Rebel and Soul Read online

  As we pass CU’s pink sandstone buildings, Maddie turns to me. “I’m glad you stopped by. I have exciting news to share.”

  “Yeah?” She’s happy I came over? I press my lips together to keep my grin from embarrassing me.

  “I signed up for Journalism yesterday.” She smiles, one of her rare, real smiles, not the pretend ones most people see.

  “They let you sign up so late in the semester?”

  “I made the switch on the last possible day. Wednesday was the cut-off.” Her voice drops a bit. “I had to drop Social Psych, but I don’t miss the lectures on social experiments at all. If I heard any more lectures about Milgram, I was going to scream.”

  “Have you told your father?” I glance at her. Signing up for a class she really wants to take is a huge step. Telling her father about her decision is more like jogging up an entire staircase.

  She stares at the silvery-gray mountains that circle Boulder. After a few minutes, she says, “He doesn’t really need to know about the switch. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to write an article—”

  I gently turn her to face me. “From what I’ve heard, you excel at everything you try. If you can master the things you don’t even care about, then you’re going to blow the newspaper folks away.”

  “Thanks, but…” She bites her lip. “What if I want this too much? Excelling at things I don’t care about seems easier than being successful with something I want so much. What if I fail? What if nobody will even publish my articles? That’s going to hurt so much worse.”

  “Just keep writing.” I wish I could hook Maddie up to a mental IV and infuse her with self-confidence. Her father really did a number on her, breaking down her self-esteem so much that she can barely make a decision for herself. If that’s not abuse…

  She takes my hand. “Let’s just focus on our other classes. I have French translations due tomorrow and a history paper due next week.”

  We’re nearing my dorm. I’ve never taken Maddie to my place before. Since I’m an upperclassman, I’m sure she imagines I have my own apartment or share one of the houses along the outskirts of campus. I should warn her.

  “Are you keeping our destination a secret on purpose?” She squeezes my hand gently.

  “Listen, Maddie…”

  “You are keeping a secret!” She glances at me curiously. “Time to confess.”

  This is going to be an embarrassing conversation. “I know you’re used to dating guys with a little more money—”

  “Which I care nothing about.”

  “I have a full scholarship,” I say. “It covers tuition, living expenses, and my… dorm.”

  She moves away from me and places both hands on her hips. “Are you actually embarrassed about living in a dorm?”

  I could care less where I live, but I worry about how she’ll take it. “Most seniors live off campus. I can’t turn away free housing, though.”

  “Do I really come across as such a snob?” She sounds hurt.

  “No, but we haven’t really talked about school stuff much.”

  “You’re right.” She stops again. “I don’t even know your major.”

  “Pre-law.” I tell her more about my classes as we finish the walk to my dorm.

  “I’m surprised you find time for the trees. Your study load must be incredibly difficult.”

  As I guide her through my dorm and into my room, I focus on calming. If I really am going to make a case for regular study sessions, we’ll have to get productive. I’m going to have trouble focusing on academics when Maddie’s sitting in my dorm room.

  “We might need to study every evening for the next seven days,” I add, “so I don’t fall behind.”

  “Why seven days?” she asks. “That seems rather particular.”

  “On the eighth day, we transform into fairytale characters for the grand ball.” I offer a pretend bow.

  “Ugh. I think I blocked that benefit dinner from my mind.” She opens her French book. “Don’t remind me.”

  While she’s dreading our next challenge, oddly enough, I’m looking forward to it—so much that I found I wasted a complete hour thinking about next weekend, our first real date.

  Maddie

  AS THE doorbell rings, I glance in the mirror and apply a final layer of lipstick—raspberry, just a few hues darker than my dress. I slip on my silver open-toed heels and grab the matching silver clutch before heading down to the door.

  My hand hovers over the knob. Tonight could be disastrous. What I’m thinking? Soul will never fit in. These charity dinners draw some of the country club’s wealthiest, most pretentious members. Even I have trouble making it through an evening sometimes.

  My father might not talk to me for the next year, and he will definitely lecture me about the damages I’ve done to the family’s reputation. Attending the benefit dinner with Soul probably isn’t my smartest idea, but I couldn’t resist seeing him again.

  When I finally gather the courage to open the door, I can’t hide my gasp. Soul leans against the door frame, wearing a button-down dress shirt, a black suit and vest, and a classy bowtie. Most of the men will be wearing tuxedos, but his outfit is passable.

