Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“Not the girls,” I say, realizing she thinks I was going to stop the group doing the choreography. “The boys.” I narrow my eyes, glaring their way, and one of the boys startles hard when I catch his eye.
Riley laughs. “They’re fine too. Some people dance, some people watch. No different than a club or party or gala. You’ve been to those, right? Maybe twirled around the floor?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer, immediately saying, “Didn’t think so.”
She’s wrong. I’ve danced at many a party and quite a few galas. Mom made sure all of us could, going so far as forcing us to take lessons for a little while. It was an expectation, and we all met it. Instead of telling Riley that, I press my lips together tighter so I don’t ask her to dance simply to prove that I can.
Because holding Riley in my arms is a slippery slope into dangerous territory, and stupidly, it’s also something I desperately want. I know it’s completely illogical and makes less than zero sense, but Riley has awakened something inside me that I thought was long dead. Something I want—wanted?—to stay dead.
“Fix your face,” Riley orders, her tone teasing. “You’re scaring the kids.”
With a start, I realize I’m downright scowling. I swallow harshly and slowly force my lips to turn up into something that likely resembles a manic grimace more than an actual smile. “How’s that?” I ask.
Riley laughs quietly, amused. “Awful, but at least you tried.” Her brutal honesty does bring an actual smile to my face, and she returns it with a supportive nod. “There you go.” With a happy sigh, she looks around the room, and I follow her lead, feeling slightly less violent.
“I spy, with my little eye, something… orange.”
Confused, I ask dumbly, “What?” Though she doesn’t look at me, even in her profile, I can see the hint of mischief on her face. It takes a second, but I realize what she’s doing. She’s distracting me, entertaining me, and giving me something to focus on other than the people around us. There’s just one problem—nearly everything in this room is orange because it’s the Fall Ball. “The leaves?”
“Nope, try again.”
“Pumpkin?”
“Which one?”
“Seriously? There’s like fifty of them. Is it a pumpkin or not?”
She shakes her head, her pink hair swishing back and forth, and grins even wider. Probably because I’m going along with the game and because she’s stumped me, but I’m a competitive guy and I’ll figure out what specific orange thing she has in mind, sooner or later. “The punch? The cookies? That guy’s tie?”
“No, no, and no way,” she informs me gleefully. “Keep trying.”
It ends up being the twinkle lights on the DJ’s stand, but she’s done something impossible once again. She’s made standing here like statues… fun.
“Do you think Grace is okay?” I ask after a few rounds of the game. While I’ve been looking for things that are orange (the lights), twisty (the arch of bentwood branches), and then round (the basketball hoop that’s pressed up against the school gym’s ceiling), I’ve kept one eye on Grace. She’s hanging out with Bella and Trinity, dancing and snacking and chatting, and thankfully, Hannah is nowhere in sight.
Admittedly, I was hoping to see Amelia so I could have a little conversation about what’s been happening right under our noses with our daughters, but she doesn’t seem to be here. Though Hannah is. I’ve had to hold back my fiercest snarl and restrain myself from having a fatherly talk with her about her recent behavior.
“She’s great. Look at her,” Riley answers, pointing at Grace.
My daughter is dancing happily, her velvet bows bouncing in time to her movements, with a bright smile on her face. I watch as she leans in, listening to Bella say something in her ear, and she nods. As a group, the three girls move in unison toward the punch table. She is doing great, and we have Riley to thank for that.
“Thank you,” I say, not intending to speak the words aloud.
Turning surprised eyes to me, Riley asks, “For what?”
“For…” Helping Grace. Saving me. Being who you are. I’m not sure what to say, so I summarize it all into one word. “Everything.”
“It’s my pleasure. I love Grace.” She swallows quickly, and I wonder what else she was about to say.
“Riley, about this week… I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole. I’ve been thinking a lot and—”
“Oh, my gosh, Dad! You’ll never believe what I just overheard!” Grace exclaims, coming up and interrupting me. “Ms. Flanders told Mrs. Vanderlicker that she’s going to dance with you for the Chaperone Dance.”
I have no idea what Grace is talking about, or who Ms. Flanders is, but given the look of horror on my daughter’s face, it’s someone I definitely don’t want to dance with.