Love and Other Secrets Read online

  It shouldn’t be a big deal. I’ve met them once before. I’m just surprised he hadn’t mentioned them coming home, and I don’t want to intrude.

  Yep. Surprise. He answers, giving an indication of his current mood. Alex has an odd relationship with his parents that I haven’t quite cracked. Mostly I avoid mentioning them.

  I knock on the door, and Mrs. Koviak answers as Alex runs down the stairs.

  “I got it, Mom!” he yells at her.

  She smiles broadly. “It’s okay, Alex,” she says. “Maybe I want to say hello to Bailey?” She shakes her head and opens the door wide for me. “Don’t mind my son. He really does have some manners under all that hair.”

  I laugh a little awkwardly. “Hi.”

  “How are you, darling?” She wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in for a squeeze. “What do you two have planned today?”

  “Mom,” Alex protests.

  I ignore him. “Hitting the craft store.”

  Mrs. Koviak laughs and glances at her son. “Is that so?”

  I clear my throat while Alex acts annoyed. “Yes, Alex is going to help me with my promposal since he’s had so much experience with them.”

  She stops and stares at me. “Oh. Really? Well, all right. Come in. Let me make you something to eat.” She walks off into the house.

  “We don’t need anything to eat, Mom,” he calls after her.

  I blink up at him with a smile. “I could eat.”

  “She’s driving me nuts,” he whispers.

  “Breathe from your toes.” I wink and walk away.

  “Just a quick bite,” Mrs. Koviak calls. “I want to hear more about this promposal.”

  I head into the kitchen, where, judging by the open white boxes on the kitchen counter, Mrs. Koviak’s idea of “making something” really means eating takeout from Hin’s. I’m not going to complain, though.

  I hop up on one of the stools as she hands me a plate and pushes the boxes my way.

  “Eat it all. I ordered too much!”

  “Thank you, I love Hin’s.”

  “Me, too. I think I miss Hin’s more than I miss my own kitchen when we’re gone.” She laughs.

  “Probably more than your own son,” Alex says.

  I close my eyes and press my lips together. The silence that falls over the three of us is monumental. She is quiet, the pout on his face makes him look about four years old, and I have no idea what to say.

  “Alex.” Mrs. Koviak sighs. “That’s not true,” she says, her voice soft. She picks up a box and places it in front of me. “Rice, Bailey?”

  This is uncomfortable. “Thank you,” I say, way too enthusiastic for the situation. Alex plops down on the stool next to me and crosses his arms.

  “So,” Mrs. Koviak says. I can see her trying to salvage this attempt at quality time with her only child and his secret friend. “Tell me all about this promposal plan.”

  “I actually don’t know what it is. Alex?” I ask, though it’s clear he is definitely in no mood for conversation. “What’s the plan?”

  He huffs. “Going to the craft store. That’s the plan.”

  “Oh,” his mom says. She looks so hurt. I feel terrible for her. “So who’s the lucky guy, Bailey?”

  Alex shoots up out of the stool. “I left my wallet upstairs.”

  He leaves the room, and I shove food into my mouth. His mother stands at the sink in silence. She seems to have forgotten she asked the question.

  I don’t get this family. They travel nonstop to build their wells, and that’s an awesome thing, but because of it, they never see their kid. I don’t think they have a clue how much it bothers him. I know it does, even if he tries to hide it.

  My parents have crazy schedules, but they do make time for me. I’m alone a lot, especially at night, but I never feel alone. I think if I spent so much time by myself in this giant old house, it would bother me, too.

  “Do you have a dress yet?” Mrs. Koviak turns back to me. Her eyes are watery. Shit.

  I shake my head and concentrate on my empty plate. “I think I’ll wait to see if he says yes first.” I smile. Please don’t cry, lady.

  “Well, he’d be a fool not to,” she says. “But that won’t leave you long to find a dress. Prom is May 5th, right? Only a month!”

  “I’m not worried. I’ll find something.”

  She looks me over, then nods to herself. “You have great style. Very vintage.”