  “Wow,” I say, before my internal filter kicks in.

  “Wow, yourself.” Soul’s gaze lingers on the snug bodice of my dress then drops to the silky layers that extend from my waist to the floor.

  Daddy sent over the dress last week. His peace offerings typically come with designer names and expensive price tags. The dress is gorgeous, but like most of his presents, it’s definitely over-the-top. I’m self-conscious about Sage’s reaction to this obvious display of excess.

  “You look beautiful, Maddie.” Sage winks. “Although I will always have a fondness for cherry-red, pine-scented sundresses.”

  “Wait, where’s your eyebrow ring?” Only two small holes mar his eyebrow. His lip ring is also gone. “You took out all your piercings? Are you trying to impress my father?”

  “Of course not.” Soul doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m just willing to take exceptional steps to win our game.”

  “So you’re super competitive?” I don’t buy it. He squirms as I study his neatly slicked-back hair.

  “Uh huh. Anything to win.” He turns around so I can’t see his face. “Ready? It will take us nearly an hour to get to Denver.”

  Soul stares out at the parking area as I lock up. I take advantage of his distraction and watch him for a moment. He looks incredible. He always looks good, even in his ratty old jeans and quote-filled T-shirts, but tonight, he’ll turn every woman’s eye at the benefit.

  “Lost in your thoughts?” He tucks a strand of hair that has escaped my french twist behind my ear. His gentle touch sears me.

  The tingles running down my neck linger even after his touch is gone. Seeing Soul dressed up, ready to stroll into my world, has unhinged me. Since meeting him, I never allowed myself to take my growing attraction seriously. His world and mine are so far apart, they might as well be different planets.

  But seeing him now, my hope takes flight. Maybe, just maybe, we could make a go of this. Maybe Soul and I aren’t doomed to casual flirtation.

  “Maddie?” He strokes my bare shoulder then runs his hand down my arm.

  My skin rises into goose bumps under his gentle touch. “Do you know what I like most about you?”

  He takes my hand and leads me to his car. “What?”

  “You never fail to surprise me.” The adventures that have marked my life since meeting Soul are incomparable to the boring, predictability of my relationship with Andrew.

  I don’t want boring or predictable anymore. I want a partner who will encourage me to follow my dreams and help me reach new heights. But I’m not ready to push away my parents and old friends. Could Soul possibly fit into my world?

  “I surprise you? Oh, you finally noticed my shoes.” He lifts the legs of his dress pants to reveal black, high-top Converses.

  All of my anxiety about the ev
ening comes rushing back.

  Soul

  MADDIE’S STILL talking about the damn shoes when we reach the outskirts of Denver. “I can’t believe you wore sneakers.”

  “Not any old sneakers. Converses.” I raise up my left leg and wiggle it just above the seat. “These shoes are about as name-brand as I get.”

  She glances at the time. “Do you think we have time to stop? I can pay for new shoes.”

  I hate how much energy she’s putting into something as insignificant as shoes. “If I wanted new shoes, I could afford them. I want to wear the Converses.”

  “You’re going to totally lose this challenge.”

  She must be desperate. How could a stupid pair of shoes create so much anxiety? “They’re like a statement. A fingers-up to ‘the man’ for making me wear the rest of this monkey suit tonight.”

  “Can’t you make your statement on a day when you’re not meeting my father?” She twirls the escaped lock of hair over and over again. Her anxiety’s going to be more effective than a curling iron by the time we reach the country club.

  I reach over and link her finger in mine. “Okay. Here’s the deal. All the dress shoes I could find were made of leather.”

  “Of course—”

  “Leather isn’t vegetarian. I don’t believe in cruelty, especially for fashion’s sake.”

  She sighs. “I’m sorry. Seeing my father always puts me on edge.”

  “That’s an understatement,” I mutter.

  “Here’s the thing. This isn’t just a game to me anymore.” She weaves her fingers with mine. “I like you. Really like you.”

  Just like that, she raises the stakes of the whole benefit. I could care less about the shoes, but if I screw tonight up, I will never have another chance with her. She wouldn’t give up her family for a guy.

  I wouldn’t mess up my relationship with my sister for any reason. After losing my parents, the importance of family became all too real.

  “Drive up to the front of the country club.” Maddie points to a covered archway. “The valet will park your car.”

  “Why can’t we walk? It’s a warm evening for being only April.” The parking lot is within walking distance of the club. Besides, I’m not really cool with treating others like servants. I would be more comfortable parking the cars than handing over my keys.

