“I wasn’t. You hate pranks.”
“I do.”
“Why do you?”
Obviously, he had no idea. I had to disabuse him of his false notion. “Angelica wasn’t born with a disability. She was injured when someone played a prank on her.”
“What are you talking about?” Jeremy exhaled, clearly disbelieving my statement. “She could never walk. Not for as long as I knew her.”
“You moved here when you and I were in the sixth grade, Jeremy. It happened a long time before that.”
He just blinked, so I went on, “She was ten, and I was five. She was taking gymnastics at the old gym, Tumbleweeds, and someone thought it would be really funny to slather the balance beam with vegetable shortening, make it slick, to see someone biff it. Well, Angelica did. She fell hard, causing more than a simple break. It turned out her bones were brittle. The fall broke her femur, her hip, and her pelvis in five places. She spent six months in a wheelchair, and another year learning to walk again.”
“I never knew.”
“You couldn’t have known.” I explained how Mom and Dad had asked the community not to talk about it but just to cheer her on. There had been rallies, fundraisers, a parade in her honor. Everyone had been her cheerleaders, the whole town.
Jeremy sighed. “No wonder you hate pranks.”
“I am sorry I wildly misinterpreted your intentions that day.” I couldn’t have known that he didn’t know about Angelica’s accident. “It just seemed …”
“Seemed like everyone should be celebrating Angelica.”
“Well, to be fair, it was her wedding.”
He heaved a sigh. “That’s a reasonable point.” Now, he broke into a smile. “You’re right that I was a goof. But most of the time, it was only around you.”
“I didn’t really know you, Jeremy.” Not the guy he’d been as a kid, nor the guy he’d become as an adult—thanks to the healing powers of Pepsi, apparently. Floods of attraction washed through me for him. There was a lot more to Jeremy Hotston than I’d ever begun to give him credit for. “I’m sorry about that most of all.”
“I think if you did, you’d like me.” He stood up and touched my hand. “I’m a decent guy.”
“That much I’m certain of.” I trembled at his touch. I didn’t know him, but I was aching to change that. I was falling for him, and he must have seen it in my eyes.
In an instant, Jeremy’s cuffed hand was beneath my chin, lifting it, and his lips were on mine. A soft kiss, a tender half-second. Not nearly long enough to jar any memories loose. “Send me a message next time you want to see me.”
Could I send it five seconds after he left? All the messages we’d shared before sparkled like diamonds intricately cut and catching the light.
He touched my shoulder and slid his hand down my arm, stopping at my fingers, which he pressed. “Thank you for dinner.”
And he was gone.