Rebel Belle

Chapter 27

THAT WEEKEND, I finally had a date with Ryan. Between training with Saylor, preparing for Cotillion (both the normal and the supernatural parts of it), and keeping up with all my regular stuff, I hadn’t exactly been a model girlfriend. Hence tonight’s date, which included a movie of his choosing and, since his parents were at their lake house for the weekend, some alone time at Ryan’s place. I actually couldn’t remember the last time we’d . . . been alone, and I told myself it was anticipation making my hands tremble as I brushed my teeth that evening, not nerves.

When I came downstairs, Mom and Dad were both sacked out on the couch, watching some true-crime TV show. “Hey,” I said, pausing in the doorway.

Dad’s arm was around Mom’s shoulder and both of them had their feet propped up on the coffee table. Even their ankles were crossed the same. “Hay is for horses, Harper Jane!” Dad called out, and I rolled my eyes, but smiled.

“Fine. Good evening, parental types.”

Mom looked over her shoulder at me. “You look pretty. Where are you off to?”

Preening a little, I smoothed my fitted sweater over my stomach. “Date night with Ryan. I’ll be back by midnight.”

There was a splash of light across the pale blue of the wall as Ryan’s car pulled into the driveway, and I was already turning to meet him at the door when Mom said, “Ten.”

I paused, sure I’d misunderstood her. “Ten what?”

“Ten is when you need to be home. The movie starts at what? Seven? That’s plenty of time to get back.”

Dad kept his eyes on the TV, but his fingers were drumming on Mom’s shoulders. “Um . . . seriously?” My purse was on the end table nearest the couch, and I twisted to grab it.

Mom’s eyes met mine, and I could swear there were hollows under hers, new wrinkles in the corners. “Yes, seriously. Ten o’clock, Harper.”

Outside, Ryan’s door thumped shut, and I could hear his steady tread coming up the front steps. “It’s always been midnight,” I insisted, hating how petulant I sounded, but . . . I had plans for tonight. Boyfriend maintenance plans. And I hadn’t had to be in that early since middle school.

The doorbell rang then, and I cast a quick look toward the front door. “Mom, my curfew has always—”

“I don’t care what we’ve always done,” Mom snapped, her voice slightly shrill. “I’m your mother, and tonight, I want you back in this house by ten. Is that clear?”

Ryan had better manners than to press the doorbell again, but I could practically feel him out there waiting for me. Too bad he wasn’t the only one I clearly needed to spend more time with. Knowing that snottiness wouldn’t get me anywhere, I nodded. “Okay,” I said, doing my best to seem okay. “See y’all at ten.”

Mom sagged back onto the couch, relief obvious on her face. Dad, too, seemed to relax a bit, lifting his hand in a wave. “Be safe, kiddo.”

I brooded the entire way to the theater. Pine Grove only had one, and it only showed two movies at a time. I’d let Ryan pick tonight—I almost always chose what we saw—and of course, he’d gone with the action film. I’d rolled my eyes, pretending to be exasperated, but really, I wanted to see it, too. I had plenty of moves in my Paladin arsenal, but it wouldn’t hurt to add a few more.

We already had our tickets and had stepped into the lobby when I told Ryan about Mom’s new curfew. Frowning, he shoved his hands in his back pockets. “Whoa. Okay. I just . . . I kind of wish you’d told me that before we’d come here.”

The lobby reeked of burnt popcorn and spilled Coke, and it seemed even more crowded than usual for a Saturday night. The place was always full—when you only have one movie theater in your town, that happens—but tonight it was packed, and I suddenly felt a little claustrophobic. “Why?” I asked Ryan as someone bumped into me from behind.

Rolling his shoulders, Ryan stepped a little closer to me. “Because if I’d known I was only going to have a few hours with you, there are a lot of other things I’d rather be doing than watching a movie.”

Maybe it was that unexpected bout of nervousness I’d felt about that very thing earlier. Maybe I was still irritated with my mom and looking for someone to take it out on. Or maybe I was honestly a little pissed off at Ryan. “So, what, if you’d known you’d have to choose between a date and fooling around, you would’ve chosen the latter?”

“Whoa, Harper.” Ryan lowered his voice and looked around us. “Keep your voice down.” Only a few yards away, our old Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Catesby, was buying a box of Junior Mints, and I should have been horrified at the thought that she might have overheard me, but I wasn’t. Not even a little bit.

Ryan, on the other hand, was. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that I’ve hardly been alone with you since when? Before Homecoming?”

“I’ve been busy,” I insisted, and Ryan rolled his eyes at me.

“Yeah, I know. With school and Cotillion and whatever other stupid shit is more important than your boyfriend.”

I could not believe this was happening. I was fighting with my boyfriend in public. Across the way, I could see Abigail and Amanda, huddled near the ladies’ room. They saw me, too, and as they lifted their hands in greeting, Mary Beth emerged from the bathroom. Her eyes landed on Ryan first, and there was no mistaking the . . . it wasn’t even lust, it was honest to God love, or at least a very deep case of like.

