The Flip Side Page 14

  “Who was that?” Mom asks.

  “Zoe.” I’m a little surprised that the lie comes so easily.

  “I don’t suppose you told her about the magazine coverage.”

  Now I have to continue with the lie. I fight not to squirm, because lying makes me uncomfortable. “No. I’d have to explain things, and I’m not ready to do that yet.”

  “She’s one of your best friends. It seems to me that you could trust her to keep your secret.”

  “I don’t want to burden her with it.” Even though I’m burdening Gwen with a big secret. But it’s a harmless secret. No one is going to get hurt. Still, I try not to feel guilty. “Besides, in a few more weeks she’ll know everything.” If I make the team. I’ll tell her then, before the Olympics. Or maybe after prom. I have so many balls to juggle to make prom work that I don’t want to take a chance of ruining any of it by revealing my other life.

  Mom pulls into a parking spot at Gold Star and shuts off the engine. “I don’t think things between you and Zoe will change. I know you worry about that.”

  “You’re probably right.” I hope she is. I can’t imagine not having Zoe in my life.

  “Ready for a great practice?” she asks with a huge, encouraging smile.

  I take a deep breath, easing my mind into positive mode as I slide my second contact into place. “Everything’s going to be great,” I say, letting my breath out.

  It has to be great. I’ve got less than two weeks of holding on to my secret identity. I’m going to make it count.

  Chapter Nineteen

  * * *

  Practice Saturday afternoon is a test of mental toughness. I shove aside every outside distraction: prom, Bobby, the possibility of getting caught. I concentrate totally on my twists, my flips, my dismounts. If it were possible to give more than a hundred percent, it’s what I would be giving.

  When Gwen and I walk out at six, I’m practically skipping because I feel almost invincible.

  “I think that’s the best practice you’ve ever had,” Gwen says. “You were in the zone, sticking your landings.”

  I jump in front of her, face her, and start walking backward. “Life is only a distraction if we let it be.”

  She glances around quickly. She’s been doing that a lot lately. That and looking guilty. She was so relieved when I told her that Bobby was going to pick me up. As though it lessened her culpability.

  “I kept worrying that I was wearing a sign saying, CONSPIRATOR,” she says now.

  I squeeze her shoulder in reassurance and then fall back into step beside her. “Helping me go to prom is not a conspiracy.”

  “Helping you do something you probably shouldn’t—”

  “You admitted that I just had my best practice. So how can this be a negative?”

  When we reach the car, Gwen pops open the trunk and we sling our gym bags in. She slams the lid closed. “It just feels like we’re going to get caught.”

  “We’re not. Everything has fallen into place.”

  We get into the car, and Gwen starts it up. “So tell me what it’s like to have a boyfriend.”

  “He’s not really a boyfriend. He’s a friend.”

  She darts me a sideways glance.

  “Okay,” I admit. “He’s a little more than that. I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

  When we get to the Gundersens’, it’s a little eerie how quiet the house is.

  “I can’t believe they went out tonight,” Gwen says as she leads the way to her room.

  “More proof that fate is on our side and I’m destined to go to prom.”

  Gwen and I are accustomed to helping each other get ready when time is short. After I take a quick shower, Gwen works my hair into a French twist while I apply my makeup. Then I slip into my gown and put on my shoes.

  “Wow! Charlie. Just, wow.”

  Gingerly, taking care walking in the heels, I peer into her full-length mirror. My smile is so wide that if I hold it for too long, my jaws will probably start to ache. “I look tall.”

  “ ‘Tall’ is an overstatement,” Gwen says. “ ‘Not so short,’ maybe.”

  The doorbell ringing makes us both jump.

  “He’s here,” I say, suddenly incredibly nervous.

  “He’s going to love how you look.”

  “Thanks, Gwen. Thanks for tonight.”

  “I was wrong, Charlie. I was wrong to think this would be a distraction. You look so happy. You’re going to carry that through to the Olympics.”

