Text Appeal

Glitter-covered cutouts of octopus and fish hang from the ceiling along with streamers in every shade of blue known to humankind. There’s even a huge cardboard shipwreck in the corner of the hall. So cool. You’ve got to love an ocean aesthetic. Plenty of people are here already. Some dance beneath a mirror ball while others talk on the side.

“You’re smiling again,” says Connor.

“I had a great day.”

“Good.”

“And I have a friend who tells me I am beautiful and communicates with me.”

Seeing a big handsome man oh so subtly squirming is truly a sight to behold.

“You do what you like,” I say. “I know you probably haven’t seen some of these people in years. I’m happy to just hang.”

“Won’t people expect us to be together?”

“Just me being here sends the right message. We can make strategic appearances together over the course of the night. Don’t worry about it. Enjoy yourself. You’ve been looking forward to this, haven’t you?”

He nods.

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Of course not. He’s a prom king. Although he’s experienced tough things in his past, standing here now, he is free and unburdened with no fucks to give. It’s beautiful to watch. How much of our lives do we lose to worrying about what other people think?

“Tell me about your book.” He offers me his hand. Holding hands seems to be something he’s very comfortable with now. “How much have you written?”

“The first draft of chapter one is done and dusted. I also have a loose outline for where the story is going for the first half of the book, which is always helpful.”

“You don’t decide everything ahead of time?”

“No. I am a hybrid when it comes to process,” I explain. “Not quite a plotter or a pantser. There needs to be room for things to grow and change because I like room for discovery while I’m writing. But I need a rough guide so I don’t go completely off-track and take the story in the wrong direction.”

“Interesting,” he says. “Is the hero based on me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“No.” I smile. “Of course not. Though your ego is impressive.”

The side of his mouth lifts in amusement. “Speaking of which, I just remembered, you were going to get back to me about that kiss.”

“Was I?”

“Yeah.”

I squint. “Really? I said that?”

“You did,” he says. “Though come to think of it, you were kind of in charge with that one. So, if it was bad, that would be on you, wouldn’t it?”

“Enough communicating for one day. Time for some quiet.”

Humor fills his gaze. “Tell me what makes a good hero. Are we talking Prince Charming or what?”

“The idiot who likes to go around kissing unconscious women without their consent?”

“It’s not great when you think of it that way.”

“No.”

“Come on. What’s on your list?” he asks. “What are you looking for?”

“What I want in real life and what qualities a hero in a book require are two very different things. Though, of course, there is some overlap.”

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy it when you don’t make sense?”

“Aw,” I say. “The overwhelming amount of joy I must have brought into your life recently!”

“So much. I honestly don’t know what the fuck to do with it all.” When he spies someone on the other side of the room, his cranky face makes its first appearance of the night. He’s all rock-solid jawline and cold hard eyes. “Of course that asshole had to be here.”

“Who?” I turn to survey the room. “Did you have a high school nemesis? Which one is it? What did they do?”

Connor sidesteps me and wraps an arm around my back. It’s an effective method of smooshing me against his front and rendering me immobile. “We’re not going to look at him, Riley, because if he receives any attention that dickhead will be straight over here getting in our faces and we do not want that.”

“Right. Got it. Sorry.”

“Tell me more about your writing,” he says, taking a small step back. Just enough that there’s a foot or so between us. “How did you start?”

“Um. I was always into books. Not just stories, but notebooks too. The whole idea of paper and pen and the things you could do with them was amazing. I used to pick apart my books and then cry because they were broken. But I wanted to know how they worked. At any rate, Mom got really good at gluing picture books back together. Then I got a tablet one Christmas and suddenly I could carry a library around with me. Mind blown.” I smile at the memory. “Best gift ever.”

“The way you talk about books makes me want to give them a chance. What the hell is happening to me?”

I slap him playfully on the arm, then ask, “Do you ever tell yourself stories before you go to sleep?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since I was little, I would lie in the dark and make up scenarios inside my head. Often involving famous people.”

“Give me an example?”

“Fine. But don’t mock me,” I say. “Something like Jensen Ackles turning up at my school in the Chevy Impala to take me to dinner. That sort of thing.”

“Supernatural fan, huh? I’m impressed you know what the car is.”

“Now you’re being condescending.”

