My cheeks suddenly felt warm, but I tried to keep my composure. I'd forgotten she'd gone to that party. "Yeah, that was me." And then because Preeth and Harris both turned to stare at me, I added, "I ran into a waiter and made him spill a tray of food."
"Not just spill—I think they're still cleaning watermelon fragments off of the walls. But that's not what I was talking about." Olivia forced another laugh and tossed her long red hair off her shoulder. "I meant when you ate part of the table centerpiece."
Harris puffed out an amused chortle. "Charlotte, you ate a centerpiece?"
"They were cherry tomatoes," I said. "I didn't realize they were there as decorations." Olivia leaned closer to me in a confiding manner. "See those strings of popcorn on the Christmas tree? They're off-limits."
Harris and Preeth both laughed at this, but I couldn't muster more than a smile. Harris elbowed me. "Hey, now I know why you wanted paper decorations. They're less tempting, eh?"
"Well, I have to do what I can to keep my weight down," I said.
Olivia picked up one of the snowflakes from the table and held it up. "Is that what this is? A decoration?"
"It's a snowflake," I said.
"Oh, right. I can see that now." She tossed it back on the table. "Ars gratia artis."
"You speak French?" Harris asked in awe—like producing a phrase from another country was some exotic accomplishment and not something we all did every day in our foreign language classes.
"Yes, I speak French," Olivia said. "But that was Latin."
"Latin . . .," Harris murmured.
I folded my arms and staunchly refused to be impressed, because hey, no one speaks Latin anymore. It's only used to describe medical conditions, to say the occasional Mass, and apparently to impress smart guys.
"I speak Spanish," I said to no one in particular. "Fluently."
Colton picked up a couple of the chocolate chip cookies and held one out for Olivia. "Do you want something to eat?"
"Too messy." She waved off his hand and picked up a sugar cookie instead. "With my luck, I'd get chocolate chips on my shirt. And you know how awful it is to get chocolate out of silk."
No, actually I didn't.
Olivia giggled as she nibbled on the edge of her cookie. "It's a Juicy."
Harris looked at her blankly. "Your cookie is juicy?"
"No. The shirt." She tossed her hair off her shoulders so we could get a better look at her blouse. "It's a Juicy Couture."
Preeth nodded. "Oh, you mean it's one of those brands with a silly name like Guess."
"It's not at all like Guess." Olivia took another bite of her cookie. "You can get Guess anywhere."
Colton picked up the pitcher. "Do you want something to drink, Olivia?" He poured juice into a Styrofoam cup without waiting for her answer. "Have some hot apple cider."
"Um . . .," I said.
"Be careful," Colton added. "You might need to blow on it."
"Actually . . .," I said.
Olivia picked up the cup and took a sip. She didn't spit it out, although her facial expression indicated she wanted to.
After she managed to swallow, she put the cup down on the table and looked at me. "That isn't hot. It's room temperature."
Colton had poured a glass for himself, and now he held it to his lips, sampling it like he was determining whether it had been a good year for apples. "Why isn't this hot?"
I opened my mouth to answer him, to explain I was on my way to get ice, but somehow looking at Olivia—who in the two minutes she'd been here had managed to insult me, the decorations, the food, and our knowledge of high-end designer brands—I just couldn't give her one more thing to be disdainful about. "We haven't had a chance to heat it up yet," I said.
Colton replaced his cup on the table. "Well, you should hurry. People are starting to come."
"We're working on it right now," I said.
The deejay put on a slow song, and Olivia took hold of Colton's elbow and leaned in close to him. "This is one of my favorite songs. Let's dance."
"Sure." Colton shot me a look. "I'll be back to check on you later. I mean, you know, the refreshments." Then he turned and let Olivia pull him out on the dance floor.
Preeth watched them go. "Why did you tell Colton we were serving the cider hot? I thought you said you were going to buy ice."
I picked up a chocolate chip cookie and bit off a piece. "Did either of you like Olivia?"
"Total snob," Preeth said.