  “I’m at least going to carry it through to prom. Come on.”

  I grab my clutch before walking cautiously down the stairs, gripping the railing, since I’m wearing the tallest heels I could safely toddle around in. Gwen rushes ahead, then waits.

  “I guess I should let you open the door,” she says. “But hurry. I can’t wait for him to see you.”

  I reach the door, open it, gasp a little. Bobby looks so cute. He’s wearing a black tux that fits him perfectly, and a navy bow tie. His hair is wild and curly, his eyes sparkling. I have to concentrate on swallowing so that the drool doesn’t leak out the side of my mouth. Because that would definitely not be attractive.

  He’s smiling, a full-on, enthusiastic smile. “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you. Come in for a quick sec. I want you to meet someone.” When he steps forward, I am surprised to see the limo instead of Bobby’s car. “You brought the limo here?”

  “Yeah. We thought it would save time to bring it to you instead of having you come to it.”

  “We?”

  “Michael and Zoe are waiting inside.”

  Tears prick my eyes. I can’t believe how much trouble everyone went to so I could have this night. I blink back the tears and turn. “This is Gwen, one of my best friends. She helped me get ready.”

  “Hey, Gwen,” Bobby says.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Bobby.”

  “Do you go to Jefferson?”

  “I do online school.”

  “That must be cool. No schedule and rushing from class to class.”

  “It has some advantages . . . some disadvantages. No prom.”

  “Speaking of,” I say. “We need to go.”

  Bobby touches my arm. The pleasure of it ripples in tingles down to my fingertips. “I have something for you.”

  He holds out a small box. Inside is a wrist corsage of white orchids. “It’s gorgeous,” I tell him, a little breathless. Even knowing that guys usually give girls a corsage for prom, I wasn’t thinking about it or really expecting one. It’s the first time a guy has given me flowers.

  “Do you like it?” he asks, somewhat hesitantly.

  “I love it!” I hold out my arm, and he places it around my wrist. “Thank you.”

  Bobby slips his hand into mine. “Ready?”

  His hand is warm, so strong. I can feel every callus on his fingertips. I swallow. “Yeah.”

  But as we walk out the door, I twist back around. “Gwen, come with us. I want to introduce you.”

  When we get to the limo, the driver opens the door. I peer inside, see Zoe and Michael sitting together on the seat facing the rear window. “Can you come out for a minute? I want to introduce you to someone.”

  When they are standing on the sidewalk, I say, “This is Gwen. One of my dearest friends.”

  Zoe’s eyes round, and her lips part slightly. I can tell she’s confused, but I also know she’ll be too polite to mention that I’ve never told her about Gwen. Still, I plow on. “Gwen, this is Zoe.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Zoe,” Gwen says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Zoe’s brow furrows, and I’m beginning to realize that I probably should have prepared Zoe for meeting Gwen—or maybe I shouldn’t have introduced Gwen, but it didn’t seem fair to just leave her.

  Zoe seems to recover from her surprise. She offers Gwen a teasing grin. “Charlotte is going to tell me a lot about you later. And this is my boyfriend, Michael.”


  “It’s great to meet all of you,” Gwen says.

  “I wish you were going to prom with us,” I say.

  “Maybe next year. You better scoot.”

  Stepping forward, I give Gwen a big hug. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Have a great time, Charlie,” she whispers, hugging me back. Bobby has moved to stand over by the limo, so I know he didn’t hear her refer to me by the nickname I asked him not to use.

  I release my hold on Gwen and climb into the limo. Zoe and Michael are already inside. Bobby settles down next to me.

  “How do you know Gwen?” Zoe asks.

  “I met her through gymnastics.”

  She looks like I punched her. “Wow. You’ve been friends a long time.”

  Not really. Zoe thinks I’m talking about back when I broke my ankle, which is when she thinks I stopped doing gymnastics. I want to veer us away from Gwen before I have to reveal all. That conversation is for another day. I should probably tell Zoe—and maybe even Bobby—everything before I leave for trials. “Really, guys, I’m very sorry that I had to delay your night.”

