Chapter 7
Before the start of our service club meeting at the Student Union, Lincoln sidled up to me and kind of slapped me on my shoulder. His dark brown eyes sparkled. He adjusted the collar of his blue polo shirt. “Hey, you never called me and told me what was going on with your group.”
At this proximity, I could smell his cologne. I wanted to breathe more and exhale less. I shrugged. “I figured we’d all reveal what we were doing here,” I said flatly. Why was I such a dork?
“Next time call me.” Lincoln continued toward the crowd, greeting people.
He gave me a little eyebrow raise that weakened my knees. Some people must just be born charming. Those people mate with other charming people and perpetuate the charm.
We were supposed to meet in our groups. As there were only the five of us, we looked lame sitting together in our little group of outcasts—Larry, Lisa, Marie, and Kat. I recognized a few faces of those who were supposed to be in our group but jumped ship to another one—to Beau’s. I bit my lip, trying not to take it personally.
We sat in a rough semi-circle in cushioned chairs around Lincoln who was talking with a girl Marie knew from high school, McKenna—a former Miss Teen USA. She brushed her board-flat, blond hair away from her large blue eyes with the perfect amount of makeup. Her clothes looked like they came from those cute little boutique shops that were way overpriced and way over-styled. I sighed. Lincoln smiled and agreed with whatever she said.
They were the perfect couple. They both radiated enthusiasm and confidence. Both were well-groomed. They both worked out. Both were successful. Both were beautiful.
My mind jumped to their graduation, their going to Harvard for MBAs together and getting married—dancing down the aisle with huge smiles and triumphant leaps and then all their charming children. My stomached heaved. Perfect couples shouldn’t bother me. Lincoln wasn’t interested in me or anything.
The meeting started drawing me back to reality. Three groups organized October, November, and December fundraisers. Ours was the last fundraiser. The one around three weeks before Christmas break. The one where everyone’s money would be earmarked for buying presents and scheduled when everyone had packed social calendars. The December slot was the toughest time. People would already be cash-strapped buying presents on lay-away and stuff.
But if Lincoln thought I could handle December, then we could handle it.
“Let’s hear from October fundraiser.” Lincoln spread his hand to the large group with a gaggle of popular girls huddled in the corner. “This one is in a few weeks so you don’t have much time to plan.”
McKenna took the center. She stood with a device.
What if they propose a fall ball? A tightness formed in my chest. Maybe that’s why we were supposed to consult Lincoln first, so I didn’t look like an idiot when I propose an idea already planned.
McKenna radiated beauty and poise as she spoke. “We opted to do a fall carnival.”
Her diction was perfect, her enthusiasm contagious. Her time on stage as Miss Teen USA really paid off. By the end of her speech, I was ready to join her group.
“We thought we’d call it the Fall Fling with carnival rides, face painting, food booths, good old-fashioned races—gunny sack races and three-legged races but with a twist. You’ll have to come out and see. Tickets go on sale starting the end of September and the date is set for the first weekend in October. We rented the space and reserved the rides from last year, so accomplishing this in a few weeks is not a problem.”
At the end of her description, everyone clapped, especially those in her group.
And then I saw it.
McKenna glanced at Lincoln for approval. Her shining eyes revealed volumes in one look. She liked him.
Something inside of me broke. Like a vase with water and flowers shattering on the ground into a million pieces. My throat felt dry. I couldn’t even look at him to see if he was shining back. I didn’t want to know. Why did I even care? I studied my notes. I couldn’t read the writing. Who’d written this anyway? Was this even English?
Lincoln called my name.
I don’t remember if I said anything, maybe I babbled, maybe I just stood. But I didn’t look at him. I didn’t look at anything except my notes which were written in a foreign language. A few heartbeats passed where nobody said anything. My face flamed red-hot, burning to the tips of my ears.
Marie’s hand touched my elbow.
I managed to translate the words on the page. “Our proposal for the winter fundraiser,” I squeaked out, “is a fall ball…”
A few brows contracted. A few people whispered, “What?”
What was I saying? My mouth was going off without my brain. Pull it together. “Not a fall ball.” A weird laugh erupted from my constricted throat. “I meant a winter ball—a charity ball and a silent auction. We’ll rent a venue and work with local businesses to donate services and goods for a silent auction. We have reserved a DJ.”
Nobody clapped. Lincoln stepped forward. “Have you firm commitments from any businesses yet?”
For the first time, I dared to look at him.
He stared at me with deep intensity.
His gaze stole my breath. His eyes were amazing. Dark and deep. I felt so stupid. “No, I?—”
Lincoln cut me off. “When you get some businesses on board, let me know. Talk to me after the meeting.”
And that was it. He turned away from me. His gaze went to Beau’s group. No applause, no enthusiasm. Just cut off.
“I should’ve asked Beau, our distinguished VP, before Gabby.”
Beau started talking. That’s when I realized I was still standing.
Marie pulled me down into my seat.
My face flushed. A burning sensation radiated from my chest.
Lincoln thought I was incompetent. He didn’t think we could pull this together. Hot tears welled in my eyes. I heard nothing but my own thoughts drowning out rationale. What did the book say about crying in public? I must’ve been breaking some rule. My nose warmed, but I managed to keep the tears from sliding down my cheeks.
Marie squeezed my arm. “You okay?” she whispered.
My lips hurt to smile. “I sounded like an idiot,” I murmured back.
“You were great,” she said, always the optimist and liar.
I refocused back in just as Beau was saying, “My dad’s auto sales room donated a BMW for raffle.”
A huge whoop went up around the room. Excitement reached a fever pitch.
“Tickets go on sale right after the Fall Fling. They will be fifty dollars a piece so everyone will have a chance of winning. Anybody who buys a ticket is invited to come to the gala. The event will be held at my dad’s showroom November sixth.” His energy grew and intensified with the excitement of the room. “We will have the news crew there, with live recording. A huge screen for movies. We’ve hired a local caterer for an all-you-can-eat spread.”
Applause erupted again, hiding the sound of my deflated hope.
Once things settled down, Lincoln announced the monthly service project. “Don’t forget Mt. Lemmon this week. Thursday at six, before dark. We’re picking up trash. Bring gloves and hats. And water.”
I sunk deeper in my chair without a prayer of a hope. Who could compete with a BMW?
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