“Yes, the fifteenth can’t come any sooner.”
“Oh, the fifteenth?”
Her smile drops. “Oh my gosh. I can’t believe I forgot. I won’t leave you alone that day. I’m the worst best friend.”
I glance at Leo. He’s a lot closer than I thought. Needing to end this conversation quickly, I tug Tilly out of his earshot. “I’m fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” I brush at some pilled fur on her shoulder. “I won’t let you throw away this chance.”
She gives me a hug. “We’ll FaceTime that day.”
I nod, even as I hear the parade manager signal we’re about to start. “Now head back to your float, Ralphie. And keep clear of Red Ryder BB guns.”
She jogs away, her bunny ears flopping.
Mom’s already on the float, but Leonard’s in deep conversation with Leo, and by the Maverick’s mischievous look, he’s totally scheming something. Better put a stop to that. I order Leonard to the trailer and say a parting “thank you” to Leo as he jumps behind the wheel. The parade begins, and Leo dutifully pulls us at a snail’s pace along Main Street. I’m tossing candy, keeping an eye out for the shy, bashful kids too gentle-tempered to elbow their way to the front. Meanwhile, Leonard’s lobbing the treats like he’s in the running for the Heisman.
“Leonard, don’t hurt small children. Easy on the tossing.”
He harumphs, and Mom subtly nudges the candy tub out of his reach. We approach the judges’ station, and Leo slows the truck to a stop. He jumps out of the driver’s side and rounds back toward the float. I glance over at Leonard who’s inserting a CD rather than connecting to my Bluetooth, but before I can question him, the music starts playing. He shoves the microphone into Leo’s hand with a “Don’t mess it up.” It’s safe to say, the Maverick won’t be replacing Fletcher as a keynote motivational speaker.
Leo looks at me as if he’s about to utter his final words. “If this doesn’t prove how sorry I am for standing you up, I’m out of ideas.”
I laugh and it’s almost his cue to start singing, but the music switches to some sort of techno version.
I gasp and shoot a glare at the aged delinquent. “Leonard, what did you do?”
“It’s one of those remixes.” The old man grins. “Snazzy, huh?”
Never trust a man who says snazzy. Iknewhe was up to something! That’s what I get for putting him in charge of the music. Maybe this loud style is the only kind of music that can penetrate through all his ear hair. The beat is loud, and peopleare clapping their hands. Hip-hop “White Christmas” is a thing now, I guess.
Leo lifts the microphone and … raps the lyrics. I snort. This is absolutely not what I pictured, but somehow, it’s better. Leo’s style matches the hip-hop vibe, and he’s actually pretty decent. Then there’s old Leonard attempting a beatbox.
Mom and I share a laugh because it’s hilarious in an awesome kind of way. Somehow, Leo finds his way to my side. Because of the faster tempo, he finishes the first verse quickly. During the break in the vocals, he offers me the microphone.
I freeze.
In the movie, the second verse is when Betty joins Bob. But I’m Greta—the girl who once passed out at the fifth-grade spelling bee. One minute I’m spelling “architecture,” and the next, the gym teacher’s blowing a whistle in my ear. All this to say, I should’ve warned Leo.
I’m not sure if he read the fear on my face or if he’s just caught up in the moment because he slides his hand in mine and says, “Anything for Gran.”
He couldn’t have uttered anything more powerful. For Gran. I’d do anything for her. Even face my childhood phobia. Plus I’m not by myself, Leo’ssingingwith me.
I haul in a deep breath and join in. I’m terrible at rapping, but I keep going, and Leo’s grin is encouraging me.
What I thought was going to be a terrible day is turning out to be memorable … in a not horrible way.
Until old Leonard decides it’s his turn for his solo debut and takes the mic. I spend the rest of the parade route apologizing to the crowd for his questionable dance moves.
CHAPTER 11
“I can’t drink this.It’s cement.” Frowning, Pap stirs his milkshake with his straw. It doesn’t matter if it’s eighty-five or twenty-five degrees out, if we go to McDonald’s for lunch, Pap gets a strawberry milkshake.
It’s the following Monday after the Christmas parade, and I took Pap to run errands while Mom’s at a hair appointment. Since the shop’s closed today, I’m able to get some personal stuff done. So far, I’ve taken Pap to the barber, the bank, lunch, and now … “Heading home?”
“I have one more stop.” He shifts in his seat. “The Thomas building.”
I flick him a look. “Uh, why?”
“I like this Mariah lady.” He turns up the radio. “She can really belt it out.”