  “I guess.” I look down at my current wardrobe—black pants and white button-down shirt. I left the ugly green Publix vest in the car. At school, I usually wear thrift store finds that can be unusual, sometimes vintage, definitely a little quirky. I’m surprised his mom knows the kind of clothes I wear.

  Alex walks back into the kitchen. “Are you done? Can we go?”

  “Alex,” his mom says. “Don’t be rude. Listen, one day soon, I want you to show Bailey the Blue Room.” She leans toward me. “Bailey, it’s full of formal dresses, mostly my mother’s. Gowns from the fifties and sixties, beautiful dresses. I want you to look through them, and if you see something you like, take it for prom.”

  I shake my head. She’s got a room full of dresses? “Wow, thank you, but I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?” She smiles. “It’s fine if you don’t find anything, but at least look. It would make me so happy. You seem like a young woman who doesn’t want to dress like everyone else. Mom had some amazing gowns. I’ll have to get rid of them one of these days, but I’d love to see you wearing one. And she was about your height. Very similar build. Don’t feel like you have to, but please, please, if you find one you like, take it. Please.”

  She seems desperate for me to say yes. I nod. “That’s so nice. Thank you,” I say, even though I know I can’t take one.

  “Mom!” Alex snaps. “She doesn’t need your charity.”

  “Alex!” I say.

  “Oh no, it’s not charity. Bailey, I don’t mean it that way. Not at all. I just thought it would be fun!” Her eyes are glistening again.

  There’s a vein in my temple that I can feel throbbing. Awkward situations make me nervous. I get off the stool and back away, smiling as sincerely as I can manage. “No, I know, I didn’t think you meant anything. Thank you for the food. And for the dress idea.”

  I’m not sure what else to say to make her feel better, so I thank her again, shut my mouth, and follow Alex to the front door.

  “Don’t lecture me,” he says preemptively when we’re both in his car.

  My gaze slides sideways. “I’m not saying a word.”

  “Good.” He peels down the driveway, his car squealing obnoxiously.

  I probably shouldn’t, but I laugh.

  “What?” he snaps.

  “You are such a high maintenance pain in the ass,” I say, then swat the side of his arm and smile.

  He glances my way, once, twice.

  I lean toward him.

  Finally, he smiles and shakes his head. “You are, too.”

  I look away from that face that makes me think improper things. “I am not high maintenance.”

  He revs the engine to make it through a yellow light. “I meant the pain in the ass part.”

  An involuntary laugh pops out of me. This is what I love about being with Alex. It’s always easy. “Okay. Yes, I agree. We’re the perfect match.”

  The second those words come out of my mouth, I think: If he’s the perfect match, why are you asking someone else to the prom?

  Because we’re just friends. A fact I really shouldn’t have to remind myself of every five minutes. “It’s why we’re such good friends,” I add with a firm nod.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling into the craft store.

  “Are you going to tell me the plan?” I ask as we walk side-by-side into the soaring space jam-packed with art stuff, party supplies, knickknacks, fabric, yarn… I mean, it’s a crafting paradise, if you like that sort of thing.

  He shakes his head. “The plan w
ill reveal itself.”

  My stomach flips. I can’t believe I’m actually going to do this. “Why am I scared?”

  “Ha ha! No reason to fear. Follow me.” He strides off in the direction of—it looks like the party supplies? What the heck do we need there?

  I hurry after him. “Alex, c’mon. What exactly are you thinking?”

  He surveys the aisle that appears to be full of things for someone who might want to be staging a rodeo. He picks up a straw cowboy hat, looks me over, eyes my head.

  Uh. No. “I’m not wearing that.”

  “You’ll do what I say if you want my help.” He picks up a red checked bandanna that he folds into a triangle. Then he grabs a black bandit mask.

  “If the promposal theme is ‘robbing a bank,’ I’m not doing that, either.”

  He says nothing, still checking out the merchandise.

  He picks up a plastic sheriff’s star, and once again, his eyes travel up and down my body.

  “I see what you’re doing here, Alex. Do not dress me up as a cowboy.”

