The Flip Side Page 8

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  By Saturday evening I’m a nervous wreck. More nervous than I am before a competition. Maybe because I’ve prepared for competition. I know my strengths and how to adjust for my weaknesses.

  But I have no idea whatsoever regarding how I should prepare for a night with Bobby.

  “You should put your hair up,” Zoe says from my desk, where her face is visible on my laptop screen. She wanted to come over and help me get ready, but I wasn’t certain how I would explain all the photos on the walls that trace the history of my gymnastics career. Or the trophies and medals arranged on a bookshelf that is outside her range of vision now. All she can really see is my bed.

  So I lied about having to do something with my family that wouldn’t allow time for her to come over. But I didn’t have the heart to ignore her text asking if we could video chat.

  I slide the brush through my long blond hair, moving my hair so that it partially covers one side of my face. “I’d feel exposed,” I tell Zoe. Although, I did consider putting in my contacts and going without my thick black-rimmed glasses. But this is a Charlotte night, not a Charlie one. It’s such a Charlotte night that I didn’t even tell Gwen about it, and I’m feeling a little guilty about that because I’ve never kept anything from her before. But I didn’t want to hear her words of caution regarding the dangers of hanging around with a guy.

  I spin around to face Zoe, hold out my arms. “What do you think?”

  I’m wearing skinny jeans and a green top.

  She smiles. “Green is your color. He’s going to love it.”

  “This isn’t a date, Zoe,” I remind her.

  Her grin gets mischievous. “Could be.”

  “It’s not. It’s because of student council.”

  “Getting to go out with Bobby Singh makes that C- so worth it.”

  With a sigh I slip into some ballerina flats. “Not really. I still have to type up the minutes from the meeting.”

  “Don’t you have some heels?” she asks.

  I do. But I’m not willing to risk turning my weak ankle and causing a sprain. It probably wouldn’t happen, but one misstep could ruin my chances of making the Olympic team. “That’s too dressy. We’re just going to the roller rink to check out space for prom. We’ll probably be doing a lot of walking.”

  “I just don’t see the harm in putting in some extra effort.”

  I can’t do anything to turn this night into more than it is. I hear the rumble of a car. I look out the window, and my heart speeds up like a locomotive. I quickly move back to stand in front of the monitor. “He’s here. I have to go.”

  “Have fun!”

  “Bye, Zoe.” I disconnect our video chat, close my laptop, take a deep breath, and head out of my room.

  By the time I get downstairs, Bobby is standing in the foyer talking to Mom, Dad, and Josh. Bobby seems completely at ease. Probably because for him this isn’t a date; it’s simply a ride. He’s just being nice.

  Bobby says something, and Josh laughs a little too long, a little too loudly, like he’s trying to be cool, trying to impress the wrestling champ. My brother, who always seems so comfortable around people, is acting like a lunatic. And I know it’s because he sees Bobby as someone popular, someone he’d like to hang out with.

  If people at school knew I was an elite athlete with Olympic aspirations, they’d be acting the same way around me. They wouldn’t show me their real selves. The sad thing is that I think Bobby would probably like Josh if he weren’t working so hard to be likeable.

  Josh is saying something about someone in their math class asking the stupidest question of all time. Bobby is nodding like he cares, but his gaze shifts past Josh and lands on me. He grins. The dimple forms.

  I’m wishing I’d gone with the contacts, my hair up, and heels.

  “Hey,” Bobby says.

  “Hi.” Do I have to sound so breathless?

  Josh is still talking. Dad’s large hand lands on Josh’s shoulder. Josh goes quiet, looks at me. I can tell he’s not happy that I’ve arrived.

  “I didn’t realize I know your brother,” Bobby says, tipping his head toward Josh.

  “Small world,” I say, wondering if I could sound any more lame. “I guess we should go.” Before my brother embarrasses himself any further.

  “Ten o’clock,” Dad barks. Mom looks like she’s trying really hard not to laugh.

  “It’s not a school night,” I point out.

  “You’re fifteen,” Dad reminds me.

  “Maybe ten thirty,” Mom says, and Dad glowers at her like she’s a traitor.

  “Ten thirty,” Bobby says with a grin, as though he was in on the negotiations and wants to lock it down before Dad says, Ten fifteen. “Nice to meet you all.”

  “We know each other,” Josh reminds him, clearly unhappy to be included in the just-met category.

  “Sorry. I just meant it was nice to meet your parents,” Bobby concedes, reaching over and opening the door for me.

  We walk out, but he can’t shut the door, because my parents have followed us and are now filling the doorway. As we continue on, I pretty much want to die.

  “Sorry about all that,” I mutter once we move beyond earshot.

  He gives a low chuckle. “Not a problem.”

  “So do you really know my brother?” I ask.

  “Not know know. I know who he is.”

  “He’s not usually quite so exuberant. I think he was trying to make an impression.”

  “I get that from time to time.” We reach the car, and he opens the passenger door for me. Not a date, I repeat to myself. He’s just being polite.

  “Doesn’t that bother you?” I ask.

  “Sometimes. But I like that you didn’t know who I was when we met.”

