Chapter 23 Harper
Harper
“Explain this again? What’s a walk-through?”
I shoot Easton a sidelong glance, waiting for him to open the gymnasium door for me (like a gentleman), then sidestep around him when he does.
“Art teacher wants to make sure all the decorations will fit, and make sure we have enough.” He also said something about things being “to scale,” whatever that means.
“Oh yeah. Right.”
Together we enter the gym, echoes of our footsteps bouncing off the walls in a not-so-subtle way.
People stop what they’re doing when we walk in.
They stare.
If music were on, it would grind to a halt.
For serious. I mean, Aubrey Baker’s mouth hangs open when she spots us. Currently she’s on the ground, coloring on some big cardboard rosebush, gluing silk roses to it so it can later be placed at the front of the gym near the stage. She does a literal double take at the sight of Easton.
Is it such a big deal that he’s here helping?
I ignore her inquisitive glances and keep walking, head held high.
The space is huge, and right now, it’s an empty canvas. A blank space for the castles and knights, the hardwood floors shining under the overhead lights. There’s a faint smell of sweat, a reminder that this place usually sees more basketballs and volleyballs than dance decorations.
Several drop cloths are laid out on the floor, along with a bunch of art supplies: a stapler, markers, paper, glue, scissors, and some other stuff.
Mr. Grazz is already here, standing in the middle of the room with a clipboard in one hand and a measuring tape in the other. He looks up as we approach, offering a nod of acknowledgment.
“Glad you could make it,” he says, his eyes flicking from me to Easton. “Thanks for joining us, Mr. Westermann.”
Easton nods. “So, where do we start?”
Mr. Grazz gestures to a large roll of butcher paper spread out on the floor, with rough sketches of the decorations penciled in. A floor plan, if you will.
“We’re going to lay everything out just like it’ll be on the night of the prom. You tell me how many knights we have and we’ll put them on the map to determine if we have too many or not enough.” He pauses. “And then there’s the castle.”
“Castle?”
I kneel beside the paper, trying to decipher the sketches, and hear Mr. Grazz say, “It’s just a facade. Painted it myself.”
“Wow,” I mutter, scanning the layout. “This is so exciting!”
“How many knights do we have?” he asks.
“Um.” I do the mental math of the ones we’ve finished. “Ten so far.”
The art teacher nods. “And how tall are they?”
“Six feet, I think? Taller than him.”
“Six feet, huh? Nice.” Mr. Grazz lets out a low whistle. “We’ll need to make sure they’re evenly spaced around the gym. Too close together and it’ll look cramped. Too far apart and they lose impact.”
I glance at Easton, who’s looking at the sketches with a bit more focus now.
“Where’s the castle going?” he asks.
Mr. Grazz points to the far end of the gym, near the stage.
“Right up there. It’s the centerpiece, so it will be the most complicated thing to assemble—Mr. Anderson and Mr. Acker are coming to help bolt and screw it to the stage the day of prom.
” I nod at the mention of our science and English teachers.
“Two of your knights will flank it, kind of like royal guards. We’ll also have banners hanging from the rafters, and”—he pauses, flipping through some of the papers on his clipboard—“a garden arch.”
“An arch?” I ask, curious.
“We’ll place it near the entrance,” Mr. Grazz explains.
“It’ll be covered in flowers as a photo backdrop—I know how you kids always need pictures for the Gram,” he jokes, attempting to sound hip.
“I was hoping the two of you could make that your project. Boxes of flowers arrived today—we need someone to glue them on. Fancy up the arch a bit.”
“Sure, why not?” Easton says. “How hard could it be?”
“Great.” Mr. Grazz claps his hands together. “The arch is in the storage room next to the weight room. Let’s bring it out so you can get started—when you’re finished you can haul it back.”
We follow him to the storage room, where an already assembled garden trellis stands near a wall. It’s made of lightweight wood, painted white, and waiting to be adorned with the faux flowers in boxes nearby.
As we start carrying it out, Easton takes the heavier end, lifting it effortlessly.
I openly admire his strength and the muscles swelling beneath the sleeve of his shirt. When did he get so buff? I mean, I’ve noticed before, but now I can’t take my eyes off him.
I stumble, thanks to my ogling.
“You got it okay?” he asks, glancing at me as I do my best not to look like I’m struggling.
I blush. “I’m good.” Friends, Harper. You’re just friends.
My brow furrows in concentration; the last thing I need is to trip and fall.
