Page 34 of Can’t Say No

“Mr. Majors, Miss James, will you two run in and get the keys to our chalet?”

Delaney rubs sleep from her eyes as the overhead bus lights flicker on. She pushes away from my arm, where she’s been curled up against me for the last hour. I lost feeling in my fingers thirty minutes ago, but there was no way in hell I was moving her.

It reminds me of the summer we were thirteen, when my dad had more or less kidnapped Delaney for a weeklong road trip with my family. Her parents wanted to pack her summer full: tutoring, vocal lessons, etiquette classes. But Dad refused to back down.

“Give her a week to be a kid again,” I overheard him yelling in the backyard one night while Mr. James argued right back.

Dad won. And we ended up having one of the best summers of our lives.

Dad drove while my older sister planned the stops, and we made it to Louisiana and back with no real destination in mind. It was magic. I loaded up all my books, and Lanie brought her beat-up MP3 player, and we spent hours crammed together in the back seat of my dad’s van, lost in our own world.

That was the last summer we really had together. The next one, she stayed so busy I hardly saw her, and right after she turned sixteen, she moved to L.A.

Delaney wiggles in her seat and blinks sleepily at me.

“Let’s go, Sleeping Beauty. We’ve got chaperone duties.”

And she is so beautiful. There are creases pressed into her cheek, her hair’s a mess, and she’s blinking like she can’t quite remember how she ended up on a bus full of teenagers in the middle of the night. This stripped down version of Delany will undoubtedly be the death of me.

Just for a moment, I let myself imagine waking up to this everyday. As suspected, the thought alone takes my breath away.

“This place is so…” Delaney looks around wide-eyed, as we walk into the impressive lodge lobby. Exposed beams and rough wood make up most of the design. “It’s so rustic chic. I’m kinda obsessed.”

A bubbly brunette behind the front desk waves us over.

“Y’all with that bus that just rolled up?”

“Yep. Ridgecrest choir,” Delaney answers as the woman’s eyes widen with recognition.

“Oh my god, it’s you.”

The receptionist squeals at a pitch far too high for this hour.

Delaney flashes her a practiced smile. “In the flesh! I’d love to chat, but we’ve got a bus full of tired teenagers and a very stern choir director. Got our chalet keys for us?”

The woman, Morgan according to her name-tag, riffles through a drawer before hesitantly pulling out a set of keys.

“So…” she starts sheepishly, “the reservation got a little messed up, and we had to move your group to a smaller cabin. It’s just for tonight, then we can move y’all for the rest of your stay! There shooould still be enough room,” Morgan draws out, “Might just be a tight squeeze tonight.”

I feel Delaney tense beside me.

Her words from earlier echo in my mind. She wants to do this whole chaperoning thing right. That’s the integrity I remember from when we were kids. She may have been a troublemaker in little ways, but when it came to things that mattered, Delaney was always trustworthy and steady.

And regardless of what her dad and management team may think, that girl is still in there.

“All good, Morgan!” I say, leaning forward to snatch the keys and cabin information sheet. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem at all.”

We head back to the bus, crunching the numbers and assigning rooms as we go.

There’s two big bunk rooms that will hold most of the students, two bedrooms on the main floor, one for Mrs. Crane, and one for our bus driver. A spare bedroom and pull out sofa in the basement for a group of the girls.

And then that leaves a single futon bed in the loft.

One bed.

For me and Delaney.

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