“Don’t call the stuff I do stupid,” I told him, this time pitching my voice near a whisper. I tried to keep my face blank so the other girls wouldn’t be able to tell we were fighting, but they were already heading this way.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan blew out on a long breath. “But, God, Harper, sometimes I feel like your whole life is a checklist, and I am way down at the bottom. And, you know, every once in a while, you throw me a bone to keep me happy.”

I flinched at that, hard. Not only because it was insulting, but because it was way too close to the truth. “You’re not at the bottom,” I said, and then Abigail, Amanda, and Mary Beth were there, and I was frantically blinking back tears and faking a huge smile.

“Hi, girls!” I said with forced brightness.

“Hey, Harper,” Mary Beth replied, but her eyes were on Ryan. “Are you guys . . . okay?”

“We’re fine,” Ryan and I said in unison, too quickly. Abigail and Amanda exchanged a look, and I stepped closer to Ryan, slipping my arm through his. His forearm was like a rock under my fingers, and I could still feel the tension humming through him. Even though he was smiling at the girls, I knew they could sense it, too.

There was an awkward silence before Abigail said, “Is Ryan trying to drag you to that stupid Hard Fists movie?”

“Grooooosssss,” Amanda drawled. “I hate stuff like that. Ryan, be a good boyfriend and take your girlfriend to The Promise. Y’all can sit with us.”

“Mandy,” her twin said, elbowing her in the side. “They probably want to sit alone at the movies.”

Mary Beth swallowed, and her shoes must have been really fascinating for all the attention she was paying to them.

“Oh, please,” Amanda said, delicately picking out a piece of popcorn and tossing it in her mouth. “Like Ryan and Harper are the make-out-in-the-theater type. That would be like . . .” She screwed up her elfin face. “My parents doing that or something. No offense, guys.”

I waved her off, but under my other hand, I could swear Ryan got even tenser. More people were coming in the door now, and as I moved closer to Ryan to avoid the crush, he stepped the tiniest bit away. Ignoring that as best as I could, I held on to his sleeve tighter. “Actually, I want to see Hard Fists.”

Amanda and Abigail both snorted in disbelief, but Mary Beth’s lips lifted in a little smile. “It does look kind of badass,” she offered, and Amanda and Abigail swung identical frowns at her.

“Ugh, no, it does not, Mary Beth. All that violence and blood and . . . bleh.” Amanda shuddered.

“Maybe you need a Y chromosome to properly appreciate the amazingness of Hard Fists, Amanda,” Ryan said. Then he nodded at Mary Beth. “Or maybe you just need to be a cool chick like MB here.”

MB? Since when did Ryan have a nickname for Mary Beth? It wasn’t like anyone else called her that.

Mary Beth’s face flushed, and while I thought pink was supposed to look terrible on redheads, she actually looked really pretty with a little color in her cheeks. And there was a softness in Ryan’s grin as he looked down at her that I recognized. He used to smile at me like that.

For once, the pain in my chest had nothing to do with David or danger or magic. This was straight-up teenage angst, and it hurt. I mean, fine, if he suddenly liked Mary Beth, whatever, but did he have to do it in front of Amanda and Abigail?

Wait a second. Whatever? My boyfriend was smiling at a blushing girl, and I was embarrassed because my friends were watching?

Standing there in the theater, with what felt like my entire town hemming me in, I let that thought sink in. I wasn’t hurt that Ryan might have a thing for someone else. I was scared of what that might make other people think about me.

That was . . . effed up.

Suddenly, the lobby was too hot and the smell of popcorn was making me slightly nauseous, and all I wanted to do was go home. What would happen if I turned around and walked out? Would Ryan come after me, or would he shrug and go watch the “badass” Hard Fists with MB? And why didn’t that thought make me want to tear MB’s pretty auburn hair right out of her head?

“Harper?” Abigail asked, laying a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

I hadn’t realized I was staring at the floor, my eyes tracing the golden concentric circles stamped on the grubby navy carpet. Lifting my head, I did my best to smile, but from the look on Abi’s face, I wasn’t pulling it off. “Yeah,” I said, “it’s just hot in here.”

“It is,” Abigail agreed. “I mean, look at Mary Beth, she’s practically a tomato.”

Mary Beth’s cheeks were more red than pink now, and Amanda tried to disguise a giggle as a cough.

Tired of this, tired of them, I tugged on Ryan’s sleeve. “In that case, we better go ahead and get into the theater before we all boil to death out here.”

I took a step forward and as I did, I looked up into the crush of people waiting to get their sodas and Gummi Bears. I could recognize nearly every face, either from school or church. And then Matt Sheehan, a senior at the Grove, stepped aside, and I found myself staring into a very familiar—and very crazy—pair of brown eyes.

Blythe.