  “For the thousandth time,” Zoe says, “waiting for you is going to be totally worth it. We’re going to have so much fun!”

  We pull up next to Constantini’s Restaurant a short while later, a place I’ve only ever heard about. “You got us reservations here?” I cry. This place has the reputation of being the best Italian food in Columbus. “I was expecting Olive Garden.”

  “The guys are treating us special,” Zoe says as we climb out of the limo.

  I’ve never eaten in a restaurant this fancy before. Bobby talks to the hostess and then returns to us. “It’ll just be a couple of minutes,” he says.

  “That works. I need to go to the restroom.” I look at Zoe. “Will you come with?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why do girls have to go in pairs?” Michael asks.

  “We just do,” I say.

  When we get into the restroom, I’m grateful to see a bench. “Sit down,” I order Zoe.

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  I open my clutch and pull out a smaller bag. “I promised to do your makeup.”

  “I already put it on.”

  “You can always use a little bit more. I bought some sparkling shadow to match your gown, and some eyeliner.”

  “Oh!” She plops onto the bench, folds her hands in her lap, and barely breathes.

  Placing my finger beneath her chin, I lift her face a little more toward the light. “You can breathe, Zoe.”

  “Why didn’t you ever mention Gwen before?”

  I can tell that she’s still bothered by the fact that she didn’t know anything about Gwen. Very carefully I start to apply the eye shadow. “She doesn’t go to Jefferson. She’s a year older than us. I didn’t think your paths would ever cross. But maybe sometime all three of us could do something together.”

  “She seems really nice.”

  “She is. You’ll like hanging out with her.”

  “She looked a little familiar.”

  I pause, consider, try to remember if I’ve ever seen Zoe with an issue of People. “She just has one of those faces. Now be really still, because I’m about to apply the eyeliner.”

  She doesn’t move a muscle. When I’m finished, I apply a little more mascara, a tiny bit of rouge. “There. See what you think.”

  She hops up, goes to the mirror, and leans in. “Oh my gosh! My eyes! They’re so big. Striking.” She spins around. “Oh, Charlotte, thank you!”

  “I promised to do your makeup. I keep my promises.”

  “And I promise this is going to be the best night ever.” She loops her arm around mine. “Let’s get back to our guys.”

  As we step into the hallway, I say, “So you referred to Michael as your boyfriend.”

  She squeezes my arm. “Yep. He says he is, even though I can’t officially date yet.”

  “That is so neat.”

  “Maybe you and Bobby . . .”

  “I don’t know that we’re ready to go there yet.”

  “Don’t you like him?”

  “I like him a lot, but it’s a little scary thinking about having a boyfriend.” Would he be willing to embrace the craziness in my life—especially the craziness that might be unleashed in another week?

  “Well, I’m going to keep my fingers crossed for you. It would be so cool if we both had boyfriends. Anything and everything could happen tonight.”

  When we enter the lobby, the guys approach us. Michael staggers to a stop. “Wow. What did you do?”

  “Charlotte added a few makeup touches.”

  “You look great.” He blushes. “Not that you didn’t look great before, but your eyes . . .”

  She grins. “I know. Pretty amazing what someone who knows what they’re doing can do.”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt, but they’re ready for us,” Bobby says.

  A man with a white napkin over his arm escorts us to our table. The restaurant is quiet, dimly lit, with candles on the table. So romantic. As we take our seats, Michael says, “I don’t want to hear about empty calories tonight.”

  Bobby chuckles. “I promise to keep my healthy eating tips to myself.” He leans toward me, grins. “Especially since I plan to be bad tonight and snack on my aunt’s goodies.”

  “Me too.” I pat my stomach. “If I have room.” His brown eyes are twinkling, and I don’t want to look away. Ever.

  “Sparkling cider?” asks the maître d’, bowing slightly. There’s a silver bucket of ice by our table, with sparkling cider already chilling.