"Yeah, but she's hot," Harris added.
Preeth glared at him. I smacked him in the shoulder. "Okay, your opinion doesn't count, Harris. Preeth and I didn't like her, and so we're not about to give her another reason to look down on us."
Harris cocked his head. "How does serving cold cider give her a reason to look down on us?"
"You're a guy. You wouldn't understand. The point is, we're serving the cider hot."
Preeth fingered the handle on one of the pitchers. "You just said we couldn't get into kitchen."
"True. But we're all National Honor Society members, so between the three of us, we ought to be able to figure out a way to heat liquid."
"Right." Harris nodded slowly. "Anyone got a bunch of magnifying glasses, flint, or a particle accelerator?"
"How about a cup warmer?" Preeth said. "Ms. Ellis has one of those in her class room."
I shook my head. "It would take forever to warm an entire pitcher."
"A Bunsen burner would do it fast enough," Harris said. "And there are plenty of those in the science room."
I considered the idea as I looked down at the refreshment table. "I think the room is still unlocked from when I got all the snowflakes out. We could heat up the pitchers there, then bring them back here. Well, if they didn't get too hot." I suddenly imagined myself rushing through the hallways carrying a heated glass pitcher while I tried not to spill scalding water on myself or the school floor.
Perhaps Harris had a similar visual because he said, "It would be easier to heat them up here."
"Except Bunsen burners work on natural gas, and we don't have any of that down here," Preeth said.
Harris shrugged. "I've got a propane tank out in my dad's truck. He uses it for welding, but I don't think he'd mind if we borrowed it."
"Do you know how to use it?" I asked.
Harris gave a small laugh. "I use it all the time when we're camping. It shouldn't be hard to rig something up." He took a set of keys from his pocket and jingled them in his hand. "I'll go get the tank while you guys grab a couple of Bunsen burners." He walked away from us, still jingling his keys. Preeth turned to me. "You stay here and man the table. I'll get the Bunsen burners."
It did occur to me after she left that we should have gotten Ms. Ellis's okay on this venture—only I knew Ms. Ellis wouldn't okay it. I mean, this was the woman who didn't want any decorations that could be thrown by teenage boys. She wasn't going to let us have anything in the room that had flames shooting out of it.
I glanced at the dance floor. Ms. Ellis was obliviously dancing with her fiance. Oblivion is a good mental state to keep teachers in. Hopefully, she wouldn't notice the Bunsen burners at the refreshment table—or if she did, it would be after we'd heated the cider.
I ate a cookie and then another one while simultaneously tracking Olivia and Colton dance across the room. They looked like every other couple out on the dance floor, but I watched Colton intently anyway, as though I could determine how much he cared for her by the position of his elbows.
After a few minutes Harris came back and then Preeth. They set up the makeshift cider heater behind the refreshment table so it wasn't visible unless you leaned over the table to look for it. While we waited for the pitchers to heat up, I handed out cookies to everyone who walked up. I explained about the cider, always checking to see if Colton and Olivia were on their way back.
With my luck they wouldn't return. They'd never know we were able to pull off a decent holiday drink, and therefore I'd continue to rem
ain the girl who wasn't competent enough to serve food.
Colton moved easily on the dance floor, as confident there as he was in an NHS meeting or wrestling match. Olivia, however, didn't dance well. She hardly put any effort into it, like she was just too cool to be enthusiastic.
Why did he even like her? Well, I mean besides the fact that she'd never pushed him in a pool, or anything.
A guy named Josiah from my calculus class walked up to the table. I handed him a cookie, then made a bit of small talk—stalling—while I waited for the cider. After a minute I figured he was probably really thirsty and just too polite to demand a drink, so I made my standard disclaimer about the temperature of the cider and asked if he wanted some anyway.
"Oh, I'm fine," he said, looking out at the dance floor and not at me. "I don't know why I'm here anyway. Some friends said I should come with them; but of course, they're all out dancing, and I have nothing to do."
Which is an example of how smart people can really be stupid sometimes. "It's a dance," I said.