“You still do this? Tell yourself stories?” He smiles. But not in a mean way.

“Yes. It’s a habit now. One of the reasons I have trouble getting my brain to shut up so I can go to sleep.”

“I don’t do anything like that,” he says. “Though it sounds a hell of a lot more fun than worrying about what I’ve got the next day.”

“Your dreams must be so stressful.”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Yeah. And yours must be horny.”

“Honestly, they often are. Guess I’ll be going straight to the second circle of hell when I die. That’s where all the lustful types end up apparently. I should be in good company at least.”

“So, you started writing young?”

“Yes. But I didn’t get serious and actually finish something until I was twenty. That’s when I kicked a heavy piece of furniture, broke my foot, and spent the summer working on my first full-length novel.”

“Did you mean to kick the piece of furniture?”

“No. I was at a party. Drinks were had.”

He checks out the room, smiling and nodding at various people.

“Go do your thing, Prom King,” I say with a grin. “I am fine here.”

“No rush,” he says. “You do know none of that matters?”

“None of what?”

“The prom king and captain of the football team and all that shit. It was so do-or-die at the time. But then high school ends and none of it matters. Not in the real world.” He shrugs. “A while after we graduated this guy said to me, those were the best years of my life. He meant it too. Absolutely believed I was going to agree with him. I just thought to myself, you sad fuck. We’ve got another fifty or sixty years to go and you’ve already given up.”

“People are wild.”

“Yeah.” He stops and smiles. “It’s nice that we can be judgmental together. That’s something we can do as a couple.”

“We’re not even real and we’re already the worst. Go, us.”

He laughs and the sound is kind of great. I can’t help but smile. For real this time. Then he leans closer and says, “You smell different.”

“New perfume.”

“Mm.”

“I am starting to think olfactophilia is your thing. Though that kink is about the scents emanating from the human body while you tend to notice my shampoo and stuff.”

“Huh,” he says.

I look up at him and he looks down at me and for a moment, it seems as if he might kiss me. His gaze drops to my lips and stays there. Like he’s absolutely going to kiss me regardless of me babbling about weird shit. Which would be fine and perfectly pleasant. The kissing thing, I mean. But I had a long talk with myself earlier while doing my makeup. A kiss will not get me all up in my feelings again. We’re finally in a place where the fake dating works for both of us. It’s inspiring my work and it’s freeing him from the shackles of his ex. Neither my heart nor my vagina are allowed to fuck this up.

Instead of kissing me, however, he takes another step back. The smile on his face is not believable in the least. Before I can ask what’s wrong, he says, “I think I see some cheese on the table over there.”

“Ooh. Where?”

“The suit still fits,” interrupts his ex, out of nowhere. “You look really nice.”

Connor nods and says in a calm voice, “Ava.”

This just might be the first time I’ve heard her name pass his lips. But what’s interesting is how her thirsty looks and pleading tones have been dialed down. Her smile seems hopeful but restrained. Last night didn’t go her way. Neither did this morning. She seems to be accepting the inevitable, though I’m not dropping my defenses entirely.

“Riley,” she acknowledges me with a faint smile.

I give her one back.

“I wanted to apologize for the Coffee House this morning,” she says. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble between you and your mother.”

“You hired Nicole for your party, tried to talk Grandma into attending and then you brought my mom to a place where you knew we’d all run into each other,” says Connor. “And this was after stopping by work and attempting to sweet-talk Stu. You’ve done nothing but try to take advantage of the people around me since you got to town. Why should I believe you?”

“I honestly didn’t know Denise would get that upset. You know I love your mom.”

Connor grunts.

“I tried to get her to calm down.” She turns to me as if looking for validation.

I scrunch up my nose. “Not really sure you get points for deescalating a situation you caused in the first place.”

Ava smooths down the front of her white button-up vest and pants. Her long dark hair is hanging loose, and her heels are sky high. As Grandpa would say, she’s fire. Give or take the frown on her face. Though she’s so beautiful even that works. Woe is me.

“Con,” shouts someone dressed in football accoutrements. Many more in similar attire follow behind him. “Thought we all agreed we were wearing our jerseys.”

Connor grins. “I must have missed that one.”

“You’re fucking useless in a group chat, man. Just hopeless.”