  I look over the menu. So many choices.

  “Bread?” The waiter has appeared by our table again. He sets down a basket filled with assorted rolls and bread slices. “Freshly baked from our kitchen.”

  We place our orders. Shortly after, our salads arrive. A gorgeous bed of spinach, with olives, orange baby tomatoes, and an artistically situated pile of grated purple carrot. This is all stuff I can feel guilt-free about filling up on. Bobby may not be worrying about calories tonight, but I do have to keep trials in mind. But it doesn’t matter—the food is delicious.

  An hour later, after our main course and a dessert, I’m stuffed. When the waiter sets down our check, I reach for my clutch.

  “No way,” Bobby says, putting his hand over mine. “Michael and I have this.”

  I think about arguing, pointing out how expensive all this must be, but one of the things my mom taught me was to always simply graciously thank people who do nice things for you. “Thank you. It was all wonderful.”

  “And just think. The best part of the night is yet to come.”

  Chapter Twenty

  * * *

  The lights outside the rink glimmer through the darkness. A light rain fell while we were in the restaurant, and the parking lot shimmers. The pulse of bass vibrates through the cool evening air. I’m so happy to be here. Every moment of plotting and planning was worth it.

  We enter through a propped-open front door. We walk toward a woman sitting behind a table at the door leading into the rink area, collecting tickets. Bobby digs into his pants pocket and hands her ours. “Have a good evening,” she says, smiling.

  The warm air of the rink smells like sweat and perfume, but it’s glimmering in here, with twinkly white lights threaded through trellises. At one end of the rink is a model of the Eiffel Tower. A banner reading A NIGHT IN PARIS hangs from the ceiling, where Christmas lights are twinkling, and glowing paper lanterns are suspended. Then I spot the X-wing fighter in the corner, and laugh.

  “You did it!” I say to Bobby. “You got your Prom Wars theme.”

  “I’m not sure claiming one corner counts as a theme, but Brandon was happy.”

  “This is incredible,” Zoe says. “Before we get separated, I want to get a photo of us.”

  She pulls out her phone. We all pose in front of the Eiffel Tower. She holds up her phone. “Ack! My arms aren’t long enough to get us all
in.”

  Michael takes it from her. His arms are a little longer.

  “Say ‘Oui! Oui!’ ” Zoe shouts.

  We all do, and Michael snaps the picture.

  “Perfect,” Zoe says. “Now let’s get the real photo done.”

  As we stand in line, I glance around. I see Mr. Alto and a few of the other teachers serving as chaperones. One is actually holding a ruler and separating couples, making them stand a certain distance apart. In the area that circles the rink, small round tables have been set up so that the space resembles a sidewalk in Paris. The food and punch bowls are nearby. “I can’t believe how the committee transformed everything. I wish I’d been able to help more.”

  “Hey, you got us the theme and the great refreshments,” Bobby says.

  “Which, unfortunately, I’m too full to enjoy.”

  “Me too.”

  “Seriously, Bobby. Dinner was wonderful.”

  “I wanted tonight to be special. Our first date.”

  He’s looking at me so seriously, so intently, so hopeful. I know I should remind him that this is another non-date, tell him that I can’t be more than friends, but I don’t want to, because I want tonight—and us—to be something more.

  Suddenly it’s our turn to have our photo taken by the professional photographer. We move into place beneath the Arc de Triomphe. The photographer positions us with my back to Bobby’s chest. Bobby’s hands come to rest at my waist. Even this small touch sends electricity rippling through me.

  “All right, smile!” the photographer shouts.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  “All done. Little lady, you’re a natural. Give my assistant your e-mail address, and she’ll send you a link to the proofs when they’re ready.”

  Bobby and I both give her our information. Then we move into the crowded space surrounding the skating area, where people are now dancing.

  Bobby takes my hand. “We’ll get lost in here if we don’t hang on to each other.” He has to yell to make his voice heard above the pumping bass of the music.