Page 70 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“I am sure many of you have had the pleasure of this person correcting your presentation, politely after class, of course,” the host says, garnering a round of laughter from the room.

I smile to myself, thinking how Rachel and I talked about this very idea weeks ago. Of course she corrects them discreetly. It’s part of the built-in respect she automatically gives people. Only the first of many qualities I fell for.

“And how could we forget the great D’Amato Hall fire,” he adds, this time the laughter lingering and loud.

Hall fire? I make a mental note to ask more about this one.

Another full minute passes filled with quotes about Rachel’s work, the headway she’s made in her special lab studies, and her goals for finding solutions to help the business world make better use of science.

“Please join me in congratulating this year’s student of the year, Rachel Edwards,” he says. She rises, her hands on her cheeks to cover the pink color that always crawls up to her ears when she’s under the spotlight.

Claire shifts her chair and stands to hug her, and I’m glad she’s not alone. Though I wish I were a little earlier. I envy that hug.

Her tall, curvy frame navigates through the tables, the black dress swaying around her feet. She kicks part of it ahead of her with every step, and takes the presenter’s hand as she climbs the few stairs that lead to the podium. She holds the award, a slender test tube set in gold and mounted on a wood base, then kisses it like they do in the tennis majors. This garners a good laugh from the crowd. She thinks she’s a wallflower, but she can work a room.

Setting the award to the side, she adjusts the mic and leans forward, uttering, “Hello.”

Hello.

I drop one hand in my jacket pocket and hold the small gift bag in the other, looking on as she delivers the speech she practiced with me all night. It’s short, but it covers all the important pieces, thanking her mentor and the dean, as well as throwing a bone to the potential grad programs she would like to attend.

When she’s done, she steps back from the mic, the spotlight clearing from her eyes just enough. I clap louder than anyone in the room, and her eyes find me.

“Hi,” she mouths.

“Hi,” I say aloud. Nobody is near me.

She shakes the cursory hands and makes her way back down the steps as I rush toward her table so I’m there to pull out her chair. Since hers was the last award of the night, it takes her a few minutes to maneuver her way back, and I ask Claire for the rundown of everything I missed.

“Well, there was the whole putting Stella and Dalton in their places thing. That was?—”

“Oh, please don’t say violent,” I joke. But really? I don’t put it past Rachel to go a little nuts. The more we talked about it, the more I understood just how much not getting the scholarship hurt.

“It went better than I hoped it would. I found out they were coming and that’s why I showed up,” she says.

I give her a one-armed hug, and she glares at me with dagger eyes.

“Sorry,” I say, coughing and reminding myself to never broach her personal space again.

A bit of commotion stirs on the opposite end of the room, so I nod toward the growing group.

“Oh, yeah. About that,” Claire begins, her mouth seesawing for a beat before she explains. “There’s sort of this underground gambling thing going on, and well . . . you’re the frontrunner.”

I chuckle, shaking my head and utter, “What?”

“You know how you guys do that bet thing?”

My head falls back with instant understanding.

“Ah, yes. The pool.” My voice goes deep to show how ominous and important this tradition is. I guess it’s no worse than what we do freshmen year. And it’s way more lucrative. I’m about to dismiss it when the other part of Claire’s explanation strikes something in my head.

“Wait, frontrunner?”

“Yeah,” she sighs out. “And that’s the other reason I showed up. Don’t be mad at Rachel. She didn’t enter. But I maybe sort of entered for her?”

Her mouth contorts into a quick and very guilty grin.

I hold her gaze for a few seconds, waiting for her to take it back with a psych! She doesn’t.

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