Rebel Belle

Chapter 18

“I’M PREGNANT.”

“Huh?” Looking up from the pair of shoes I’d been pretending to study, I turned to face Bee. “What did you say?”

“Finally!” Bee said, tossing her head back with an exaggerated eye roll. “I said your name three times already, and when that didn’t grab your attention, I decided to go dramatic.”

Smiling, I tossed one of those little stockings you get to try on shoes at her. “Well, it clearly worked. I take it you are not actually carrying Brandon’s spawn, then?”

Bee snorted and lifted one foot, turning her ankle so that I could admire the shoe from all angles. “No, thank God. My mama would kill me. Now what do you think of these?”

We were at the Pine Grove Galleria, our typical Saturday-afternoon destination. Today’s trip was especially important since we were picking out our shoes for Cotillion. Or Bee was. I hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell her I’d quit Cotillion yet, but since we were already on our third store, I was going to have to do it soon. I just wasn’t sure how to break it to her in the middle of Well Heeled. The store was relatively deserted and I didn’t see anyone we knew; the only other customers were a little girl, who was probably around ten, and her mom. Still, I was beginning to wish I’d just said something in the car on the way here.

Dutifully, I continued to inspect the white high heel she’d slipped on. “Pretty,” I told her.

Bee frowned. “But not perfect.”

“I . . . don’t you think they’re a little high?”

Sighing, Bee slid her foot out of the shoe and put it back in the box. “Probably. I’m good in heels, but I don’t want to pull a Mary Beth.”

Next to us, the little girl was trying to talk her mom into buying her a pair of red sparkly ballet flats, but the mom was holding her ground. “We’re picking out church shoes, Kenley,” she said, exasperated, and I had to hide a smile.

Bee stood up and reached out, picking up a strappy sandal. She ran her fingers over the jeweled straps. “This is pretty. It would look good with your dress. Doesn’t it have sparkles?”

I tried to keep from sighing longingly. Yes, my dress had sparkles. Subtle ones, but sparkles nonetheless. And a little bustle and a short train, and about a hundred silk-covered buttons . . . and I would never wear it.

I’d been trying to work up the nerve to tell Bee all afternoon. First, I’d sworn I’d say something on the ride to the mall. And when we’d walked inside, I had been all set to say, “Actually, Bee, I’ve decided not to do Cotillion this year.”

Now we were on our third store, and I knew it was now or never.

I took the shoe from Bee’s hand and set it back on the shelf. “It would look good, but . . . I’m, um, not doing Cotillion after all.”

Bee’s mouth dropped open a bit, but no sound came out. Turning away from her, I moved over to a display of scarves. I’d never worn a scarf in my life, but I made a big show of pulling one out and examining the pattern.

“Why not?” Bee asked from behind me.

I put the first scarf back and pulled out another, and once again thought about telling Bee the truth. I can’t do Cotillion because I have superpowers, but they suck. Because something is going to happen there that night that I don’t want to be involved with.

But I couldn’t say any of that. So instead, I played the one card I’d promised myself I would never, ever play. “Leigh-Anne,” I said. “It’s . . . too hard. Thinking about the year she did it . . .”

Bee didn’t say anything for a long time, and I wasn’t sure I had ever felt worse than I did at that moment. Damn it, I’d given up the whole Paladin thing. So why was it still messing up my life?

Bee appeared at my elbow. “Okay,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Then I won’t go either.”

I dropped the scarf. “Bee, you can’t—”

“I can,” she said, even as she threw one last lusting look at the shoes. “We always said we were going to do Cotillion together.”

Bee may have been the only person on earth more excited for Cotillion than I was, but she gave me a brave if entirely fake smile. “It’ll be fine. We’ll do, like, one of those anti-prom proms, only it’ll be an anti-Cotillion Cotillion. We’ll wear black dresses and hang out at my house watching bad movies and drinking bad punch.”

