Page 126 of Mr. Picture Perfect
It’s ridiculous to think that it could possibly have been Cole all those times. The notion never even crossed my mind. Not once.
“No,” I decided, muffled by my pillow. “It wasn’t Cole. It was the snack bar lady herself. She took pity on me. That’s it. Now stop remembering these things and put it all behind you,” I instructed myself, then shut my eyes.
Ten seconds later, they snapped back open as I remembered my birthday junior year. I was certain everyone had forgotten it—only to open my locker after my last class of the day and discover a note falling out of it. I picked it up. “Happy Birthday, Noah!” it read, with tons of different-colored happy face stickers covering it. I thought it was the sweet and thoughtful girl with curly hair whose locker was near mine, but she knew nothing about it.
Could that have been—? “No,” I mumbled to myself, shutting up the mere idea. “That wasn’t him either.”
But each time I said it out loud, I believed it less.
Because I also remembered another time when I missed a day of school, then found notes stuffed in my locker from my classes.
And another time when I thought I left a notebook behind in my Spanish class, only to find it returned to my locker somehow.
Another time when I forgot my umbrella on a rainy day, then discovered one hooked to my locker after PE.
Another time when I fell asleep in the library studying, only to wake up with a mystery blanket gently placed over my back.
And another time when I …
And another when …
And also …
I pulled my pillow over my face. It couldn’t be true. Yet over and over my mind raced, and like a stack of folders on a desk in my mind, the memories tipped over and made a mess everywhere. Every unanswered question. Every seeming coincidence. All of my so-called strokes of luck and last-minute saves.
Could it really be true? Could he be the sole piece that solved every single unfinished puzzle in my childhood memory?
A perfect friend I never knew was there. A perfect companion.
My guardian angel watching over me.
It was you, Cole … It was you all along.
“We’ve got to go,” I told my parents.
They were in the middle of peacefully eating dinner. “What?” asked my mom calmly. “Go where?” asked my similarly calm dad, a bite of spaghetti perfectly coiled around his fork. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I’m awake now.” I turned to my mom and gave her a pointed look. “Wide awake.”
She seemed to sense the change in me. At once, she dropped her fork and stood up. “Get ready, Noah. Quickly. Elmer, put away the food and grab the keys. We’ve got an event to attend.”
He peered at each of us, clueless, blinking.
He was still blinking cluelessly as he drove us there. My mom kept urging him to go faster, but the country roads leading to the McPhersons’ were not well-lit, and the sun had long since fallen. “Better we get there in one piece than no piece at all,” said my dad as he steered the way—though he did begin to drive faster.
By the time we arrived at the pavilion, the event was already well underway. The ticket guy, however, became an unplanned obstacle. He stood there and insisted that it didn’t matter who I claimed I was—a newspaper guy, friend of one of the bachelors, or Superman. Without a ticket to the event, I would not be allowed inside. And besides, they were sold out and already turned away a dozen others on account of “complying with fire codes”. I pleaded with him for all of three minutes (which is an unforgivably long time when you’re in a hurry, by the way) before someone took notice of the situation: TJ himself. He strolled up to the entrance, apologized for the confusion, showed the ticket guy something on his phone, then brought me and my parents straight through.
“Goodness, I think Cole was a hair away from sending a search party out for you yesterday,” he teased as we made our way in. I thanked him graciously, and he said, “Hey, you and your parents can sit at my table. It’s in the middle, close-up, great view. My own parents aren’t even using their seats, busy backstage or mingling, I can’t keep up. Nadine was around here too someplace, but since Malcolm’s at home sick, she’s been running around with this sort of plastic, crazed smile on her face. I think she’s trying to assure everyone everything is running perfectly, despite all the mess-ups so far. Hey, don’t worry,” he said when I made a face. “It’s all still good. Cole’s in one piece. That’s all that matters, right?” He let out a chuckle. “So are you here to do what I think you’re here to do?”
I was so consumed by my nerves, I couldn’t even answer.
My eyes were glued to the stage as I wound through the tables and took my seat next to TJ. I felt like I was holding my breath. I recognized that they were in the middle of the interview section where the bachelors answered questions that Frankie asked them.
I arrived just in time.
Cole was next.
“So tell me,” said Frankie as he came up next to Cole and placed a hand cheerfully on his shoulder. “Our lovely Mr. Picture Perfect. My question for you is a rather simple one. Tell me, what does ‘perfection’ mean to you?”
