Page 7 of The Rules We Broke
The adults stirred, ready to speak—but I didn’t let them.
Brady beamed at me, pure happiness lighting up his face. I’d finally said the words he’d been waiting to hear.
“We’ve been taught in church our entire lives to love one another. To forgive. To treat others the way we’d want to be treated. So why does being an Eaton or a Jackson change that?”
Brady and I turned toward Pastor Norton, waiting.
He rubbed his reddened face, looked down for a long moment—then said quietly, “It doesn’t.”
Well, that was that. The Pastor had nothing else to say, and we all went our separate ways that night. Oh, don’t get me wrong, we were both in loads of trouble. We were each grounded for a month, but at least now we could sit together during lunch at school and hold hands in the halls.
And . . . we each got a new set of rules. Neither of us were ever allowed in each other’s homes, and there were strict curfews in place. That was okay with me. I was just so happy I didn’t have to lie to my aunt—or my friends anymore, for that matter. And best of all, I was happy that everyone knew I was Brady Jackson’s girl.
The town was in a tailspin. No one knew how to react. Eatons and Jacksons hadn’t mixed in over thirty years, and to most folks—especially our parents—it was downright unsettling.
Aunt Lu didn’t yell, but she worried. I could see it. She warned me daily about the ways of Jackson men. I tried to explain that Brady was different. She would just shake her head and say,“Apples don’t fall far from the tree, Ella Lu.”
Brady’s parents were a real treat. When stern talks didn’t work, they called in the cavalry—his brothers and their pageant winner wives. When that failed, they started importing girls like it was prom season at the Miss America house.
Years ago, his momma had been a pageant consultant, hopping around the state and even the country. Now, she’d declared, it was time to groom the next generation.
Imagine that.
I wasn’t too worried—Brady was as attentive and loving as ever. I don’t know if a girl’s ever had a more devoted boyfriend than I did.
We sailed through the rest of junior year and even got to attend prom together. We’d both been nominated for junior court, but I had to politely rescind my nomination, just like I had for sophomore year. The crown wasn’t allowed.
It was the least I could do for Aunt Lu.
I was still holding firm to rules one and two, even if it meant not going to college with Brady. But we believed our relationship could survive the distance. Brady would always smile and say,“It’s okay, Ellie—we’ll just be a house divided.”
We’d daydream about our wedding and those cheesy license plate covers that saidHouse Dividedwith Auburn and Alabama mascots facing off.
Brady withdrew his court nomination, too. To say his parents were livid—that doesn’t even begin to cover it. They said I was ruining his life.
I told him not to do it, begged him not to cause more waves. But he wouldn’t hear of it. “If you can’t be my princess,” he said, “Then no one will be.”
Summer came, and the tide began to change. Have you ever met someone and just known—in your gut—that they were going to upend your world . . . and not in a good way?
The first time I saw Amber Capshaw, something inside me tensed. Her family had moved to Kaysville for one reason only: to let Brady’s momma mold her into the next Miss Alabama. Miss America, even.
She’d already snagged the Junior Miss crown and half a dozen smaller pageant titles. Her parents believed she had what it took to go all the way.
I’d give her this—Amber Capshaw was beautiful. Tall and slender. Raven-black hair. Violet eyes. Flawless skin. She hadthis air about her that screamed,“Someone please put a sash on me.”And the way she walked? Like she was balancing a crown on her head.
Amber Capshaw started spending more and more time at the Jackson mansion. And just as often, Brady’s parents insisted he stay home.
I tried not to be jealous. Brady kept reassuring me—said she couldn’t hold a candle to me, that he hated the whole charade just as much as I did. But I knew. Iknewshe had her sights set on Brady. And his parents were more than happy to aid and abet her.
Senior year started, and Amber waseverywhere. Brady made a point of being affectionate with me at school—hand-holding, kisses on the cheek—but it didn’t deter her. Not one bit.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t had that squeaky voice and the IQ of a rock. No wonder Brady’s momma needed to coach her—I could only imagine the answers she’d give in front of judges.
One of Aunt Lu’s favorite sayings echoed in my head:“You can fix ugly, and you can fix dumb. But you can’t fix stupid.”Never had it fit more perfectly.
Brady had a stellar football season, and there was no doubt that on signing day, he’d choose his beloved team. Alabama was practically salivating.
I was still on track to be valedictorian.