“Yeah,” says Connor in an affable tone. There’re a lot of bear hugs and back slapping. Like a lot. I am surprised no one sustains an injury. My date steps close to me and whispers, “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Go. Run free. Have fun.”

He presses a kiss to the back of my hand. Very smooth. Debonair even. He’s getting good at this dating stuff. You can see it in the way he’s adapting to the role of romance hero.

After he disappears into the crowd of football players, I am on my own, which is fine. Tonight is for chilling and taking in the experience. Connor spent the day worrying about me. Whatever that means. I am determined to ride the goodness of my book taking shape and starting to feel more settled in Port Stewart. Nothing can kill my happy mood. Though Ava could give it a try.

What I don’t expect is for her to attempt the exact opposite.

“You’re right,” she says. “About this morning with Denise. I don’t like it, but you’re right.”

This is a surprise. “Okay.”

“Come on. They’ll be reliving their former glories for the rest of the night,” says Ava, nodding toward Connor and his former teammates. “Let’s get a drink.”

“You don’t want to hang with your friends?”

Her girl gang of three from the welcome home party are here. They’re sitting at a table, laughing and chatting. She gives them a brief smile. “No. They’re talking about babies and local businesses and who banged the new football coach.”

“Anyone you know?”

“It’s always someone I know. That’s the beauty of Port Stewart.”

“That must be so weird. I didn’t even know my neighbors half the time.” I smile. “Your friends are all about the small-town stuff, huh?”

“Yep.”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” I say. “Connor loves it here. Never wants to leave no matter how much this microcosm annoys him at times. But you know that, right?”

“Of course I know that.” She heads for the drinks table. “But people change. Things can happen.”

“Is that what you’ve been holding on to for the last decade?”

“Longer than that,” she says bleakly.

An Asian American woman in a hot-pink pantsuit is pouring herself a soda. I am instantly obsessed with her chunky vintage cocktail ring. “Hello, Ava,” she says with an arch look. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Mari.”

“This is a surprise. I didn’t think you were attending.”

“Last-minute decision.”

“Who’s your friend?” asks Mari. “I noticed she walked in holding a certain someone’s hand. That’s got to hurt. Or at least sting a little. It does, right?”

Ava laughs. Apparently, she doesn’t take herself too seriously. Some of the time, at least. Along with her admission of guilt, it makes me like her more. Not sure how I feel about that.

“Hi,” I say. “I’m Riley.”

“Nice to meet you, Riley. Ignore our petty rivalry,” says Mari. “Ava stole Miss Port Stewart from me. After that I just kind of made bitter my entire personality.”

“I don’t know why you’re still hung up on that.” Ava smiles wryly. “The crown was ugly.”

Mari grins. “It really was. Like a melted-down wire shopping basket that had been dipped in rhinestones.”

“Did you know my updo got tangled in it?” asks Ava. “I pulled out a chunk of scalp trying to get free. There’s this little patch on the side of the head where my hair never grew back.”

Mari gasps. “Karma got you. Show me. Now.”

“No. I’m not messing up my hair. Keep your hands to yourself.”

Their laughter is so carefree, and I find myself enjoying their dynamic.

Connor: Need a rescue?

He’s on the other side of the room with his buddies. I shake my head no. But he stands there watching me with his cell in his hands for a minute. Just in case. Someone has protective instincts.

Me: I am fine. Go. Frolic. Cavort.

Connor: What does that even mean?

Me: Google it.

Me: I can drive if you want to have a few drinks. Wait. Am I allowed to drive your car?

Connor: You drive stick?

Me: Yes.

Connor: Then yes.

Soon I’m swept into their playful arguing. Because Ava is busy reading our texts over my shoulder. And the woman is outraged. “He never let me drive the Mustang!”

“Fuck off, please.” I tuck my cell back into the clutch. “That is so rude.”

Mari smiles. “You have teeth. Good for you. And Ava, honestly, can you blame him? Part of the reason he started working with cars is because you kept hitting things. Including my parents’ mailbox and his big brother’s motorbike, as I recall.”

Having a blunt person on your side is sometimes a gift. Not all the time though. They’re tricky.

“He didn’t used to cling. Do you need a rescue? Seriously.” Ava pouts.

