Page 7 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“Thank you, Dulce. It’s very nice of you.”

I smile, surprised he didn’t laugh or roll down the window to throw them out. He called me by my name, not “Betty Cocker” or any of those stupid names they call me at school.

The rain slows to a drizzle. A heavy weight sits on my chest with each passing second as I look out the dark tinted window and know this is the closest I’ll ever get to Ford.

“I guess it’s time for me to go.”

He looks out the windshield and nods. “Yeah.” He holds up the bag of cookies. “Thanks for the cookies.”

“The number is on the bag if you want to get some more.” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks like a wave from my neck to my face.

He looks at the sticker. “Good to know.”

“Bye, Ford,” I whisper.

He looks up, and I’m trapped in his blue gaze. “Bye, Dulce.”

I pull the door handle.

“Wait!”

I let go. Ford jumps out of the car, walks quickly to my side, and opens my door.

My stomach flips when he holds the door so I can get out. I'm glad that the rain has ebbed almost completely. He is so tall that my forehead only reaches his chin, and I have to bend my neck to look up at him.

When I smile to thank him, the moment is ruined when a white sports car pulls up next to Ford’s car, and the window rolls down. “I thought it was you,” Chris calls out.

Ford turns, shuts the door, and looks over. “What’s up, man?”

The passenger door to Chris’s car opens, and my heart sinks when Trent gets out. Leaning over the car's roof, he looks directly at me and says, “I guess we know why he didn’t make it.”

“I was busy,” Ford replies.

“I can tell,” Trent mocks. Trent points at the bag of cookies in Ford’s hand. “Can we have some?”

Ford glances at me and then at Trent. “These are mine, pussy.”

Trent shakes his head. “Damn, it’s like that, Ford? I thought you were too good to be slumming it.”

“Go fuck yourself, Trent,” Ford warns. He’s half joking, but I’m not so sure. I’m confused that he is defending me for the second time today.

“Ahh, the hero,” Trent mocks.

“Hey, are we going or what?” Chris snaps impatiently.

The rain comes down harder, reminding me of Mary and my grandmother.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say softly before walking away, knowing there is no way Ford would ask me out to prom. I have to accept the truth like a dead weight pulling me down. Not everyone gets their wishes granted.

3

FORD

The private plane touches down at the small airport in Mooresville. I have been traveling in the air for thirteen hours.

I grab my bag. The rental car is already parked on the tarmac when I get off. A black convertible Porsche 911. Derek wouldn’t rent me anything else so as not to upset my sponsors.

After driving for about an hour, my phone rings through the speakers as the Bluetooth picks up, and I see it’s Trent. He is the only one I’ve kept in touch with after I decided to leave Airy after my fallout with Chris.

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