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He is away from people, yes. And he does look frozen.
But he’s staring at me.
And his eyes are moving. His eyes are flashing and shining as they take me in. And when he’s done running them up and down my body, he brings them back to my face and I can’t stop myself.
I can’t stop myself like I do at school.
I can’t stop myself from dashing to him, from running over.
And he can’t stop himself either.
Because as soon as I move, he does too.
Although he’s more controlled about his steps I think. He’s more controlled and graceful about the way he strides across the space, without making people turn their head so as to see what’s happening.
Not me though.
I think a few people do stare at me, at my jogging form, but in this moment I don’t care.
In this moment I need to get to him and when I do get there, I almost throw my arms around him. I almost jump into his arms. But then I hear a burst of laughter in the distance and somehow reality comes crashing back.
The reality of where we are.
The reality of what I was going to do.
He sees it happen on my face and his jaw clenches. His features tighten up, but thrusting his hands down into his pockets, he takes a step away from me.
With heaving breaths, I ask, “What… What are you doing here?”
He stares at me for a few seconds more. Like his first scrutiny wasn’t enough. Like it didn’t satisfy him when he was doing it from afar. He needs to do it, study me, from up close.
And when he’s done, I’m heaving even more.
“I was invited,” he replies.
I frown. “What?”
He shrugs. “The entire St. Mary’s faculty was.”
Right.
Of course.
When I said that my dad invites everyone he knows, I mean he invites everyone.
Every. One.
Including the faculty members of St. Mary’s. He’d invite the faculty members of my previous school as well. And I’ve never been happier about it. Never been so on board with including every single person in this town and all the neighboring towns.
So much so that I smile. “I completely forgot about that.”
This is fantastic.
This is epic.
I missed him so much and now he’s here. And no, I won’t get to spend too much time with him or talk to him outside of what’s appropriate, but I can still see him. I can still bask in the knowledge that he’s at this party.
I might even be able to give him my news now instead of waiting till Monday.
And I’m about to say something to that effect when he says, jerking his chin at something over my shoulders, “That your dad?”
“What?”
He’s staring at something over my shoulders with a thoughtful expression. “I’d like to meet him.”
My eyes go wide at his words.
And I step in his path the moment he moves in what I now know is my dad’s direction. “What are you doing?”
Conrad roves his eyes over my face, his gaze going to my hair.
It’s an elaborate up-do that took my mom’s hair dresser close to an hour to do. I raise my arm to touch it, touch the plaited and braided and bound strands.
That frankly look ridiculous instead of sophisticated.
And painful.
And tight and confining.
At my action, he murmurs, “You should take down that nest in your hair and let it go free.”
“What?”
“You know, just so you could feel the wind in your hair. I think you’d like that.”
With that – throwing my words back at me – he leaves to go meet my father. And of course I can’t let that happen.
Because knowing Conrad, it’s not going to be pretty. And my dad is going to make it even uglier.
So as soon as Conrad starts in the direction of my father, I do the same. But instead of walking like Conrad, I’m jogging. Again. I’m drawing people’s eyes but this time, I care even less than I did before.
I have to get to my dad before Conrad does.
I’m not sure what I’ll do when I get there but I need to be there. So I put all my strength into it and get there probably four seconds before Conrad does, startling my dad.
He was talking to a group of people with a glass of champagne in his hand and as soon as he senses me there, he turns to me abruptly, a disapproving frown on his forehead.
“Dad, hey,” I say, trying to control my breathing.
“What —”
I cut him off as I see Conrad in my peripheral vision, coming to stand next to me. “Uh, I’d like you to meet someone.” Smiling nervously, I turn to Conrad. “This is my soccer coach, Coach Thorne. And this is my dad, Jack Littleton.”
My dad glances over at Conrad with a smile.
A pleased, friendly smile.
That usually tells people that my dad is an approachable guy. Polished and high society, yes. But he’s also a people person. A public prosecutor.
