What You Always Wanted by Kristin Rae Page B

you wanted to jump right into the kissing? Seriously, Brian, you’re such a—” I swallow back all the words I’m too classy to say and make a noise of revulsion instead.
    â€œI didn’t mean for it to turn into a thing. I really didn’t. I
will
make it up to you, I pro—”
    A chirp from his pocket prompts him to pull out his phone and glance at it. The smile returns. “Just”—he stands and brushes off his knee—“stay right there. Don’t move.”
    He takes off but I don’t turn to look. I’m too busy processing that he was down on one knee, proposing to be my homecoming date. It was almost a full-fledged romantic gesture.
    â€œThat was weird,” Angela says. “Does he think you’re going to change your mind by the time he comes back or something?”
    â€œHe may not be the smartest in the bunch,” Tiffany says, stealing Angela’s food, “but his nachos have an excellent cheese-to-chip ratio.”
    A country song blasts from somewhere to my right, and I quickly locate the source, as it’s heading straight for me. It’s Ryan, carrying an iPod in one hand wired to a portable speaker in the other, both of which he sets on the ground at my feet before stepping back and joining hands with Sarah, who has appeared out of nowhere. About ten other girls I don’t recognize run to fill the empty space around them, everyone facing me.
    What. Is. Going. On?
    When the chorus of the song starts, everyone in the group moves their feet simultaneously. They grapevine one way, kick out their heels and clap, then go the other way, kick, clap, more kicking, hopping and twisting, some of them twirling an arm like they’ve got a lasso or something. When they turn to change direction, a few of the people standing around to watch join in, and soon everyone around me is clapping the beat. It’s like a flash-mob line dance.
    If I knew the complicated-looking dance, I’d probably join them, but Brian told me not to move, so I have a sinking feeling this all has something to do with me. Thankfully, Angela and Tiffany are still at my side.
    When the people turn again and have their backs to me, Brian weaves between them, holding out a gigantor mum in front of him, a sly grin on his face. Suddenly I wish I hadn’t so audibly made fun of them with Sarah today in class. But really, I can hear the teeny cowbells ringing over the Grand Ole Opry blasting at my feet.
    Moo.
    Brian grabs at the blue-and-silver ribbons hanging from the fake white flowers, and there in sparkly silver letters are our names.
    â€œPlease, Maddie?” is all he says, his brown eyes watching me expectantly.
    â€œIt’s like he read your mind,” Tiffany says in awe.
    I look to Angela for help, and she shrugs. “You won’t get much more epic than a choreographed musical number.”
    I glance back up at the dancers and see Jesse walking slowly alongside them, trailed by a gorgeously tan girl I assume is Gabby, his homecoming date. She stops to take in the scene, but after a quick nod to me, Jesse grabs her hand and keeps moving.
    Even Jesse has someone to hold hands with. And dance with.
    I want this for me.
    Brian wants to dance with me. He organized a miniature flash mob, even spent who knows how much personalizing an extremely tacky homecoming memento to tell me so. A remarkably nice gesture considering I haven’t spoken to him outside of rehearsing our lines together after school this week. He probably really didn’t mean to spread news of my kissing status to the entire Fernwood High populace. And it would be nice to have an excuse to get all dolled up.
    A smile fights my lips until it wins, and I take the awful mum thing from him. I wonder which moving box my dresses are in.
    â€œPopcorn!” Tiffany cries as she bounds into the Moraleses’ TV room carrying three bags of popcorn—one for each of us.
    â€œShut