Page 48 of The Big Easy & Other Lies
Livvie grinned and introduced Trent and Rhett. They traded conversation about their AP physics class, and I sat there fighting the urge to stroke the denim of Rhett’s jeans beneath my palm. When the waitress finally came to take our order, Rhett leaned toward me, applying the slightest pressure to my hand.
“Is this okay?” he asked. “Or are you going to shut me down like you did at lunch?”
I shook my head and left my hand where it was under his.
“Even if Angelique decides to make things difficult for you?”
You don’t buy the Angelique-is-an-angel hype,” I said. “Why not?”
“That is a long and complicated conversation,” he said. “The short version is that we were only born three months apart. My mom and my aunt were super competitive growing up and they’ve projected that onto us since we were babies. I always come up short. It gets old. And Angelique mines it for all it’s worth. I love her. We get along. But I don’t always like her.”
“Livvie threatens all the time to punch her in the face. I could let her do it,” I said.
“You scare me with your violent tendencies.” He raised our linked hands and shook them lightly. “Maybe it’s good I’m holding onto this to keep the public safe.”
He kept up a running commentary on the crowd around us, supplying made-up conversations between people while we waited for our food. It was clever without being mean-spirited, and the giggles kept creeping up on me. Every now and then Livvie would turn to smile, and I grinned back. Now I understood her serial crushing; it was addictive.
When I had caught Rhett after theater arts to invite him to dinner, he’d said yes, but his demeanor was slightly cool. Fair, I guessed, considering the scene at lunch. I’d worried all afternoon about how to extend the next part of the invitation to Rhett.
I took a deep breath and went at it Band-Aid style, more sure of the answer now that my hand was tucked into his. “Do you want to come hang out with us at Bran’s?” I asked. “After dinner, I mean?”
He looked pleased. “Yeah. Can I give you a ride?” he asked, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.
“Is this a test?”
“Yep.”
I hadn’t worked out this detail with Livvie or Bran, but they could sort themselves out. “Sure,” I said. “A ride would be great.”
“You passed.”
Dinner showed up and as we tucked into the food, jokes flew from everyone except Trent and Chloe. Still getting used to us, I guess. Trent looked relieved when the check came. “I’ll handle it,” he said, jumping up to carry it to the register. He waved off the money everyone offered him.
“Y’all want to come over?” Bran asked.
The rest of us nodded.
“Cool,” he said.
“I’m riding with Rhett,” I said to Livvie.
She shot me a big grin. “Well done,” she said.
Since Rhett was standing right there and she didn’t even try to be subtle, he crossed his arms and stared down at her. “I wasn’t hard to catch,” he said. “For all you know, maybe I’m the one who did the catching.”
“Better and better,” Livvie said. “See y’all there.”
We small-talked on the way over, the words coming easily even with my senses going haywire. It was a good kind of internal chaos. At the curb of Bran’s house, Rhett cut the engine and peered through the windshield. Streetlamps shed enough light for him to whistle. “Wow. If someone living in a house like this needs a scholarship to LaSalle, I probably don’t want to know what my dad is paying for my tuition.”
“Why would you think Bran’s on scholarship?” And then it struck me, and I narrowed my eyes. “It’s because he’s a Black athlete, isn’t it? And people say Southerners are racist.”
“Hold up,” he said. “Did you just call me a racist? Because his skin color has nothing to do with it. I assumed it because he hangs around with you and Livvie and all of you work, and work is not normally something we richie rich kids do in high school.”
I blushed. “Sorry. I feel stupid.” The first uncomfortable silence of the night swelled up. I cleared my throat. “His mom makes him work at least two shifts a month because she says it’ll keep him grounded in reality.”
He didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure how to come back from inferring someone was a racist, so the awkward silence returned. Then he sighed. “I guess I did jump to conclusions. And yes, it’s partly because he’s a Black athlete. But mostly it’s because you guys hang out and work together.”
“I get it, but that’s called a microaggression, so maybe we can both work on those?” The porch light flipped on. “Bran seems to like you. Don’t tell him I almost offended you to the point of leaving.”
