Page 40 of Can’t Say No

She laughs, but her eyes tell a different story. Her voice barely over a whisper, she confesses, “It’s a little terrifying. I haven’t had this much control over my own life in years.”

“Delaney.” I reach out on instinct and give her hand a squeeze. And for just a moment, all the walls crumble, and I see my best friend, really see her, for the first time in a decade. We’re just two dumb kids again, trying to figure out life together.

Her eyes go a little glossy as she squeezes my hand back, but the magic of the moment is interrupted by Simon.

“Holy shit, Miss James! Absolutely crushing the buffet game.” He looks at her tower of food with awe and reverence. “Man, I thought I was the king of this place, but I think I’ve been dethroned.”

Delaney blinks back the whispers of emotion and beams up at Simon, who is also holding an impressive tray of buffet bounty. “Slide in here with me,” she gestures to the booth, scooting to make room, “And let’s combine our efforts. Connor, take a picture.”

I happily oblige. Simon calls a few of his buddies over and soon our booth is overflowing with teens and trays of food and playful teasing from everyone involved.

Delaney on a normal day is a sight to behold, but this version of her, unguarded, real, happy, this version of Delaney is drop-dead gorgeous.

I know I need to keep my distance, to guard my heart from the inevitable pain that’s coming my way when she leaves again. But I know I’m fighting a losing battle. She’s magnetic, and I don’t think I have the strength to resist her pull.

As we march back to the bus, Mrs. Crane hollering for a buddy check, I lean in close and give Delaney’s shoulders a squeeze.

“You did that hard thing real well, Lanie.”

She rolls her lips into a tight line and shrugs, “It’s dumb that it’s even a thing.”

“Not dumb,” I say as we settle back into our seats. “I can only imagine what it’s been like, everyone having an opinion on you, your voice, your body. Makes sense that the lack of control gets a little overwhelming sometimes.”

She nods a little to herself, considering my words. “Thank you, Connor. I needed to hear that.” She looks over at me and I see it again.

I see her again.

Unable to stop myself, I hook my finger under her chin and tip her shining eyes up to meet mine. That kiss flashes in my memory and I stare at her lips as I say, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Delaney.”

And I am. So proud of her, so in awe of her.

So in love with her.

15

DELANEY

The retirement home is way fancier than I imagined it would be. I kinda pictured a glorified hospital with that sterile old-people smell, but Golden Oaks is pristine and homey. The residents mill around the common area as we arrive and our students jump right in to socialize with them. Just like at the elementary school, the students have really impressed me with their behavior. A sense of pride tugs at my heart, although I can’t take credit for even an ounce of their gentle, kind spirits.

If anything, I serve as an anti-example, a cautionary tale. If you can’t keep your selfish, bad attitude in check, you’ll end up like this sad pop star fighting for her career. Pretty good scared-straight fodder.

Mrs. Crane gathers the students up as the residents meander into the expansive living room for their performance.

“I have a confession,” Connor whispers in my ear, wrapping an arm around my lower back and resting his hand on my hip. He pulls me into him, and my pulse quickens as I tuck right into his side, like a puzzle piece that’s been lost under a rug for far too long. My body reacts to his touch as if it’s been starved of affection, leaving me greedy and hungry for more.

In an attempt to satisfy that appetite, I lean into his side. “What’s the confession?”

“Retirement homes give me the creeps.” He feigns a shudder and I can’t help but laugh. “Something about them feels haunted.”

Our focus turns to the front of the room as the choir starts their performance. They sing a mix of oldies, classic choir pieces, and one original song, Mrs. Crane’s pride and joy, although she’d never admit to it.

I take a few video clips to share with parents and jot down some notes for Mrs. Crane so we can make adjustments for future performances.

They’ve improved so much in the short time that I’ve been at Ridgecrest. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve learned a lot from Mrs. Crane. I studied a fair bit of music theory before I went out to L.A., but that lady is a treasure trove of knowledge, beyond theory and mechanics. And she’s dang talented; if she can’t find an arrangement she likes, she writes all the parts herself.

Watching her work the last few weeks feels like a little peek into an alternate reality. Maybe, if things had been different for me, if my parents hadn’t molded me into this over the top version of myself, this could have been my future. Directing a choir in some small town, taking students out into the community, making someone’s day, making a difference in a small way. I’d marry some hot local, like a firefighter or mechanic, or an English teacher, and settle down for a slow-paced life. It’s a pretty enticing fantasy.

We are served dinner after the performance alongside the residents, who are all adorable and not creepy in the slightest. Connor and I end up on opposite ends of the dining hall. I take a crew of girls to sit with the cutest group of old ladies while he helps gather up stragglers.