Page 52 of Shut Up and Score
I accept theFaceTimeand hold the phone so she mostly sees my shoulder.
“Hey, Mom.”
“There’s my boy,” she says, smiling like I’m ten again. “Just calling to remind you the alumni dinner starts at six on Saturday. The Worthington’s are so excited to see you, and of course, to meet Jasmine again. She’s still coming, right?”
“Yeah. She’s coming,” I say automatically, though my stomach knots.
Mom beams as if I just confirmed the engagement. “Oh, good. She’s such a lovely girl, Colton. We couldn’t have dreamed up a better match for you. She’s got that…grounding energy. Keeps you steady.” Her voice lowers, like we’re sharing a secret. “Your father says he can see your whole future when you’re standing next to her. And it looks bright.”
I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to keep from sayinganything. Bright. Sure. Like a spotlight burning me alive.
“You’re lucky, sweetheart,” she goes on. “Jasmine’s perfect for you—focused, dependable, from a good family? That’s the kind of woman you build a life with. I just…I look at you two, and I can already picture the wedding photos.”
My chest tightens. I glance at my dorm door, as if someone might walk in and see the perfect son performing on cue.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “She’s great.”
And sheisgreat. Which is why guilt twists through me, stabbing and painful. I’m lying to her every day. Talking to a guy on the app. Fantasizing about Micah when I should be thinking about her. She deserves so much better than me.
“Good boy.” Mom sighs, satisfied. “Well, don’t be late Friday. Your father’s counting on you. And give Jasmine our love!”
The call ends with her cheerful wave, and the screen goes black.
I let the phone drop onto my chest and close my eyes, swallowing hard.
Buzz.
SmokeScreen77: Thinking about me?
A humorless laugh escapes me. Yeah. I’m thinking about him. About the pictures he’s sent that I can’t stop replaying in my head. About how badly I want to blow up the life my parents have already built for me.
And for one stupid second, I almost wish the dinner would never come. But it does come…way too fast.
The alumni hallsmells of polished wood and money. My tie feels too tight, and I tug on it, attempting to loosen it before it chokes me.
Jasmine loops her arm through mine as we step in, smiling up at me pretending she actually wants to be here. She looks perfect, of course—soft curls, pale pink dress, the kind of classic my mom would pick out herself.
“Colton!” Mom’s voice cuts through the polite chatter. She waves us over, Dad right behind her with that politician-smile he saves for country club events.
“You made it,” she says, kissing my cheek. “And Jasmine, sweetheart, you look just lovely. Doesn’t she, David?”
Dad nods, giving me a firm clap on the shoulder. “Lucky guy.”
I force a smile. “Yeah. I know.”
We barely get a drink in our hands before we’re swallowed into a circle of people I half-recognize—alumni, board members, people who have known me since I was “Little Colton” running around the pool deck in swim trunks. They talk about the team, my captaincy, my grades.
“Such a bright future,” Mrs. Worthington coos, resting a manicured hand on my mom’s arm. “And this one—” she gestures to Jasmine, “—she’s a keeper. You two are a picture-perfect couple.”
My face hurts from smiling. I catch our reflection in the big window by the piano. Me in the tailored suit. Jasmine glowing at my side. And suddenly I feel as though I’m watching a stranger’s life.
“Thank you,” Jasmine says, squeezing my arm. She doesn’t notice my hand has gone cold.
Then comes the toast. Some alumni guy my dad loves raises a glass and says something about bright young leaders and strong families. He jokes about wedding bells, and everyone laughs. Everyone except me.
My chest locks up. The room tilts.
Jasmine leans into me, acting completely natural. It’s me that’s being weird. Mom beams from across the table. Dad’s hand rests on the back of my chair in quiet approval.