“Guess he doesn’t trust you with his new girl either,” says Mari. “Can’t say I blame him.”

“What am I going to do?” asks Ava. “Drown her in the punch bowl? It’s not even that deep.”

I shake my head. “Heartening to know you’ve thought it through.”

We all turn to face my date, who is indeed still watching. This is getting a little embarrassing. Like he doesn’t think I can handle myself. I give him a meaningful look and he raises his brows in surrender and returns to his friends.

“Here, Riley.” Ava shoves a glass of cider at me. “Have a drink.”

“Did you poison it?” I ask.

Mari scoffs. “Like she’d be stupid enough to hand you a poisoned drink herself.”

“I’d get Mari to pass it to you,” says Ava.

“Plausible deniability. Always a good idea.” I delicately sniff the liquid. “It’s so sweet I can’t tell. Though arsenic has no actual taste or smell.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“I’m a writer. We know things.”

Mari raises her glass of soda in toast to me. “I like this one. She’s fun.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” mutters Ava.

“Thank you,” I say. “Well, this has been interesting. But I’m going to go read some slash fic in the corner.”

Ava groans. “Will you stay if I promise to be nice?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go catch up with friends from back in the day?”

“You mean the local ladies at that table over there? They’re not her friends,” says Mari in a sober voice. She discreetly nods at the gathering of Ava’s buddies from the night before. The ones she’d said were discussing who’d banged the new ball coach. “They don’t even really like each other. You know how sometimes certain people just become a habit? That’s what you’re looking at there.”

Ava nods. “They’re stuck in the schoolyard forever.”

“Like you’re so open to change.” Mari raises a brow. “That’s exactly why you keep coming back. What do they say about doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome?”

Ava is unimpressed. Big time.

Poker Face by Lady Gaga is replaced by Hey Ya! by Outkast. Connor has recommenced communing with his football buddies. Hard not to note how much more relaxed he seems tonight. When he’s not worrying about me, of course. Smiles come more readily to his face. He even laughs now and then. It’s like he’s learning how to be a little happier each day. Without having to put on the Mr. Nice mask.

Meanwhile, I don’t know if I should walk away or stay. No. That’s a lie. I know I should go. But my curiosity has been awakened. I want to know what these two are going to say next. Dammit.

“Brandon got remarried,” says Mari, watching the crowd on the dance floor. “She seems nice. And about to give birth at any moment.”

Ava sips her wine. “That’ll make the dance floor slippery. The tattoo on Katy’s leg is great. I wonder where she got it done?”

“Apparently, she was over in Maine for a while, and dated some local tattoo artist.”

“Huh.”

“So, Riley, tell me about yourself,” says Mari.

The music comes to an abrupt stop as a man taps on a microphone. One turned up damn loud. Everybody winces and appears confused. Then the offending dude walks to the front of the stage with a scarily wide smile.

“Oh, good,” says Mari sarcastically. “It’s Brian.”

“Hey, everybody.” He’s well-built and has short blond hair. Someone could pull off the brown chinos and matching button-down and loafers combo. But it’s not him. “So great to see you all here. I’ve been asked to kick off the night, but first some housekeeping. No smoking or vaping on school grounds. That means keep your bong in your bag, Jordan. And security is around so no sneaking off to have sex in any of the bathrooms or classrooms, do you hear? So, no naked reunions in the supply closet, Zach and Tiffany. It was lovely to meet your new fiancée earlier, Zach. Just great. I wish you and Madelaine all the best!”

Some people laugh. More groan and grumble.

“What a shitshow,” says Ava.

“Now I have a couple of awards to give away. First, we have…stand up, Marcus. He’s in the running to be Port Stewart’s youngest mayor next year. Way to go, man.”

Everyone claps and cheers as a tall black man stands, gives a stiff nod, and sits back down again.

“Is Brian still in real estate?” asks Mari.

Ava shrugs. “Not a clue.”

“Twenty says he needs something from Marcus.”

“There’s no way I am taking that bet.”

“Next,” says Brian. “Who’s had the most kids? C’mon, girls. Which one of you is the top breeder?”

“Breeder?” I mutter. “Are you kidding me?”

Lots of chatter as people look around. A redhead breaks away from the back of the crowd and heads for the stage. “Just give it to me, Brian.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to be the first female president in the yearbook?” asks Brian with a barely concealed sneer. “How many kids you got now?”