He gave me a look that indicated he was also pondering that smart people can really be stupid. I clarified my statement. "You're not supposed to just hang out with your friends. The whole point of coming is that you ask girls to dance."
"Oh yeah . . . right," he said. "Is the cider hot now?"
I had known before that Josiah was shy, but I hadn't realized how shy until now.
"Nope, sorry. Maybe in a few more minutes. Do you want to dance with me in the meantime?"
"Oh." He blushed, but didn't flee. "All right." And it was as easy as that. The guy who was too shy to dance and the girl who wouldn't be asked to dance because she'd offended all of the guys in her school had solved their problems. Well, at least for one song anyway.
I left my post at the table, assuring Preeth and Harris I'd come back in a while to relieve them so they could dance, which neither of them seemed very enthusiastic about doing. I figured this meant I didn't need to hurry back. After I danced with Josiah, I noticed some guys from NHS standing around talking, which they totally shouldn't have been doing, since NHS sponsored the event and did they not see all the girls flanking the sides of the gym? So then I had to go and ask each one of them to dance so I could give them a pep talk about the merits of socializing.
Which also gave me a better view of Olivia and Colton, even though I was not staring at them. Well, at least not all of the time.
Her stunning lack of rhythm did not improve.
After about half an hour the two of them walked back over to the refreshment table and got drinks. I watched them, happy to know Olivia could no longer complain about the cider's temperature.
Some other guys came up to the table and seemed to know Olivia because they all started talking and she kept smiling at them. As the minutes went by, I wondered if Colton would get jealous, but he talked with the guys too, and didn't seem bothered by the situation.
The song ended, and I wandered over to the refreshment table. I looked at Preeth and Harris so I didn't have to look at Colton.
"You finally came back to relieve us," Harris said, and then before I could reply, he added, "All the cider on the table is cool enough to serve. It stays at optimum temperature for roughly five minutes. The Bunsen burners are on their lowest setting, but the cider in the pitchers is still pretty hot, so let it cool down a bit before giving it to anyone." He stepped around the table. "Got that?"
"Sure," I said.
Preeth followed Harris around the table, which I hadn't expected. "You're leaving too?" I asked. "I thought you didn't like to dance."
"Harris is going to teach me how to do the country swing," she said, and then the two of them walked off without another glance in my direction.
Colton turned from his group to me. "I can help you for a few minutes." Without waiting for an answer, he put one hand on Olivia's arm. "You don't mind if I help Charlotte with the refreshments, do you?"
Olivia tossed me a look over her shoulder and feigned a smile. "Well, someone had better help her if food is involved." Then she turned her attention back to the other guys and giggled about something. Probably me.
Colton came around to my side of table, and Olivia and company threw away their empty cups. The group then strolled off in the direction of the dance floor without saying good-bye. Not that I cared.
Colton tilted his head and looked behind me. "What are the pitchers doing on the floor?"
"They're keeping warm."
"Bad idea. You'll knock into one and tip it over."
"No, I won't. I know they're there." I took a step away from the pitchers just so he'd feel better.
He let out a sigh that indicated he shared Olivia's view of my inability to handle the complicated nature of refreshments. "Wouldn't it be easier to put the pitchers on the table?"
"Well, Ms. Ellis might not appreciate us using her Bunsen burners to warm cider. Preeth thought we should keep them hidden."
Colton's eyes narrowed as he took a closer look at the pitchers. "You're using Bunsen burners as a kitchen appliance?" He let out a slow sigh, then surveyed me. "You know, you could have just told me you didn't want to be in charge of refreshments."
"Preeth was supposed to warm it at home and bring it in insulated containers. When she didn't, we had to improvise."
He looked out into the darkness of the dance floor and shook his head. "You know, Charlotte, when I said we could cut costs on the dance, this wasn't what I had in mind. Thank goodness I didn't put you in charge of music, or right now you'd be in front of a microphone with a harmonica, wouldn't you?"