  “How do you know I didn’t know?”

  “Because you said it was okay if I went to the other movie. And you weren’t clinging to my arm like you’d forgotten how to walk.”

  As I slip into the car, I wonder if he often has to deal with girls like that. “I’m not much of a clinger,” I tell him.

  He grins. “I like that about you. And you’re with me now. By choice.”

  “But it’s not a date.”

  He winks. “Definitely not.”

  With that, he slams the door closed. Warning bells are going off, because Josh might have been right. Bobby might be thinking that this is a date.

  Worst of all—I’m kind of hoping he is.

  • • •

  As the car moves smoothly through the traffic, though, I decide that Bobby isn’t considering this a date. His black jeans and dark-gray T-shirt don’t exactly scream, I went to a lot of trouble to impress this chick. Although, the soft cotton does nothing to hide the fact that he is in great shape.

  “Do you like wrestling?” I ask.

  “I love it. Love all sports, actually, but I’m too short for basketball, too small for football, and too slow for track. But wrestling works for me because I compete against guys my size. I’m only five-seven.” He darts a quick glance at me before returning his attention to the street. “Is my size a problem for you?”

  I laugh. “Are you kidding? You’re still a foot taller than me.”

  “Good to know.”

  I feel my cheeks grow warm. “I mean, it’s a total non-issue, since you’re only giving me a ride.”

  “That’s true,” he concedes. “You mentioned that you can’t date until you’re sixteen. When will that be?”

  I stole that excuse from Zoe. I have no idea when my parents might let me date. “Mid-June.”

  “That’s not so far off,” he says.

  I look out the window. It’s not far off. I need to change the topic. “Do you like being on the student council?”

  “It keeps me out of trouble.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, I bet you’re a real troublemaker.”

  He gives me that grin again. “I have my moments.”

  The r
oller rink comes into view. He pulls into the parking lot, parks, and turns to face me. “Be warned. Kristine is going to make this excursion into a big deal—like securing-world-peace big deal.”

  “She likes being president.”

  “She loves being president.”

  We’re both smiling as we get out of the car and head toward the building. I spot Kristine standing near the entrance with a few of the other student council members near her. Her eyes narrow as we approach, and she taps her cell phone. “You’re late.”

  “So?” Bobby asks. “We still beat half the members.”

  “That’s not the point.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder. “We can go in and start checking things out. I have free passes for all the council members.” She hands one to everyone else standing around her, then gives the remainder to me. “Since you’re secretary, please wait out here for the late members. Everyone else, inside.”

  Bobby looks at me. I’m not sure if he expects me to protest at being given this chore, or expects me to be upset that we have to separate.

  “Go on,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine.”

  Kristine touches his arm. “I need you with me so that we can figure out if there’s a good place for a DJ to set up.”

  “I brought Charlotte. I’m not leaving her out here alone.”

  “Brandon?” she calls out. “Will you stay with Charlotte, please?”

  He shrugs. “Sure.”

  Bobby gives me an apologetic look.

  “It’s fine,” I assure him. “Everyone will be here soon.”

  “Okay. Find me when you get inside.”

  Kristine loops her arm around his and starts to lead him away. I’m not sure why I’m so bothered by her possessiveness. Her hip keeps tapping against his. I’m surprised either of them can walk, with her snuggled so close to him.

  “Man, she wants them to get back together so badly,” Brandon says. “It’s pathetic.”

  I jerk my attention to him. He’s leaning against the wall. “What?”

  He curls up one corner of his mouth. “You didn’t know they used to be an item?”

  I shake my head.

  “For about three years. They broke up right after winter break.”

  Well, that explains some of the hostile vibes she sends out whenever I’m talking with Bobby.

  “How could you not know that?” Brandon asks.

  “I must have missed that edition of the Jefferson High Yellow Jacket Enquirer.”

  He laughs. “You’re funny. You should consider running for student council next year. Better yet, run for president.”

  I almost throw out my usual line about no time, but I realize that I don’t have to explain myself or my decisions to him. Plus he’s just making conversation, so I settle for a noncommittal, “We’ll see.”

  It’s another twenty minutes before everyone arrives. Apparently not all the members are as committed as Kristine. Once all the passes are gone, Brandon and I head inside. We walk through the short hallway where tickets are sold and skates are rented. At the doorway into the main area, we show our passes. As soon as we stroll into the dimly lit area, Brandon sees someone he knows and veers off. I wander to the railing that circles the wooden-floored area where people are skating. I can’t remember the last time I came to a roller rink.

  Mirrored balls hanging from the ceiling send light dancing around the skaters. The skating floor is pretty packed. There’s an area circling the rink, where those not skating have congregated to talk. I can see an occasional bench. On a few of them, couples are kissing. That would definitely work for prom. I try to imagine twinkling stars across the ceiling.

  “What do you think?”

  I jump at Bobby’s unexpected voice breaking into my thoughts. He’s standing beside me at an angle so that my shoulder is almost pressed against the center of his chest.

  “I think what matters is what Kristine thinks,” I answer honestly. I try to picture him with her, and the image just doesn’t compute. She’s beautiful and popular but a little on the harsh side.

