The Copper Valley Bro Code Series: Volume 1, page 39
His eyes bug out, and I let myself grin. “Kidding. I was six. But my parents still paid off the paps. And that’s the only time in my life I’ve had really short hair. It works on my dad, but on me, I look like a confused poodle.”
His eyes are going soft. “You were probably adorable.”
“You could pull it off, but I scared small children and exotic pets.” Okay. Yeah. I can do this, because he’s right.
Letting go and being willing to poke a little fun at yourself makes it all easier.
Like it’s not so real.
Maybe I could do a video series on my blog.
“You want to talk about prom?” he asks, and there I go, tensing up again.
But I’m safe here.
If I say no go to putting this video on the internet, then he won’t put it up there.
But maybe I do need to tell my side of the story. Even knowing people will twist it and call me stupid and ugly and a whore—though I don’t know how you get whore out of an owl story, but it’s the internet, so clearly it’ll come up—maybe it’s time to really face it.
“I was in the geek crowd in high school, and there were probably six or eight of us who’d sit in the halls and trade Harry Potter cards before school and during lunch, so we thought it would be fun to go to prom like the whole cast. Who doesn’t like Harry Potter, right?”
“He’s no Buffy, but yeah,” Beck says. “He’s cool. Even if everyone knows wizards aren’t real.”
“Not like vampires?”
“Exactly. You went as Hermione?”
I shrug. “I had the hair for it. And my dad was able to get us a few props from one of the movie sets, which we thought was really cool, especially since most of my friends didn’t have parents in the industry. And my mom had connections with a guy who raised owls for movies, so when I asked her if we could get a couple owls, she made the call for me and said it was all set, that we’d have two or three owls—and their trainer—to go with us on prom night.”
“Your parents are pretty awesome,” he says.
“They are.” I smile and leave it at that, because I’m not dragging them into this too any more than they’ve already dragged themselves. “So we all had our costumes fitted, one of my friends found a stuffed dragon that was fairly epic—at least, until I just heard your dinosaur story—and another’s parents owned a restaurant that converted itself into a whole Harry Potter theme for the night, so we had a delicious dinner there, and then we headed to prom, where we were supposed to meet the owl trainer.”
“Supposed to?” he squeezes my knee.
“It’s Hollywood. Plot twist, right? Obviously, he wasn’t there. I called my mom, and she said she’d check in with him, so we went inside, and yeah, people were staring, but who wouldn’t? My friend Jasmine was dressed up like Hagrid. She was on stilts even, because she had skills and she’d also found a furry beard and wig to rival mine. We found a corner of the dance floor and we were all dancing and passing around her stuffed pet dragon when the owls arrived.”
I realize Mackenzie’s chewing her nails like she does during ballgames. “The owls wouldn’t have been so bad by themselves,” I tell her, “but it was all the panic that started as soon as they started zipping through the ballroom. People were falling all over each other, tripping, and then the paparazzi showed up right as I face-planted into Jasmine’s crotch and totally took her down, stilts and all, but not before an owl up on one of the chandeliers dropped a pellet into my cleavage.”
Beck swipes a hand over his mouth and shakes his head. “Jeez. And I thought getting booed off the stage at my senior homecoming dance was bad.”
“You did not.”
He holds up his hands and grins. “Swear on my underwear. Ask Levi and Cash. It’s what prompted us to start practicing. We were gonna horrify everyone even worse at prom, except…”
“Except you went viral on YouTube and got a recording contract, and I ended up changing my name and hiding in Morocco for a year.”
“Yeah.” His grin slips. “That sucks rotten eggs.”
“It’s what I get for dabbling in black magic.”
He cracks up, and now that it’s all out there, I’m kinda…free.
Not weightless, but lighter.
“I loved Morocco,” I tell him honestly. “The people were amazing. The food—”
“Delicious,” he finishes. “Hey, you promised me mint tea.”
“And you promised me you weren’t stuffing your briefs.”