  “I’m not.” He puts the star and mask back. “I’m dressing you up as a cowgirl. You’re right, though, we don’t need to go overboard. The cow will get the point across.”

  Well, that’s it. I’m speechless.

  He turns the hat around in his hands. “You can’t tape something to a cow, though. Probably can’t paint on one, either. So we’re going to need some poster board, I guess.”

  He takes off down the aisle and around the corner, and I follow, really scared now.

  “A cow?” I yell after him as he makes another turn.

  When I reach him, he’s holding two pieces of poster board and a pack of thick Magic Markers. “Almost perfect.” He whips around to the other side of the aisle and grabs what is probably a gallon of glitter. “We need glitter. No one can resist glitter. Red is good. School colors and all. Cool.” His mouth pulls into a satisfied grin. “Let’s go.”

  I plant my feet and grab his shoulders. “Alex. No. Tell me the plan!”

  He huffs. “Fine. You’re asking him Friday, after the game. There will be a cow. You will be sitting on said cow. There will be two posters…” He holds up the white board in his hand. “One will say, ‘Cow about we go to prom?’ The second will say, ‘That’s no bull.’”

  My face crumples.

  “What?” he asks.

  “That’s spectacularly bad.”

  “I know it’s bad. But promposals are supposed to be bad, in a funny, memorable way. Isn’t that the point you’re trying to make in this film? Besides, he’s gonna love it. Especially the hat. And bandanna.”

  I jerk back. This is too much. “Alex? Come on. I want a memorable promposal. I do. A cow would look great on film, yes. But still. It’s a lot.”

  “What?” he says. “You asked me for help. What’s that saying? Be careful what you wish for?”

  I massage my temples where a stress headache is definitely coming on. This promposal seemed like such a good idea yesterday. “Is it too late to change my mind?”

  “Yep,” he says, smiling wide. “I already booked the cow.”

  Chapter Seven

  Alex

  I might be getting carried away with this promposal, but I don’t really give a shit. My parents came home and are pissing me off, and I guess it’s a good release. At least it’s legal. The way I see it, I call Jake O’Dell for a cow or I call him for some booze, and I already asked for the cow.

  Bailey let me get all the stuff at the craft store. Well, she insisted on paying for it because she doesn’t need charity. Seriously? She works too much, her car is a piece of shit, and she needs to buy a prom dress at the thrift shop. I haven’t told her that the tickets to prom are seventy-five bucks, plus the limo and the after-party. Does she even know about the after-party? Does she know what happens at those?

  Sex. That’s what. Although she might not have to worry too much about Tex. He’s probably a virgin, which makes me feel oddly better.

  I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. First up, the promposal.

  Tomorrow I’m going to call on my matchmaking skills and make sure those two have a proper introduction. I’ll lower myself to spending lunch in the library. Then I’ll talk Bails up in the locker room after practice all week, and during the game on Friday, O’Dell delivers the cow, and I lead Tex out to the parking lot. It’s pretty fucking brilliant, if I do say so. A promposal masterpiece.

  I drive us away from the craft store and try to not to think about Tex and Bailey together. He could do a lot worse, that’s for sure. Bailey is funny, smart, and even in black pants and a white button-down Publix shirt, even to someone who is just a friend, she’s attractive. Very.

  Not that any of that matters. It doesn’t. Does not.

  “So now what?” I ask her as we get back into town. I know it’s Sunday, family night at her house.

  “I guess let’s go get my car at your house?”

  I have no business doing what I’m about to do, but I can’t stop myself. “Or we could go straight to your house?”

  This is not a normal request. I have only been to her house once when she left a sweater at my place and I decided to return it, mostly because I was curious to see where she lived. Bailey was at work, but I met her mom, who was really nice.

  “Why?” she asks. “I have to get my car.”

  I tap the steering wheel as I drive. She’s not going to make this easy. “Look, if you don’t want me around your parents, if I embarrass you, I get it.”

  She laughs low. “What are you talking about? You don’t embarrass me. My parents embarrass me.”

  My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Really? Is that why you have never, ever invited me over?”

