Page 59 of The Rebel
She’s the girl next door, my friend’s little sister, and she’s staying at our house.
Those were all reasons that made me a little uncomfortable, especially the latter, but taking hold of Valencia’s handjust happened.
She’d said,You’re making a habit of bailing me out.And I held that badge like an honor. I didn’t mind saving Valencia Reid. It was like I was meant to be there for her.
Well, Oliver had pointed out Valencia in the cafeteria. I’d been showing Hannah the correct way to add condiments to her first ever hotdog, namely mustard, chilli, relish, onions and shredded cheese—in that order—but it was obvious that something was going down with Valencia and her friends.
I knew Gabby Pelzer because Mom used to work at the hospital with Gabby’s father, a cardiac-thoracic surgeon. In a flash, I could see the body language indicated a confrontation and I didn’t hesitate to leave Hannah, who would quickly learn how to assemble her own hotdog.
I legit thought Valencia was going to punch Gabby in the face when she mocked Paris for losing his tennis match. I hadn’t intended to be quite so enthusiastic when I threw my arm around Valencia, initially an act to stop her from starting a fight.
But something happened when I was close to Valencia, something held me to her like a magnet, an invisible force sticking us together. There was nothing more natural than having my arm around her and her head resting on my shoulder.
It bothered me that Valencia was taking flak from her supposed best friend about Paris, that anyone would diss him forlosing a match. Paris was the most motivated, hardest working kid I knew. His work ethic was unmatched. Even kids I’d met in England who attended the soccer academy where I’d had a few training sessions and who were passionate about their sport, didn’t come close to Paris’s dedication. I mean, I’m pretty sure Paris hadn’t eaten a hamburger or French fries since fourth or fifth grade. And he was the best friend to go trick or treating with because he gave you his candy haul afterward. He was the epitome of self control and ambition and for anyone to ridicule his success, or lack of, was crazy. And cruel. And not friend-like at all.
There was no way I was letting Valencia go back to her friends.
Oliver grinned from ear to ear when I brought Valencia over to our table, making space next to him. They immediately started jabbering about the snow tubes. Hannah had kept a place for me and my hotdog, but I immediately had to correct her as she tried to eat hers with a plastic knife and fork.
“Uh uh,” I said, gently removing the utensils from her hands and replacing it with the hot dog.
I teased Hannah as she bit into the bun with small lady-like bites. With Lucy and Victoria filming the whole thing, Hannah poked me with her sticky ketchup and mustard fingers, and hamming it up, I jammed the hot dog into her mouth. As Hannah wrestled me, condiments went flying. Laughing so much, I was saved from not choking to death when Hannah shared her soda with me.
Oliver jumped up and wanted to head back to the tube lanes. When Valencia offered to go with him, leaping out of her chair, I had a strong urge to go too. But I was head-to-head with Hannah, slurping on our straws and I didn’t want to look obvious, abandoning my lunch and following them. Oliver wouldn’t appreciate that I was shadowing him like a baby. Orthat’s what I told myself. But neither did I want Valencia to think I was stalking her. She’d already commented that I was always bailing her out.
“Stick together,” I said and impulsively pulled my beanie off of my head. “Here, take this, it’ll be easier to find you later.” I tossed the beanie over to her, not thinking that she probably had her own hat in her pocket.
Valencia picked it up, gave a cheeky sniff and pulled it on her head. She dipped down and put her head next to Oliver to show they matched. He smiled and they raced off together. My heart skipped a beat—for two reasons. One, because Valencia looked cute in my beanie and orange suited her, two because I was jealous that I wasn’t with her.
The rest of us lingered over lunch. I thought about making an excuse to check on Oliver, but didn’t want him to think I didn’t trust him. Besides, I was keeping an eye on Valencia’s friends. If they happened to go back to the tube lanes, then I’d make a move.
After another round of hot chocolate and cappuccinos and a few more rides down the slopes, we headed back. The girls were going back to Lucy’s to change before coming around for our Brit Night dinner, so it made sense that Valencia would ride back with me, Ollie and Weston. Ollie fell asleep before too long and in the rear view mirror I watched Valencia take off her jacket and tuck it under his head to make a pillow for him. Silly how that sent my heart into a surge, the memory of holding her still doing funny things to me.
Valencia headed to her room and I hit the shower before going to help Mom set up dinner.
Mom had outdone herself with the food prep. She’d cooked roast beef and Old English sausages and made her own Yorkshire puddings and gravy from scratch. Yorkshire pudding was not a sweet dessert as one might expect, but a batter typeside dish that accompanied a roast meal. Yeah, it had seemed like a weird combination, but it was surprisingly good, especially smothered in gravy. And Mom had found some other food from the international aisle at Dymock’s Grocery Store, salt and vinegar chips (which they called crisps), chocolate oranges (a round piece of chocolate shaped like an orange and split into segments), non-alcoholic cider, Earl Grey tea, and my favorite, Jaffa cakes.
After going back to Lucy’s to shower and change, the girls arrived all dressed up. I hadn’t specified costumes, but the girls couldn’t resist the chance to dress like royalty and wear tiaras, Lucy in a puffy ball gown.
Sawyer hadn’t come out to Snow Park because he’d been working, but he turned up with Leylah. Sawyer was the kicker for the football team and Leylah was a cheerleader, but I wasn’t the only one surprised that they were together.
With all the food set out on the counter like a buffet, Mom told everyone to help themselves. Leylah made a comment about Ollie, Mom and me being in similar Manchester City jerseys, which immediately took her up a notch in my book. Apart from being in my PE class back in sophomore year, our paths never crossed.
“You like soccer?” I asked.
She smiled shyly. “Not really, but the shirts are cool.” Maybe she was self conscious in her oversized red, white and blue hoodie and leggings and was grateful she wasn’t the only casual one.
I told her about the latest Manchester City stats and she kept smiling and nodding, though possibly she was relieved when Sawyer came over to us with a plate piled high.
That was the moment I heard Mom say, “Oh, there you are, I was just coming to get you,” and I turned to see Valencia in the kitchen doorway. She’d washed her hair and it was still slightlydamp, tied up in a messy bun on top of her head. From where I stood, I couldn’t smell her but I got an imagined whiff of strawberries.
“Oh, I, I didn’t know there was a party...” Valencia stuttered, looking at Lucy and Hannah in their gowns fit for prom night.
“It’s just Jade sharing his English experience,” Mom said. “We’ve got roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Come and grab a plate.”
“I should go and feed Volley first,” Valencia said, already retreating. And before I could excuse myself from Sawyer and Leylah, she’d disappeared.
After we’d eaten, Lucy took control with her British trivia quiz, playing Bridgerton in the background. I tried to switch it for some soccer, but she hotly refused. We did tastings with the Jaffa cakes, but only Weston and Sawyer seemed to appreciate the delicious, soft, jammy and cakey snacks as much as I did, Lucy calling them “Meh,” and Leylah refusing to even taste them because they looked weird.