  He shrugs. “She likes it. We figure we can set the DJ up over there.” He points to the opposite end of the rink.

  “That would work. I assume the rink itself will be the dance area.”

  “That’s what some of the committee members were saying before you came in.”

  “We could set up little tables in the area around the rink, like sidewalk bistros in Paris. Have little refreshment stations.”

  “That could be fun. Have you been to Paris?”

  I nod. “I went last year. It’s a beautiful city.” I glance around. “Are we supposed to be meeting up with the other student council members somewhere?”

  “We’re actually finished. Well, except for the decorating committee. Kristine is talking things over with them, but everyone else is free to leave.”

  I furrow my brow. “We went to all this trouble to come here just so we could take a peek and then leave?”

  He grins. “Apparently so.” Leaning forward, he places his forearms on the railing. “Do you skate?”

  “Not in a while.”

  He glances back over his shoulder. “Do you want to? We have free passes. We might as well use them.”

  An image of us skating around the rink, holding hands, flashes through my mind. I want to accept his invitation, but then other images bombard me. Losing my balance, landing hard on my wrist or shoulder. Someone tripping me. Me twisting my ankle. This close to trials, I can’t take the risk. “I’m way out of practice. I’d probably do a face-plant.”

  He turns, presses his back to the railing. “I wouldn’t let you fall.”

  So he’s planning to stay close enough to grab me. The temptation to say yes is so strong. What would it hurt? Just for a few minutes—

  A series of shrieks echoes around us. I jerk my attention to the skaters and see three sprawled on the floor, legs and arms entangled. People are dodging around them as they slowly sit up. I could end up in a pile just like that. A scrape wouldn’t be a big deal, but a broken bone or torn muscle could ruin everything.

  “Thanks, but there are just way too many people out there,” I tell him, hoping he can hear the genuine disappointment in my voice.

  “All right, then.” He looks up at the ceiling. “You mentioned putting twinkling lights on the ceiling. I wonder if there’s something we can do so that we could have some shooting stars.”

  “That would be cool.” And definitely romantic. “I’ve never seen a shooting star.”

  He jerks his gaze back to me. “Never?”

  He sounds so mystified that I’m a little embarrassed I brought it up. “Well, I’ve seen them on TV and in movies, of course.” I think. Surely I have.

  “Since we’re part of the group responsible for making sure the prom experience is all that it can be, we need to do some further research.”

  He grabs my hand and starts leading me away from the rink. I notice how his large hand envelops my small one, how warm his skin is against mine. “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace special.”

  • • •

  We are in the middle of nowhere. Or it feels like the middle of nowhere.

  Bobby drove out of town, then down a two-lane country road, and finally pulled off the road and into a field. I can see a few other cars parked out here. Apparently we’re not the only ones into stargazing.

  We’re reclining on the hood of his car. It’s so dark out here. No lights to brighten anything up.

  “It’s better when there’s a meteor shower,” he says, “but we ought to see something tonight.”

  “Before I turn back into a pumpkin,” I say, subtly reminding him that I have a curfew.

  “If you’re Cinderella, it’s only your clothes that will change. It’s my car that will become a pumpkin. Unless you’re thinking I’m Prince Charming. . . .”

  He is charming. I can’t believe he went to this much trouble to show me a shooting star. I also wonder if he know
s about this place because he brought Kristine here. I clear my throat. “So . . . Brandon mentioned that you and Kristine . . .” I let me voice trail off, although I roll my head to the side and study him through half-lowered lashes. With the darkness surrounding him, I can’t tell if he’s blushing, but he does turn toward me, and I feel his gaze land on me.

  “You didn’t know about us?”

  Slowly I shake my head. I wanted to attend public school so that I could have normal teen experiences. But I’m beginning to think I’m walking around with my head in the clouds—or my thoughts constantly on the gymnastics mat.

  “I guess that makes me unusual,” I admit self-consciously.

  “I like that you’re unusual. I like that you don’t care about all the gossip that goes around the school.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far—to say that I don’t care about gossip.”

  “What kind of gossip do you like?” He turns his attention back toward the stars. I do the same.

  “I don’t like any gossip, but I do care if there is gossip going around about me.” It’s one of the reasons why I keep my elite gymnast status a secret, of course. I don’t want people speculating about my triumphs and failures.

  “I haven’t heard any gossip about you,” he says.

  I grin. “And I like it that way.”

  “Is there some I should know about?”

  He sounds genuinely interested, as though he’s trying to make a decision—about us. Only, there can be no us. Not right now.

  “Nope. I’m pretty boring.”

  “You’re not boring, Charlie.”

  I nearly choke. I swallow hard. “Why did you call me that?”

  “You just don’t look like a Charlotte to me.”

  Sitting up and crossing my legs beneath me, I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, let my hair fall forward, suddenly very self-conscious. “I like ‘Charlotte.’ ” And he might randomly search the Internet for a Charlie Ryland. I don’t want that name in his head. Or for it to catch on at school.

  He pushes himself up as well. “How about ‘Shar,’ then?” he asks.