"You don't have to help me if you don't want to," I said. "I can pass out cookies and man the cider all by myself, you know. I'm both capable and competent, so if you'd rather go hang out with Miss Look-at-MeI'm-Wearing-a-Designer-Shirt, go right ahead." He cracked a smile, and his gaze slid back to me. "You don't like Olivia, do you?" I straightened a row of cups, rolling my eyes as I did. "And to think you questioned my taste in guys." "Olivia isn't that bad. Well, she's not as bad as Greg anyway." "Which is why I dumped Greg. Well, okay, technically he dumped me, but I wasn't sad about it, which counts as the same thing."
Still smiling, he leaned toward me. "You're jealous, aren't you?"
"Why would I be jealous of her?"
"Because she has what you don't."
"Which would be what? A bad hairdresser, poor rhythm, or a striking lack of financial sense when it comes to buying clothes?"
His smile grew. "Admit it, you're jealous."
"I'm not jealous." I straightened the napkins into a tall stack. "Rich people are so arrogant. You all think everyone just sits around coveting your wealth. Well, my happiness isn't dependent on my bank account numbers."
He gave a mock grunt. "I wasn't talking about Olivia's money. I was talking about me."
"Oh." It was suddenly hard to breathe.
Colton picked up a glass of cider and took a sip. "We're not a couple—Olivia and me. So if you want to flirt with me, it's all right." He was teasing, but there was also truth mixed into this game. Perhaps more truth than he knew, and I felt as though everything inside of me was stretched tight.
I didn't want to face him, so I kept my gaze centered out on the dance floor. "I see. Should I bat my eyelashes, or were you thinking along the lines of pointless small talk?"
"Actually, I like the way you keep looking at me."
"I don't keep looking at you."
"Yes, you do."
I didn't look at him, just to prove the point. If he had admitted he liked me too, this discussion would be much easier. But he hadn't said anything along those lines, so I didn't know if this was playful banter or some horrible expose on my pitiful crush.
"If you're not a couple with Olivia, then why did you bring her to the dance?"
He shrugged and took another sip of his drink. "She asked if Bryant and I wanted to take a tour of Stanford and then go to a play on campus. I told her I couldn't, because I had to go to an NHS dance
. Then she said she liked dancing, and the rest just sort of happened."
"Oh." I tried not to smile too much about this news, because I figured Colton didn't need more evidence of my crush.
He scanned the dance floor as though noticing for the first time his friend's absence. "Where are Bryant and Brianna?"
"They decided to go to a movie instead."
His eyebrow raised. "Really? I thought Brianna wanted to come."
"She did."
Colton took another sip of his drink as though it didn't matter, but with that one phrase my suspicions not only popped up again but settled comfortably into the corners of my mind. I was not trying to feed them, but suspicions have a way of making themselves at home and rummaging through your fridge without permission. "So it's strange that they went to the movies instead of the dance," I said, even though Colton was no longer considering this fact.
I handed out a couple of cookies and some drinks to passing students; then when we were alone again, I turned to Colton. "Did Bryant's aunt come to town last Saturday?"
"Not likely. His aunt teaches at Oregon State. They're probably having finals."
This was the equivalent of standing in front of my hungry suspicions and yelling, "The pizza's here!"
I ran my fingers over the tablecloth. I'd been so careful to get the right color of red, but in the dim light it looked dark brown. Which was one more way, I suppose, that I'd done a lousy job decorating the gym. "Bryant told Brianna that his aunt came to dinner last Saturday," I said. "He broke a date because of it."
Colton drank the last of his cider and tossed his cup in the garbage. "Is this more Bryant-bashing? Don't you remember how he apologized and you said you were going to get along with him?"
"I am trying to get along with him. I'm just wondering why he told Brianna he couldn't go out with her because his aunt was coming to dinner, when Kelly saw him leaving his house dressed nicely while his dad worked on painting the trim of their house." Colton folded his arms. His jaw twitched. "Did you send your friends to spy on Bryant?" He made it sound like such a bad thing. I didn't answer him.