Once we’re back in the gym, we set the pieces down carefully and crack open the cardboard boxes to inspect the florals. Nearby is the glue gun, already plugged in, and I see several bottles of superglue among the supplies.
“Just start gluing them on.” Mr. Grazz hovers nearby, never far from the action. “Make it look full and vibrant. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just make sure there aren’t any big gaps.” He makes a fluffing gesture.
We nod. “Got it.”
I grab a handful of flowers, sorting through the colors and textures.
“This will be kinda fun,” I say, picking out the white roses and setting them aside. “Flowers make everything better.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Easton reaches for the superglue while I nab the hot glue gun, and we begin attaching stems to the wooden structure. “Better than geometry class, anyway.”
I laugh, feeling the tension ease as we fall into a rhythm, gluing flowers side by side.
“Definitely better than solving for x. I’m not sure gluing fake flowers is much of a mental workout, though.”
“Hey, don’t underestimate the complexity of floral arrangements.” Easton grins, dramatically twirling a vibrant yellow daisy between his fingers. “It’s practically rocket science.”
I raise a mocking eyebrow. “Oh, totally. I’m so sure NASA is looking for people who can hot-glue flowers as part of their astronaut candidacy program.”
Not.
“Is that what you want to do after you go to college? Work for NASA?”
“Uh, no.” Not even close. I suck at science and failed our astronomy unit my sophomore year. “I have no idea what I want to do when I get to college. My grades didn’t have a single university tripping over themselves to give me a scholarship.”
I feel him glance at me.
“They don’t hand out scholarships for doodling on notebooks and daydreaming?”
“Very funny.” But also: Omg, he was totally listening when his mom and I were talking at his house and I mentioned doodling. “So. Have you met Mr. Grazz before?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t have art classes, but he’s the wrestling coach. I see him around—mostly in the locker room. Never taken art.”
“I only took art my freshman year.”
While I futz with the flowers, I gaze at him beneath my lashes. Easton has three flower stems in his hand and is attempting to place them all in the same spot at once.
Great. Now he’s getting lazy and I have to be bossy or it’ll look like total shit.
“Um, hey. Uh. If you don’t dial it down a notch, our knights are going to end up looking like they’re lost in the floral section at Michaels,” I tease, hoping he’ll get the hint. “Can we stick to putting them on one at a time?”
He snorts and picks up a gaudy neon pink daisy, twirling it between his thumb and middle finger, not fazed by my critique.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Should this one go in the center? Really accentuate the majesty of the occasion?”
“Majesty of the occasion?” I take the flower from him and hold it up, pretending to seriously consider it. “Hmm, let me think. How about no. We’re going for enchanted castle, not plastic flowers from Temu.”
Easton makes a mock pouty face. “But it’s so pink. You’re crushing my artistic vision.”
“Your vision needs glasses,” I reply, placing the neon daisy to the side and grabbing a more subdued light green hydrangea. “Here.”
“Fine,” he concedes, reaching for a cluster of white lilies. “But don’t come crying to me when this looks too classy and not fun enough.”
“Too classy? Is there such a thing?”
“Plenty of things are too classy—like brunch and those boutiques downtown.”
He’s talking about the gift shops all the girls at our school love going to, like the perfumery and the cooking store.
I roll my eyes. “I’ll take the risk.”
As we work, the scent of plastic flower and chemicals mingles with hot glue—unpleasant, but oddly satisfying. Every now and then, Easton sneaks in a brightly colored flower just to spite me, and I swat at him to keep him in check.
I hate to admit it, but he’s meticulous. There’s a surprising precision in the way he spaces and balances each flower, making sure everything looks just right.
Impressive. For a guy.
My gaze drifts to his mouth, which is curved in a content smile, his focus steady. Something shifts between us. Is this what romantic tension feels like? The kind that makes you want to make out with someone and think about it way too much?
It can’t be. Not with the way Easton keeps looking toward the gym doors.
At first I ignore it—I’m looking, too, wondering if more people will show up to help. But then he does it again. And again.
And suddenly, I wonder if he’s waiting for someone in particular.
Maddie.
My stomach twists. She said she might come.
I know I shouldn’t care. He can like whoever he wants. And I know he doesn’t like me.
But we kissed!
And no matter how much I try to brush it off, there’s an undeniable sting at the thought of him pining after someone else—especially when he’s been so flirty with me.
Desperate to shake the feeling, I step back, tapping a white rose against my chin. “This doesn’t look terrible.”
“See?” Easton shoots me a smug grin. “Told you adding color would make it better. Maybe I should be a decorator, not a hockey player.”