He snorts with laughter and doubles over, and I go hot in the face.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “It was there.”
He holds out a fist, and I bump it. “Well played, black magic lady. Well played. You doing that black magic to get that meteor shower that’s coming next month?”
“Do you realize we’re sitting just a few thousand miles over a molten core of lava and flinging through the universe at sixty-seven thousand miles an hour? And not just around the sun. The sun is moving through the universe too, which means we’re basically hurtling through space in a controlled spiral of awesome. I mean, how does that even happen? And then we get to live in this little biodome where the most important thing on the internet today is going to be that I made a joke about the size of your package?”
We officially cannot post this video.
Fabulous.
Now I have to do it again.
But Beck’s still grinning. “Your blog isn’t just about saving the bees and the giraffes.”
“The entire planet is too fascinating to keep it to just endangered animals. But they’re getting the priority right now.”
“How’s our girl doing over at the zoo?”
“She’s completely and totally oblivious to all the attention, and she’s taking her sweet time about going into active labor.”
“You think she’ll have a boy or a girl?”
“Yes.” I woo-woo my fingers at him. “Unless my black magic trick to make her give birth to gorillas works.”
“If you get arrested for doing black magic and making Persephone give birth to a gorilla, can I have your—”
I clap my hand over his mouth before he can finish asking for my Serenity ship, but I’m laughing. “No. That’s top secret. Shush.”
“Bu ees oo,” he says.
“It’s time to say goodnight, Beck.”
He licks my hand, and I shriek and jerk it away with an astonished laugh. “You licked me.”
“Can’t sign off until we remind people to visit your blog and check out Persephone’s giraffe cam,” he points out. “Did my mom make you bacon again? I smell bacon.”
“You always smell bacon.”
He grins and looks at the camera. “Sometimes I smell hamburgers and pizza too. And that’s the Must Love Bees science blog. Go check it out.” He winks, and Charlie hits a button on the phone.
“And done,” she announces.
I drop my head between my knees. “And now we have to do it all over again so I don’t make a joke about your package.”
“Oh, no, that’s going up just as it is,” Charlie reports. “Because that was hilarious. And it’ll piss off Bruce and utterly enchant the rest of the world except for the trolls who’ll call you both names.”
“Bruce?” I ask.
Beck grimaces. “Not important. You worried about anything other than telling the world I have a little willy?”
“Oh my god.”
Mackenzie drops to the ground laughing so hard she’s crying.
“Great,” Beck says. “Post away. I gotta go warn Levi and Cash to get their Dick pics ready.”
“What?” Seriously, this time I really am putting my hands up to catch my eyeballs.
“Those guys would do anything for me,” Beck says.
The door opens, and my mom rushes in with Cupcake, who squeals and darts right to Mackenzie, who’s still wiping her eyes and bent double on the floor. She squeaks and jumps to her feet when the pig tries to hump her.
“Did we miss it? Honey, tell me you left your clothes on. And are you ready? I booked an appointment for us to go shopping at the downtown boutiques. It’s not Fifth Avenue, but your father pointed out you probably didn’t want to fly all the way to New York in the middle of a publicity storm.”
“Shopping. For what?”
“Your dress, sweetheart.” She turns a bright movie star smile on Beck. “And if this video embarrasses my daughter, I’ll be calling my psychic on your behalf.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies.
“What dress?” I ask.
“For the black-tie fundraiser for the zoo Saturday night.”
I look at my mom.
Then at Beck, who’s actually looking a little sheepish. “It’s just a few hours,” he says. “We didn’t mention it yet, did we?”
The contract.
I’m contractually obligated to go to a fancy dinner, which I thought I’d escape, since there wasn’t actually a fancy dinner in the works when I signed, only the possibility if Beck was lucky enough to get an invitation.
And apparently my parents have been in on setting that fancy dinner up to be a fundraiser for the zoo, which I clearly can’t decline.
A Black-Tie Fundraiser.
Code for fancy gala where people with too much money talk about their self-importance.
