing behind me.
Once I hit the steps, tears welled in my eyes. Did I regret kissing him? Maybe a little. Because I couldn’t look at him without wanting to do it again. Rejection sucked on so many levels.
The show felt off. The band sounded great, but the energy wasn’t there. Gracin wouldn’t even meet my eyes during the costume changes. I watched him perform a karaoke version of some new hit song. He wasn’t having fun at all. The crowd didn’t notice. They swooned in the right places, screamed in the perfect moments. They loved him, but he didn’t seem to love them back.
After the final encore, I followed him up to the dressing room like I’d done after every show. Gracin sat in his chair with his elbows on his knees. He knew the show had sucked more than usual. I could tell he was beating himself up over it.
“How long is this going to last?” he asked without looking up.
“What’re you talking about?” My heart hitched in my chest, but I pretended not to be affected by him. Work would keep me sane. I started hanging his jackets, smelling each one to see what needed to go to the cleaners the next day. Gross, but effective.
“The cold shoulder? The silent treatment? Whatever it is you’re doing. How long?”
I dropped three shirts and one jacket on the floor. Biting my upper lip, I debated on an answer. “Give me a few days,” I whispered. I gathered the offending garments and rushed from the room.
No reason for him to see me cry.