Page 6 of Someone to Have
“Ah, yes.” Avah raises a brow. “Skylark’s Got Talent. How original.”
I nod. “Bryan came up with that name.”
Her return nod is exaggerated. “I’m being sarcastic.”
Molly clears her throat and levels a shut-your-pie-hole glare at Avah. It’s a familiar routine with the two of them, Molly softening Avah’s sharp edges. “You also wanted to be involved in the talent show for a chance to spend time with him, right?”
My crush on Bryan Connor is well known to my friends, but thankfully not to my family or anyone at the high school. Bryan has no idea. As far as he’s concerned, we’re friendly work colleagues who both have a thing for BBC America. Relationships have started from less, but we need more.
Every time I’m around him, my debilitating shyness—which has plagued me since childhood—takes over, and I can barely speak. Honestly, I don’t know how I moved past it so quickly tonight with Eric Anderson.
Maybe it’s because he’s a friend of my brother’s or so far out of my league, it’s like he’s balancing the Stanley Cup on hisbroad shoulders while I’m barely able to keep up in the peewee league.
“What happened?” Avah asks. While I wouldn’t call her tone gentle, it doesn’t have its usual bite. It must be bad if she’s going easy on me.
“One of the freshmen was sucking on a peppermint.”
They offer similar looks of confusion, and I let out a sigh. How can I expect them to understand how I let something so insignificant derail me?
“Back in the day, I was assigned two solo lines in the third grade class play. My mom gave me a peppermint on the way to school because I had an upset stomach. It was nerves, and I tried to convince her to let me stay home. She always let Toby miss school if he said he needed to rest before a hockey game.”
“So you had a peppermint in third grade, and a kid had a peppermint at the high school.” Molly makes circles with her thumb and pointer fingers like two invisible mints in the air. “Those relate...how?”
“By the time I walked on stage for my big debut, I was so nervous that I threw upandpeed my pants. I puked all over the first row of the auditorium, right where the principal was sitting. It smelled weirdly like a peppermint, those red and white kind. The kid’s breath at the high school brought me right back there.”
“Is that why your family calls you Tink?” Avah smacks her palm on the table, and a few random label bits go flying. “Because you tinkled on stage?”
“No. Also, not the point. The point is I freaked out at the rehearsal and bolted. I was a total coward in front of everyone. In front of Bryan. I went home, baked cookies, and binge-watched the latest season of the Real Housewives.”
“Which Housewives?’ Molly asks like that makes a difference.
“Salt Lake City.”
“Good choice for delusion and drama.” Avah shakes her head. “But, girl, that sucks.”
“I suck,” I counter as I squeeze shut my eyes then force myself to open them again. “I texted Bryan later and made up an excuse about being sick. I told him to find someone else to emcee. It’s stupid. I practiced. I had notes to guide me. Then one whiff of mint, and I’m eight years old again, covered in vomit and humiliation. I can’t tell Sloane the story of my bucket list failure. Me being pathetic won’t bring a smile to her face.”
Avah cocks her head. “The part about puking and tinkling at the same time might. It’s kind of adorable,Tink.”
“Donotcall me Tink. You know I hate that nickname.”
“We need to come up with something else to help you.” Molly looks out toward the crowded bar. “Iris had luck with karaoke night here. You have a gorgeous voice and?—”
“I know what I want to try.” I roll my lips together because I didnotintend to say that bit out loud. “It isn’t karaoke night at Tony’s, but I’m not ready to share.”
They both lean forward. “Share anyway,” Avah says.
For one brief moment, I think about holding my ground, but cave as always. “Bryan isn’t just an English teacher. He’s also involved in Skylark’s community theater. Kind of a Renaissance man, you know?”
“Short like they were back then, too,” Avah teases.
“He’s not short,” I argue. “If I wear flats, we’re almost the same height.”
“Stop distracting her.” Molly puts a hand on Avah’s arm. “Keep going, Taylor.”
“He’s directing the winter play.” I swallow back the wispy tendrils of panic that curl around my chest and announce, “I’m thinking about trying out.”
There’s a commotion on the other side of the bar, and I look over to see my idiot brother and his friends lined up with a shotski—four shot glasses attached to an old ski that allows multiple people to do a shot at the same time. Eric isn’t one of them, but I’m sure he’s part of the so-called fun.