“You don’t have to go traditional,” he adds quickly. “Whatever you’re comfortable in.”
“Not jeans or sweatpants,” Charlie says.
“But RYDE sweatpants are so comfortable,” I reply.
“Fucking right they are.” Beck nods emphatically. “That’s why I picked them.”
“You guys are ridiculous,” Mackenzie declares. She points at me. “And don’t even try this I don’t get fancy crap. I saw you at your holiday Christmas party, and I know you had a good time. And remember the wedding Trent took you to? You can do this. And you’re going to fucking rock it. Also, the Fireballs massacred Minnesota when you went to that wedding last year, so you basically have to wear a dress to see if it’s still good luck.”
My mom’s lips part.
Cupcake sits back on her haunches and twists her neck to stare at Mackenzie like she has a screw loose.
But Beck grins.
That bright, haha, she’s got you now, adorable grin. “Can’t argue with that. You owe it to the team. You owe it to the whole city.”
“Fine,” I say. “But I’m not shaving my legs.”
I’m totally shaving my legs.
Beck pulls me into a hug and presses a kiss to my temple. “Thank you, Sarah.”
And I have issues.
Because I’m pretty sure I would’ve caved just for a hug from him, even though what I’d really like is to see if that kissing could go somewhere farther.
“I won’t tell you you’re welcome until you talk my mother out of putting me in Slimzies.”
“Done.”
“Not done,” Mom replies dryly.
“We can discuss this over honey puff pancake.”
“We can discuss this never. Our appointment’s in twenty minutes. The driver’s waiting, Serendipity. It’s time to go.”
“I got your back,” Beck whispers to me. “It’s not over until the former boy bander sings.”
“Amateur,” Mackenzie sniffs. She steps to my side and links her arm in mine. “I’ve got your back, Sarah. He’s staying out of it.”
Mom looks Mackenzie up and down. “Do you have good taste?”
“I was raised by two drag queens. What do you think?”
Mom nods. “Excellent. Come along, Sarah. Beauty waits for no woman.”
Beck grabs my hand before I can follow. “You know you’re a natural?” he says. “In front of the camera, I mean. You could do regular vlogs if you wanted to. And say the word, and I’ll get you a private visit with Persephone.”
Mom stops and looks at him. Then blinks, and is she going to cry? What in the world is going on? “That’s very sweet of you,” she says.
“Wait, isn’t that my line?” I ask.
“Only if you’re actually going to deliver it and snag the man, sweetheart. Come along. Let’s go make him rue the day he insulted your uterus by making him fall madly in love with you when we Cinderella you up.”
He has this unreadable expression on his face as I let Mom and Mackenzie tug me away.
But the weird thing is, despite all my panic last weekend at being sucked into his world and then outed for who I am and who my parents are, I think I’m actually glad he pulled my uterus into it.
Because maybe I should do a video blog. And maybe I should upgrade my website.
And maybe I should stop letting my past hold me back, and grab this unexpected opportunity to figure out who I’m supposed to be in this world.
26
Beck
I don’t hear from Sarah for hours.
Through breakfast, morning snack, second morning snack, lunch, second lunch, afternoon snack, and pre-dinner snack. Davis goes back home. Levi leaves to fly to Seattle for his weekend concert. Tripp takes his kids for some playdate at a library or something, where he’ll undoubtedly have nannies throwing themselves all over him, and everyone else goes to work.
Even Charlie abandons me.
But Judson doesn’t.
He and Cupcake hang with me all day, and when things get weird after I beat him in foosball and he challenges me to a gym-off—dude, don’t be like me and ask what that is, or you’ll regret it—I call Hank, Cash’s brother, who runs a small website design company.
And by small, I mean he specializes in clients like me, Levi, and Cash, who have big website demands, and that he employs enough people to keep everything running twenty-four seven for his small clientele, even though he could easily expand to being one of the big dogs in Internetlandia.
But even he abandons me after getting all the info he needs from Sarah to upgrade and tweak her website.
