17. Wildest Dreams
WILDEST DREAMS
I expect the euphoria to wear off. I expect the metaphorical clock to strike midnight and everything to revert to its original state.
It doesn’t. I’ve been smiling for the entire evening, and it only seems to grow wider.
Not even getting a phone call from Blythe demanding to know where I am can kill it.
Thankfully, our car service is already heading back to the country club, so I lie and say I’m in the bathroom.
She gives me five minutes to show up in the foyer, with the rest of the threat left to interpretation. Yet, I’m still smiling like an idiot.
I won’t have time to change my clothes in the restroom, but since the dress Blythe got me is loose on my frame, I’m able to slip it on over my existing outfit while we’re in the backseat of the ride service.
Granted, the neckline and straps of my tank top are completely different from the dress, so I don’t have a choice but to just pull all my hair in front of me to hide the visible black fabric.
With barely two minutes to spare, we pull up alongside the back street to the country club and make a mad dash for the building. I go to open the door to the side entrance, but hands capture my waist and pull me back for Jase to steal one last kiss from me.
With my prized penguin safely stored in his backpack and my fingers free of sparklers, I bring my hands up to his neck, feeling an imperfection in his skin. It’s thin and roughly two inches long. No doubt a scar. I want to ask about it, but we don’t even have enough time to say good night.
It takes everything in both of us to break apart, and I reluctantly slip through the door to head down the hallway.
When I arrive in the foyer, I’m breathing heavily, my lips are probably swollen, and I’m still unable to wrestle down my smile, only earning me a glare from Blythe when she sees me.
Fortunately, she doesn’t say anything, even after she scowls and glances down at her watch, like I showed up ten minutes late rather than a few seconds.
I just hope her glaring remains fixed on my face rather than the rest of me, because I’m suddenly all too aware of my feet…
and the fact that I’m still wearing my flip-flops instead of those torturous heels.
Crap, crap, crap.
At least a dozen people come over to say goodbye to Blythe and my dad, so I mumble an excuse about needing fresh air, escaping out the front entrance for the blessed darkness by the valet.
Despite my stepmom being unable to see my face when she eventually exits the building, she still must have some kind of happiness detection radar, because the sweet demeanor she just exhibited with her friends drops as soon as she reaches me.
“What are you smiling at?” she snaps under her breath.
It’s the kind of reaction you give someone when they’re staring right at you with a shit-eating grin.
Yet, I’m not even looking remotely in her direction.
I also have to sidestep out of her way to avoid Blythe plowing into me as she hands her ticket over to the valet.
Of course, she composes herself and acts all sweet again when my dad comes out, but even her Jekyll & Hyde performance isn’t enough to sour my mood.
I’m Cinderella—evil stepmother, missing shoes, and all.
Stepping out of the shower when I get home, I anticipate I’m about to wake up, realizing this has all been a dream.
But I still have the festival stamp on my hand, only slightly faded. When I enter my room, I also find my window open, my torturous heels set nicely on the floor, and a certain patriotic stuffed penguin sitting at the top of my bed.
I grab the animal and pull it to my chest, relishing the scents clinging to it.
Popcorn mixed with the contents of Jase’s backpack—his cologne and deodorant, the salt air and sand from the beach towel, and just…
him. I’m not sure it’s physically possible for a human being to get even giddier, but Jase proves me wrong as I plop down on my bed.
Something crinkles under my elbow, and I lift it to find a sticky note that reads:
“They say, ‘The bird who dares to fall is the bird who learns to fly.’ Fall with me.”
Only, it’s not signed with a simple -J.
Instead, it says:
Sincerely,
Yours
Yours.
I can’t believe it.
Jase just called himself mine .
For the next twelve hours, you can’t slap the smile from my face. That’s what I get for being so stupid because, of course, this is when the other shoe finally drops. And it may as well be made of glass, to go along with my heart.