Page 47 of Adorkable

“Yes, but that was before…”she stuttered, searching for the right word. “Well,before.”

“I don’t see the difference.”

I gaped at him. Oh boy, he was just asking for it.

“You’re asking for it,” Mrs. Kent echoed my thoughts exactly. “Baldwin Eugene Charles Kent, what do you have to say for yourself?”

In the face of his mother’s accusing tone, Becks shrugged. “Sal and I have been friends a long time. It’s only natural for us to want to take it to the next level. I thought you’d be happy for us, Mom. Sal’s like a daughter to you, and here you are embarrassing her, trying to make her feel bad. To be completely honest, I’m a little disappointed in you.”

She blinked.

I waited.

Becks sat back and watched his Mom absorb everything, a faint look of disapproval on his face.

The guy was unbelievable. Mrs. Kent would never buy it.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. Her face fell as she looked at me. “I adore you Sally, I do. It’s just finding you and Becks in his room…it took me by surprise.”

“Totally understandable,” I said.

“But I am so happy,” she said, a smile forming, “over the moon, really, that you and Becks are finally together. I didn’t mean to embarrass you, honey. I was trying to embarrass my son, but apparently he inherited his father’s shamelessness.”

“Talking about me again, dear?” Mr. Kent stepped into the room and dropped a kiss on his wife’s head. Clayton had more of his dad in him than his mom, but Becks was a perfect marriage of the two. As Mr. Kent looked at us, I saw a matching set of Becks’s eyes looking back at me. “Hi, Sally. I miss anything good?”

“Just Becks and his new girlfriend getting better acquainted in his bedroom,” Mrs. Kent said, which finally—finally—made Becks blush. I’d been red as I could be since before she’d discovered us, so her comment really had no effect on my coloring.

“Really?” Mr. Kent was all smiles. “Well, isn’t that something.” Mrs. Kent shot him a look, and he quickly amended, “I mean, Becks how dare you take our innocent Sally here up to your room. Do we need to have a talk about the correct way to treat a lady?”

Mrs. Kent nodded her approval, but said, “That won’t be necessary. The three of us already talked, and there will be no more hanging out in Becks’s room with the door closed. Isn’t that right you two?”

Becks and I nodded.

Guess this would be the end of our lessons. Too bad, I was looking forward to what lesson three might be.

As I was leaving, Mrs. Kent made sure to invite me and my mom to the Kent Family Cookout. It was late October; the last game of normal season play would be this week before they announced the area/region qualifiers. Chariot was sure to make the sectionals, and it was the perfect time to bring the family together, a two birds situation. They all got to eat great food and see Becks play (and most likely win).

I said I would come—what else could I do? Having three Kents, two with Becks’s persuasive eyes, staring back at me I couldn’t say no, didn’t want to.

But when Monday rolled around, I was rethinking my answer.

Again.

I’d changed my mind and changed it back too many times to count. The smart thing would be not to go. There’d be too many people, my mom, the Kents, Becks’s brothers. They knew me and Becks better than anyone. The cookout was a minefield. One slip, that’s all it would take. Mom had yet to see us together after the big announcement, and though Becks’s parents were on board now, none of them had watched the two of us together for any length of time. The odds of discovery had never been higher.

School was out today because of a state-wide teacher’s conference, so I couldn’t use German Club or having to stay after as my excuse to avoid the cookout. The library was closed for electrical repairs. My options weren’t looking good.

Cleaning the gutters was supposed to help clear my head. There were layers and layers of build up. I didn’t think they’d been cleaned once the entire twelve years we’d owned the place. Mom hadn’t done it. We hadn’t hired anyone. I sure as heck hadn’t climbed my butt up here to do it. But today, with the cookout fast approaching and no way out in sight, I’d needed something. The ladder I was using was a rusted out old heap that came with the house. I’d been at it nearly two hours; my mind was supposed to be a million miles away. The dirt and grime, the dead leaves, the pure grossness of the task should’ve diverted my attention...but it didn’t.

“Crap,” I said, suddenly dislodging a huge clump of gunk, “there’s nothing I can do.”

“Hey!”

The exclamation caught me by surprise, and I lost my footing. My arms were what saved me. They shot out completely on reflex, latched on to one of the gutters and didn’t let go. The ladder was long gone, laying somewhere in the grass below. The oversize workman’s gloves didn’t help me now. It was next to impossible to get a good grip.

“A little warning next time would be nice, Sal.”

Without looking I knew that voice.

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