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“I can give you a ride, Kimber.”
Kimber tugged on British’s arm. “Key word being love, as in the fact I enjoy it,” she giggled.
Cars began leaving the parking lot. Rain fell harder before their wipers could wipe it away. British sighed and glanced at the dark sky. Not even a single star in sight. “You think anyone would notice if I slept here?”
“You can come over and stay at my place tonight,” Kimber offered. “I have a nice bottle of wine we can try out.”
When British came to Southwood to work as an aide, she did so at Southwood High School, four years after graduating from there herself. She’d been the youngest aide so far and she’d found it hard to gain the respect of the students, until popular Kimber Reyes had spoken up and vouched for her. Five years later she was here with the same girl, who was all grown up. Well, almost.
British shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t like the idea of drinking alcohol with you.”
“I am almost twenty-one and it’s nonalcoholic.”
“Fake wine,” British said with a frown. “I can’t drink fake wine with you.”
“Can’t or won’t?” asked Kimber. “C’mon, we can go across the street and get drinks. Hot cocoa.”
Across the street, the red lights of a sports bar flashed in the evening light. Sprinkles of rain blew through, dampening the front of British’s pale pink shirt. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was to spend the evening in a bar with half-drunk men hitting on her because of her suddenly thin wet T-shirt and lacy bra. She missed simpler times when Christian met her during a rainstorm with an umbrella. Funny, she thought with a soft smile, how the memory of him made her feel safe. “No, I’m going to brave the weather.”
The committee members had all pulled out of their spots, the twin streetlights brightening the empty parking spaces. Kimber craned her neck. “Where did you park?”
British lifted her hand and pointed adjacent to city hall. “I have been parked by the rec center all day. I came straight here after everyone left to go home.”
Lightning struck across the high school’s football field, illuminating the twin field goal posts. How many Friday nights during junior and senior years had she spent watching Southwood High’s game-winning field goals take place over there? Too many to count. British half smiled and shook the fond memory away.
The rain lifted enough so they didn’t have to shout between one other.
“You ought to get going,” British urged Kimber. “I’m going to try to make a break for—”
The words died at a loud crack. A clear, sharp, lightning bolt lit the dark sky right over the rec center. A transformer blew, sparks doing their best imitation of Fourth of July fireworks, and two seconds later, regardless of the downpour of rain, a fire broke out.
“Did that seriously just happen?”
Neither of the ladies moved. They both clung to each other. The building went up in smoke, much like British’s dreams.
* * *
Sunday morning, British found herself seated on a bicycle just outside the gates of the Magnolia Palace hotel. She’d been here before, competing in a few pageants when the roof on Southwood’s theater had leaked. There was something to be said about the old structures of her hometown. British inhaled deeply with pride, as if she had a connection with the building.
The fire at the rec center hadn’t just ruined an after-school hangout but also displaced a few of the neighbors next to the building, homes of the girls who were part of British’s STEM for GRITS.
Ramon Torres, owner of Magnolia Palace, had graciously offered up rooms at the boutique hotel for them to stay until their homes were fixed. The mayor-elect had recently won the hearts of the town but, more important, British’s close friend Kenzie Swayne’s, too. The two had married last summer.
British understood there was only one guest booked for the Thanksgiving week. More than likely, the man wanted his peace and quiet over the break and having a group of teenagers running through the hallways was not the ideal vacation. British wanted to soften the blow. The phone inside the pocket of her gray hoodie began to ring. British hopped off her bike seat to answer it, her pink fingernail sliding across the screen.
Kimber’s face appeared bright and cheerful, as usual. “Hey, my app says you’re at my uncle’s place.”
“That’s just creepy.”
“Creepy is having to get the girls together in some back alley looking for cans to collect for that STEM steamboat experiment in order to impress the judges,” said Kimber. “You’re standing outside the door waiting to ring the bell, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Uncle Ramon gave you permission to also use the hotel’s facilities so the girls can have space to work and concentrate without interruption. You don’t have to explain that to the other guest. I’ve texted you the code to the gate—only guests and employees have the info. The doors lock after midnight until someone is up and unlocks them or, great idea, a person with the code uses it.”
“I hear you,” British said with a half smile, “but I get what it’s like to want to be left alone. I just want to explain to the man, maybe even prepare him.”
Kimber huffed. “Whatever.”
