"...Josh isn't really your brother," Celeste said
seriously, "much as I'd sometimes like to donate him to
you."
"Pres isn't my brother either."
"He'll be your stepbrother," Celeste reminded
me. "You'll be living in the same house with him."
"And that," I said with a triumphant smile, "will
give me the chance I need to get close to him."
"It'll also give you time to drive each other
crazy, just like Josh and me," Celeste said.
"Hey, you and Josh get along great," I said. But
Celeste's implication got me thinking. What if Pres and I
didn't get along? What if we wound up bickering constantly
like some brothers and sisters I could name? That would
never happen—would it?
"Sometimes Josh and I are at each other's throats,"
Celeste said. "And," she added, grinning, "the reason we
usually do get along so well is that I'm just so
accommodating." She laughed, because she was anything but.
"All right, all right." I wasn't going to spoil the
afternoon by arguing. Instead I changed the subject. "So.
Who will be the next guy in your life?"
"Next guy?"
"Celeste. It's been two weeks since you broke up
with Riley. That's a record for you to be single. I figured
you'd have somebody scoped out by now."
"I don't know." Celeste rolled onto her back. "I
just can't seem to get excited about anyone. There aren't
many decent guys left."
"There must be one or two," I teased. "What about a
senior? That way we could go to the graduation ball
together."
"What?" Celeste sat up. "You lost me there."
"Graduation is only three months away," I reminded
her. "By then Pres and I will be a couple and so of course
we'll go to the graduation party. If you hook a senior, we
can both go to the party. Simple, right?"
"Simpleminded if you ask me," Celeste
replied. "First of all, I think you greatly overestimate my
ability to attract guys, especially when you're talking
seniors. Second, I haven't seen any signs that you and Pres
will be a couple by then, if ever."
"If I'm an optimist," I said, "then you're a
pessimist. You have to think positively if you expect to
make things happen."
"You have to be realistic too," Celeste
said. "Thinking positively and daydreaming about what you'd
like to happen will only set you up for a letdown when
things don't turn out the way you hope."
"All right," I said patiently. I was used to
Celeste's "constructive" criticism. "Let's just agree to
disagree about our outlooks on life. Meanwhile, why don't
you look for some gorgeous senior, just in case everything
works out the way I know it will."
Celeste sighed. "I'll think about it."
"Right now we'd better finish packing up all this
stuff, or I'll never be ready to move by tomorrow."
With Celeste's help I was able to finish packing
with just enough time to finish my hair and makeup before
the rehearsal dinner. Since it was just Mom, Pres's father,
my grandmother, Pres, and me, we were going to dinner at
the Oceanview Inn, then to the Rose Room in the Town Hall.
I took care to look especially nice, getting my hair just
right, even using a touch of the lavender eye shadow I'd
bought to match my bridesmaid's dress. I thought it made my
eyes look even greener.
When I was all ready, I sat at my dresser and
checked my hair once more in the mirror. My gaze fell to
the small, leather–framed picture of my father that I
hadn't yet packed. I had not only his wide–set green
eyes, but also his thick, copper–colored hair. I
often wished I'd inherited his high cheekbones instead of
Mom's apple cheeks, but all in all I couldn't complain.
I had only a few memories of Dad, but they were
surprisingly clear, considering that I'd been only six
years old when he'd died. I remember sitting on his lap in
the oversized recliner; giggling while he halfheartedly
lectured me for some forgotten misdeed; running down the
long, narrow aisle in his sporting–goods store and
being gathered into his arms and swung up in the air.
I also remember the day I rushed out of school to
find Mom waiting for me, even though I was old enough to
walk home by myself. Her eyes were red. I knew she'd been
crying. Daddy had been taken to the hospital—he'd had
a heart attack. There were endless days of waiting before,
finally, the really bad news.
He'd always be Daddy in my heart, though I was
about to have a new father. Stepfather, that is. It would
certainly take getting used to, having a dad after all
these years. Especially since Mr. Nelsen—I mean
Bill—was the head of the English Department at my
high school. I'd have to wait until my junior year to have
him for a teacher, since he taught upper–level
classes, but in less than twenty–four hours I'd have
him for a parent. He seemed nice enough, despite his
reputation at school for being strict, so I didn't
anticipate any problems.
Getting used to living with Pres would be another
matter. Seeing him first thing in the morning, at meals,
evenings, weekends—always. I'd have to monitor my
heart rate.
"Rebecca!" Mom called up the stairs. "Are you
ready? Bill just pulled into the driveway."
"Be right down, Mom." I smoothed my hair and
splashed on a few drops of lilac cologne. I took a deep
breath and slowly descended the stairs.
Pres stood in the front hallway. I smiled my
brightest smile, preparing myself for the evening ahead,
for the opportunity to achieve one of my major goals. At
dinner I would get up the nerve to actually get into a
deep, meaningful conversation with Pres.