“Five, you fucker, and another on the way. And my small business is doing great!”

“Go, Shelby,” shouts someone from the audience, as others applaud.

The woman dips into a curtsey and grins. Good for her.

Brian is not amused. His eyes are glassy. The idiot has either had too much to drink or has taken something he shouldn’t. It’s performance in part. But he strikes me as someone who is just an asshole. If he wasn’t the school bully, I’ll eat my shoes. And I really like my shoes, they look good and they’re comfortable.

“Fuck it,” he mumbles “Moving right along…it’s time for the prom king and queen to do their thing.”

More clapping. Heads turn as people search for Connor and Ava. Love Story by Taylor starts to play. Give me strength. They better not wreck this song for me.

Connor makes his way toward me. “You okay, Riley?”

“Yes. Fine.”

His fingers curl and uncurl as he straightens his shoulders. His expression is stoic. He’s back to doing the blank-faced thing. All the fucks he didn’t give earlier seem to have found him.

Ava stands waiting expectantly. There’s this air of excitement in her. It shows in the way she holds her head high. How her smile is extra wide and welcoming. She’s been anticipating this moment. He takes her offered hand and leads her to the space being made for them on the dance floor.

“Our queen’s still as beautiful as she ever was,” says Brian. “Don’t they make a great-looking couple? I really thought these two would be married by now. Life, huh?”

Oof. Brian is the epitome of cringe. What he is not, however, is wrong. Ava and Connor look great together. They match perfectly with their good looks. Little wonder they were the couple.

Ava’s hands rest on his broad shoulders and his are only just touching her hips. His smile is small and reluctant. But Ava says something, and he visibly relaxes. The rigid set of his shoulders eases. He leans down to hear her and a conversation ensues. Maybe they’re sharing memories. Or commiserating over the cost of living. I don’t know. But surprised laughter bursts out of him and her whole face lights up. Seems the ice between them is broken. They’re actually enjoying themselves.

Huh.

My stomach does some strange, queasy thing at the sight. Not helpful at all. It’s honestly shocking to see them getting along. There had been such a state of cold war since she hit town. He doesn’t even spare me a passing glance. I am not jealous, exactly. Or at least, I don’t think I am. Connor can do what he likes. Including throwing all our good work in the trash while he does a lap on the dance floor with his gorgeous ex.

Shit. I am jealous. This sucks. Worst three and a half minutes of my life. Time to think about something else.

I didn’t go to my high school’s ten-year reunion. Not that there weren’t some people I wouldn’t have minded seeing. But it was being organized by the popular girls. Their shitty attitude in the group chat made the decision for me. Some people don’t change or grow. They just settle more into the awful reality of who they always were. Life is too short for that sort of thing.

Yet somehow I ended up at someone else’s reunion feeling even more out of place than I anticipated feeling at my own.

I turn away from the golden couple on the dance floor. Mari is slow dancing on the sidelines with a petite androgynous person with close-cropped hair. They move easily together, like they’ve done it a hundred times. Someday I want to be smiled at that way. But alas. Here I stand alone with a glass of cider in hand and my smile fixed in place. Best fake date ever. No one could beat me. Though it’s not easy to ignore all the curious attendees who keep turning my way. Am I supposed to burst into tears or something? To wail with despair and run for the door?

“I thought I’d stand next to you,” says a woman with a German accent. “Since you look about how I feel.”

“Oh yeah?”

She is, simply put, stunning. Older than me with high cheekbones, bee-stung lips, and a sharp chin. A long plait of pale blonde hair hangs over one shoulder. She wears simple black underwear beneath a long sheer dress with matching leather booties. It’s giving supermodel.

Connor and Ava keep dancing as other people join them on the dance floor. Love Story finishes and is replaced by Umbrella. But I fear not even Rihanna can save tonight.

“How do I look?” I ask. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Like someone yeeted your heart into the sun.”

I snort. “That’s harsh. I’m doing my best.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are.”

“So, who’s messing with your major organs?” I ask.

“That one.” She nods in the general direction of the prom king and queen.

Shit. “Connor?” I ask.

“No,” she says with a hint of a smile. “The other one. Love sucks.”