The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,37
me the bird and sticks out her tongue like we’re still in grade school or something.
“How in the world can you like her?” I ask Buck. “She’s a total viper.”
“She was the prettiest and sweetest girl in grade school. She gave me a valentine in third grade that said she thought I was cute.” After a pause, he reluctantly confesses, “I still have it.”
Poor Buck. He’s as hopeless as I am. Nothing is ever going to come from our love for the most popular couple at school, but at least we found each other. If nothing else, I’ve come out of tonight with a new friend, and lord knows, I need as many of those as I can get.
Chapter Twenty
May 3, 2008
Dear Molly,
Buck has offered to drive me to school and back from now on. I told him people were going to think we were dating. He said, “Who cares what they think? I’m just glad we finally became friends.” How sweet is that?
He’s taking me on a surprise field trip after school today. He told me I had to get right out to the parking lot as soon as the bell rang. When I asked him where we were going, all he said was, “Don’t worry, you’re gonna thank me.” What in the world does he have planned?
Buck says, “You’re wool-gathering, girl. What’s on your mind?”
“I was just thinking about the first time you and I went to the country club together. I can’t believe we used to come here and spy on Davis and Jessica while they took dancing lessons for that stupid county club cotillion.”
“Remember how nervous you were that we were going to get caught and get thrown into jail for trespassing?”
“I wasn’t worried about getting thrown into jail. I was more nervous that Davis would find out I was stalking him.”
“Don’t you think he would have been flattered?” Buck asks.
“How do you think Jessica would have reacted?” I want to know.
“I’m guessing she would have been the one to call the cops,” he jokes.
“How in the world could you have had such a crush on her throughout all of your childhood? She was such a snatch.”
Buck turns down the long tree-lined street that dead ends into the Creek Water Country Club. He pulls up to the valet and hops out of the car at the same time another parking attendant opens my door.
I’m surprised when my friend takes my hand and leads me away from the front entrance of the building. “Where are we going?”
“I thought we’d take a little walk down memory lane.”
Buck steers us toward the path around the building where we must have strolled at least a dozen times before. When we reach the large stance of camellia bushes, he pulls me off the walkway.
I’d never seen a ballroom in real life before that first day we came here together. But you can’t read as much Jane Austin as I did without being able to identify a large open space filled with sparkling chandeliers hanging above a polished wood floor. If that wasn’t enough, the chairs lining the walls would have been a giveaway. After all, the wallflowers needed a place to sit, right?
“Remember that dance instructor of theirs?” I ask.
“She was a hoot. She always wore those chiffon dresses like something out of the nineteen fifties.”
“I remember you telling me that someday you were going to come back here and walk through the front doors like you owned the place.”
“I did, didn’t I?” He offers me his arm and says, “Well, that day has come. Let’s go in and show these folks how well we’ve turned out. Just so you know, when I’m in London I sound a great deal more refined than I do here in my hometown. Prepare to be dazzled.” I snort out loud in response.
“Don’t act too sophisticated or they’ll think you’re gay.”
“If they’re stupid enough to confuse my worldliness with homosexuality, so be it. I promise you though, the ladies will love me.”
“I have no doubt,” I tell him. For however cosmopolitan Buck acts, he’s clearly a ladies’ man.
“It’s also possible I’ll tell a bald-faced lie or two once we’re inside. Do your best not to give me away,” he adds.
“Are you going to say you’re the queen’s godson or something?”
“You never know. But just remember, nobody in there is better than either one of us. Do you understand?”
I nod my head tentatively. So, he reiterates, “Money does not speak to the quality of anyone’s character.