  She’s fidgeting in the passenger seat. I’m making her uncomfortable, but I don’t care. I don’t want to go home.

  “Alex, why would you want to come over? Your place is huge and comfortable and usually parent-less. Plus, you have way better food.”

  “So that’s all I am to you? A good meal?”

  “Well…” I hear the smile in her voice. “Miriam can cook, I’m not gonna lie. You come to my house on any given night and you might get some instant ramen and a Pop Tart. That’s if you’re lucky.”

  I make my way through town and come to a halt at the four-way stop. A right turn will take us toward her place. I put on my turn signal. “Dude, I love Pop Tarts.”

  “Alex.” Her voice is serious. “You don’t want to come over.”

  A car pulls up behind me, but I don’t drive. The car honks. I stay put.

  “Bails.” I lean forward on the steering wheel as the car behind us honks again. “Are you gonna make me invite myself over?”

  I turn to her. She’s staring at me with questioning eyes.

  “Don’t make me go home, please? I can’t handle it right now.”

  She’s quiet, probably thinking about telling me to man up and deal with my issues. She’s figuring out how to tell me to stay out of her family time and go have my own.

  But no. She reaches out and touches my arm, which surprises me. Warmth burns across my skin, and I suck in a breath.

  “Alex, it seems like your mom really wanted to spend time with you,” she finally says. “You need to tell them how you feel.”

  “Fine. You don’t want me to come over. I understand.”

  She sighs. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “I won’t stay long,” I say. I do my best to sound pathetic and desperate.

  She screws up one side of her mouth. “If you come, you have to help make dinner.”

  I pivot to her. Her hand is still on my arm. “I can do that. I can chop shit.”

  She crosses one leg over the other in the passenger seat and moves her hand. The heat dissipates immediately, leaving me feeling empty. Dammit. Why did that have to feel so good?

  “You can chop shit? That fills me with so much confidence.”

  The driver behi
nd us gives up and passes me with his middle finger flying out the car window.

  She shakes her head, lets out a deep exhale. “Both my parents are home, just so you know. They’ll drive you nuts. My dad and his lame jokes, my mom—she’s so nosy. She will be up in your business. Literally. You’ll regret this.”

  I barely wait for her to finish that sentence. “Sounds perfect, I’m in,” I say and take that right turn.

  She lives in a trailer park that used to be on the water, but this finger of the lake is dried up now, so it’s pretty much swamp-front property. The houses in here seem well taken care of, though, despite the insane amount of cheesy lawn ornaments on everyone’s yards.

  She lives all the way at the end of the road, in what used to be a singlewide but has been built onto so now it looks almost like a small house. Her dad is standing out front watering some sad-looking bushes that are surrounded by a scary amount of garden gnomes.

  “Oh God,” Bailey mumbles. I pull up and park on the gravel driveway.

  I haven’t met him yet. He’s big—very big—and bald and holding a beer. He stares at the car like I’m the enemy. Maybe to him, I am.

  “I suggest you leave now while you can. Before it’s too late,” Bailey says.

  I laugh. “Parents love me, don’t worry.” As if to prove my point, I hear a screen door slam, and her mom walks out of the back door in yoga pants and an oversize Edinburgh High School A/V CLUB T-shirt. She smiles big and lifts a hand.

  “Alex?” she calls. “Is that you?”

  Bailey huffs. “Lovely.”

  “It’s gonna be okay, Bails. Breathe from your toes.”

  “I hate you,” she says and opens her door.

  I flash my brightest meet-the-parents grin. It’s not always been sincere in the past, but today, it is. “Hi, Mrs. Banfield. How are you?” I nod toward Bailey’s dad. “Hello, Mr. Banfield.”

  “Rick!” she yells at her husband. “This is Bay’s friend Alex. The one I was telling you about.”

  “Huh,” he says. I’m not sure if that was a greeting or not. He turns to Bailey without responding. “Where you been, Raven Girl?”

  Raven Girl? She glances my way, her jaw muscles tensed up. “I was at work, Dad. Then we had to run an errand.”