She’s texting him, but not me.
Still, he was enough of a distraction that now Judson’s chilling on my couch, Cupcake sprawled across his lap, watching golf.
And by watching golf, I mean they’re both sleeping.
Wyatt comes to my rescue just before I’m ready to dive into first dinner. He and Ellie have been supervising movers all day, without the paparazzi watching them, because the reporters all flocked to Shipwreck when one of my bodyguards took my car and drove out that way with the other one in the backseat covered by a blanket.
Heh.
“Barbecue at the Rivers house,” Wyatt says. “C’mon. I’ll drive you. Ellie’s already there with Tucker, who’s telling stories about the things his Beck Ryder doll did at summer camp today.”
I look at Judson.
Then back at Wyatt, who rolls his eyes. “Dude. He’s practically your father-in-law. You can’t just leave him there sleeping.”
“Ain’t nobody sleeping, boy,” Judson growls with his eyes closed. “This is called meditating on how I’m gonna gut your friend like a fish when he breaks my daughter’s heart.”
“Man, you know all the good party tricks,” I say to him. “You like brisket and baked beans?”
“You got a hollow leg to fit it all in?” he replies.
“He’s half-cow,” Wyatt supplies. “Four stomachs. Science experiment gone wrong.”
“Should’ve gone for four dicks,” Judson says. “Might’ve been able to fill out your briefs. Keep it away from my daughter or die.”
“You meet the best people,” Wyatt tells me.
“It’s a gift.”
We all load up in Wyatt’s SUV, including Charlie, who hasn’t had a single meal with me today, but did apparently get a massage and a facial and is feeling extra helpful with suggesting different ways Judson could torture me if I hurt Sarah.
Dinner’s a fucking awesome feast, because Ms. Rivers is almost as good of a cook as my mom. I say almost because I still remember who gave birth to me.
And it’s utter perfection being back in the old neighborhood.
Old trees. Houses built in the seventies. Sidewalks. Basketball hoops on garages. That missing limb on the oak at Wyatt’s grandma’s old house that we accidentally took out with a bottle rocket that we may have overfueled. The weathered picnic table we used as our makeshift stage when we decided that it was stupid for Levi, Tripp, and all the Rivers kids to have been forced to take music lessons for all those years if we weren’t going to somehow be famous, even though Davis, who never studied music a day in his life, had the best voice of all of us.
And ribs and cornbread and coleslaw and baked beans, and I’m really wishing I did have four stomachs by the time I’m done with the banana pudding my mom brought over.
But as perfect as it is to finally be back—I’ve been trying to keep the reporters from following me over here, so I haven’t dropped by since getting back to town—it feels like something’s missing.
And it’s not because Ellie and Wyatt are all touchy-feely, or because Tripp’s kids are making me mourn the family I’ll probably never have—Sarah’s not the only person with trust issues—or because Levi and Cash and Davis aren’t here, or because I’m getting all the ribbing over the video this morning and Sarah’s suggestion that my schlong is actually a schuh, because it’s missing the long part.
And Charlie’s report that the video has shot speculation about us sky-high isn’t helping either. Nor is hearing that Vegas is taking bets on if Sarah’s pregnant.
I mean, yeah, I feel bad that her life is so public again when she didn’t want it to be, but it’s not even guilt eating at me.
I can’t put my finger on it until my phone lights up with the text I’ve been waiting for all day.
I might look like a girl Saturday night, but I can’t promise to be happy about it.
Yep.
That’s exactly what’s wrong.
I wish she was here to have fun with my family and extended neighborhood family too, instead of being off shopping for a dress that she doesn’t want to wear for an event that didn’t have to happen if I hadn’t been a dumbass.
To see her dad making Cupcake do tricks in her tutu and challenging Wyatt to an arm wrestling contest. To watch Hank and Waylon making bets over if June’s new boyfriend will stick around after this. To listen to the mothers all chattering about wedding plans and Ellie insisting her wedding will be a small affair, thank you very much.