“It’ll be hard to find worse punch than my Aunt Jewel’s,” I said, and Bee’s smile got a little more real.

“We’ll manage,” she said. Then she stopped to pick up the scarf, placing it back on its shelf. “Now let’s go to the food court and eat our weight in Cinnabon.”

“You are the bestest best friend in all the world,” I said, looping my arm through hers.

“I know,” she said, squeezing my arm against her side. “And you in no way deserve me.”

I didn’t. Not even a little bit, and the truth of that lodged in my throat so that all I could do was squeak, “Yup.”

As we made our way through the mall, Bee and I chatted about Ryan and Brandon, and it could have been any other Saturday, if it weren’t for the constant gnawing of guilt. Staying away from the Starks was the best thing to do, which meant staying away from Cotillion. I didn’t want to ruin that for Bee, but it wasn’t like I’d asked her to give it up.

Suddenly, Bee came to a stop, pulling me up short, too. “Oh.”

“What?” I asked, following her gaze. And when I saw what she was looking at . . .

“Oh,” I echoed.

Mary Beth was standing in front of the Starbucks in the food court, sipping an iced coffee and smiling up at Ryan.

He was leaning against the wall, hands in his back pockets, and he was smiling down at her. There was even . . . head-tilting.

My boyfriend was leaning and head-tilting at another girl. And not any girl. Mary Beth Riley, who practically had a neon sign flashing “TAKE ME NOW, RYAN BRADSHAW!” over her head.

“Is she chewing on her straw?” Bee asked quietly, and I narrowed my eyes. She was. She was totally chewing on her straw and smiling and head-tilting and—

Before I could think it through, I was walking over to the Starbucks, Bee trailing a few steps behind. “Ryan!” I called, smiling broadly.

He swiveled his head at the sound of my voice, but there was no guilt in his face. Mary Beth, however, jumped a little.

“Are you following me?” I asked him, coming in close to slide my arm around his waist. “I told him Bee and I were doing some shoe shopping today,” I informed Mary Beth, who gave me a sickly smile.

“Actually, no. I was here to pick up my tux. Check me out, renting a full six weeks early.”

“You’re a good boyfriend,” I conceded. And he was, which was why I couldn’t stand idly by and let other girls chew straws at him.

A thought occurred to me. Ryan said he was picking up his tux for Cotillion. Ryan was supposed to escort me to Cotillion, and while the night wasn’t as big a deal for guys as it was for girls, I knew Mrs. Bradshaw was on the committee at Magnolia House. She expected her son to go. And if I wouldn’t go with him . . .

Bee must have been thinking something similar, because she turned to Mary Beth. “Do you have an escort for Cotillion?”

A sudden flush spread up Mary Beth’s neck. “Not yet,” she answered, and I saw her gaze flit to Ryan.

I moved in a little closer to him. Okay, this Paladin thing had already derailed my life enough. Turning Saylor Stark down was supposed to mean getting my life back, not ruining Cotillion for my best friend and handing my boyfriend over to Mary Beth Riley.

Bee glanced over at me, a little smile tugging the corner of her lips. “Bummer. I mean, it seems like all the decent guys at school are taken, and really, what are the chances of someone suddenly becoming available?”

The great thing about best friends is that they know you really well. And the terrible thing about best friends is that . . . they know you really well. Bee knew that the thought of Ryan taking Mary Beth to Cotillion was killing me. And what better way to get me to change my mind about Cotillion than to dangle that possibility?

I met Bee’s eyes. “You know what? After we grab some food, why don’t we go back to the store and get those shoes? The more I think about it, the more I think they would be perfect with my dress.”

Bee grinned. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

I watched Mary Beth watch Ryan, longing all over her face. And I remembered that while Ryan might not have seemed guilty, he had been leaning. Exactly the way he used to lean against my locker door back in ninth grade. No, there was no way I was letting this happen. Operation Get My You-Know-What Together was starting now.

So I smiled at Bee, hugged my boyfriend, and said, “Me, too.”