Chapter 20
I thought this week at school would be awkward, that Ben might act differently, but he hasn’t. He hasn’t mentioned our date either. What am I supposed to think? Does he not want to go anymore? Was I supposed to come find him after the wedding? The next day? Is he mad? He isn’t acting mad.
By the time Thursday rolls around, I decide to call off the date. This is exactly the kind of distraction I didn’t want. Marching into the Journalism room, bag in hand and speech prepared, I see him at our normal table with coffee ready. Mom’s words ring in my ears: “Boys don’t bring you coffee every day if they don’t like you.” I waver a little. No Amelia, you can do this.
When I approach our table Ben greets me “Good morning, Dorothy.” He is in a good mood. Like a really good mood. Normally his voice is a little hoarse in the mornings. It gives me pause, and I look around to make sure everything is okay. That is when I spot two tickets to the fall festival under my coffee cup. I freeze at the sight of them.
He didn’t want to call off our date. I realize that I haven’t said anything, and he is still smiling, clearly very proud of himself. “I’ve done some research.” I sit on my stool, and he continues. “I know. I know. Research is your thing, but I can’t go into this thing totally unprepared.” He is inconceivably cute. “First, one must purchase tickets to this festival.” I don’t have the heart to tell him I get free tickets because Magnolia Manor always has a booth.
“Now I know that this is your town, and you probably know all the best booths and activities, but I asked around.” he says. Asked who? I’m smiling like an idiot, and he takes it that he should continue. “I think our best bet is for me to pick you up at 5:30. I know that doesn’t give us a lot of time after study session on Friday, but I heard the fried Oreos are the best at the beginning of the night.” How does he know this?
“Okay. Stop.” I catch his arm, and he flexes under my grip, causing my hand to tingle. I drop my hand. “Where are you getting all this information? And why haven’t you mentioned this all week? I thought you didn’t want to go anymore.” He mocks horror and puts his hand to his heart.
“First, I don’t ever reveal my sources. Second, I was planning. And third, you didn’t bring it up either.” He makes a fair point.
Picking up my coffee and taking a sip, I ponder his annoyingly excellent point. I didn’t bring it up either. I pick up the tickets and stare at them. He would have had to go to a local business to get them, which means he either got them the day after the wedding or made a special trip. Point Ben. “Fair. We are really doing this?” I look up at him earnestly, and he grins a goofy grin.
“We are most definitely doing this” he confirms.
Class runs smoothly. My article was selected again, and Lisa had one selected too. The forecast says that the remainder of the day should have minimal passive aggression. It isn’t until the end of class that the euphoria I have been feeling since I seeing the tickets is burst.
“I need to speak with you Amelia. You too Lisa.” Mr. Bannerman announces as class dismisses for lunch. Lisa has not outright tried to assault me since the first week of school, however, makes it clear every single day she wants to. This can’t be good for me. We glance at each other anxiously, and Ben whispers he will wait for me outside.
“Sir” we say in unison.
“Ladies, I have some good news” he starts. “As my top published writers, you two have been selected to join the senior journalism class at the Young Writers of America Conference at the end of term.” I am taken aback. I thought only seniors got selected for that conference. As if he can read my mind he continues. “Normally this is an opportunity reserved for the seniors. However, you two have outranked several of the seniors, and I would be remiss in not recognizing that.”
“Thank you” I say.
“Yes. Thank you.” Lisa parrots, just as shocked as me.
“Now with that being said, part of your participation is that you both have to submit a series of articles to be sent in ahead of the conference. I want you to work on them together.” We both attempt to interject but he continues sternly saying “Write a series. Your past articles share similar themes. Collaboration will be good for you.”
I almost choke.
“Sir, I don’t think— “Lisa begins.
“Now if either of you don’t want to work together,” he continues, “you both can decline. It would be a shame however if my top two choices for junior editors were not up to the challenge.” No chance I am giving this up.
“No. We accept” I answer. I loop my arm around Lisa’s and bring her toward me. She looks like I burned her but relaxes when I say, “We are thankful for this honor and won’t let you down.”
“Right,” she says, patting my arm and squeezing. I grate my teeth but maintain composure.
“Good” he says clapping his hands together. “I’ll email you both the information on the portal.”
I nod my head and pull Lisa out of the room before she can go full mental breakdown on me. Ben and Kate, who have been obviously eavesdropping at the door, follow us.
“Okay before you say anything, don’t.” As I begin to speak she looks like her head might explode. Surprisingly, she relents. “We both want this opportunity and Mr. Bannerman made it clear it is both of us or neither. Now, while I personally can’t stand you and I’m sure the feeling is mutual; I’ll admit you are a good writer. I’m willing to let that be the foundation for this partnership.”
“Fine.” she scoffs.
“That’s it? No fight?” That was too easy.
“I obviously don’t want to work with you either, but you’re right. I don’t want to miss out.”
“Okay.” I straighten my blazer. “Truce?”
“Yeah. Truce,” she rolls her eyes.
Kate has now been joined by Bella, and Ben is staring at us. “What is happening?” he asks.
“I’ll explain on the way to lunch,” I respond. Not wanting to jinx anything that just happened, I walk away. I can hear Kate talking a mile an hour and Lisa taking a long huff, but it’s progress. After thorough debriefing, Ben leaves me at the lunchroom. One day I’ll ask him where he goes off too, but for now, it’s pot-roast day.