  She watches the club’s entrance as if her father might emerge at any time. “That’s not really how it’s done for these events. Anyway, I don’t have walking shoes on. These heels kill my feet.”

  “See—you should have worn your Converses, too!” My attempt to joke falls flat.

  Maddie lets out an exasperated sigh. Her anxiety-ridden behaviors increased the moment the club came into sight. She alternates between rubbing her perfectly manicured nails and twirling that stray strand of hair.

  “Do you always get this nervous before seeing your dad?” I ask quietly. “Or do I get all the credit for your sky-rocketing anxiety?”

  She glances down at her nails then over at me. “I used to bite them. Daddy hated that habit, and he did anything he could think of to break it. Hot sauce, dipping them in bitter coatings—”

  “Why would he even care?” I’m going to have trouble being civil to the controlling jerk.

  “He said biting my nails was unseemly and was a sign of a lack of confidence.” She sighs. “My life coach—”

  “Life coach?” She has to be kidding. Who has a life coach?

  “I know, I know. Ridiculous, huh? Anyway, my coach suggested I replace the biting with rubbing.” She stares out the window as our car inches forward in the valet line. “The only time I ever mess with my nails anymore is when I’m around my father. Isn’t that weird?”

  I’m too sad to respond. Maddie has so much going for her—she’s smart, funny, and super hot—but she doesn’t even notice. Her father’s perfectionism and unrealistic expectations have totally messed with her confidence.

  Since the car’s barely moving, I reach over and take her hand. “Tonight’s going to go great. I will be on my best behavior.”

  “Promise?”

  She could have asked me to promise so many things. It kills me that the first thing she asks of me is to pretend to be a different person. I don’t want to be the douche that makes her worry more, though. “I promise.”

  Maddie

  ONE BELLMAN opens the door as another takes my wrap. I’ve been attending these society events since I turned sixteen, but I’ve never been so aware of the pretentiousness of the club. The moment we step into the ballroom, the long stares and whispered gossip are impossible to ignore.

  When did the home of my childhood tennis lessons and debutante ball transition from feeling like a second home to a foreign country? When I camped in the tree. When I started to get interested in real issues. When I met Soul, who is as genuine and real as they come.

  Soul walks stiffly by my side. He must be just as aware of the curious stares as I am.

  “Madison, dear.” Old Mrs. Eckerly grabs my elbow. “We must catch up. Come and walk with me.”

  She must find out the latest gossip, she means.

  “Maybe later.” I glance around the room. “I should say hello to my parents first.”

  My father appears on my other side. “Nobody can say my daughter’s not dutiful.”

  “Daddy!” I give him a brief hug. “I would like to introduce you to—”

  “Solomon Prescott, sir.” Soul extends his hand.

  Solomon? I stifle a giggle then allow myself to relax. Maybe Soul can actually pull this off.

  “A Prescott, you say?” Mrs. Eckerly straightens her double strand of pearls. The pearls are the same hue as her white curls and just a few shades lighter than the soft lavender of her gown. “You’re not Stephen’s son, are you?”

  Soul freezes. From the shocked look on his face, he is definitely Stephen’s son, whoever he might be.

  My father looks unhinged, too. Clearly, Mrs. Eckerly, the club’s biggest gossip, knows more about my date than my father does. “Madison, why don’t you take that walk with Mrs. Eckerly while I have a heart-to-heart with Solomon?”

  Leaving Soul alone with my father is a terrible idea, but he’s left me no choice. I try to convey my apologies to Soul as I take Mrs. Eckerly’s elbow. Then I give him another glance, trying to warn him to be careful.

  As soon as we’re out of Soul’s earshot, she says, “Poor boy. What a tragedy.”

  This is the danger of Mrs. Eckerly. How do I not ask after she casually utters teasers like that? At the same time, she’ll be fishing for more information during our entire conversation. I choose to keep walking, for now.

  “Stephen’s family were members of the club for decades. I watched that boy grow up.” She can’t keep the information in. She’s going to tell her story, first to me, then to anyone else at the benefit who will listen.

  Damage control. My father’s training kicks in. I need to find out what she knows, so we know best how to manage that information.

  “Oh, really?” I say casually.

  “Stephen was an only child. I think Mrs. Prescott had some ‘womanly’ troubles, if you know what I mean.” Mrs. Eckerly slowly makes her way to the padded seats that line the room. “She made sure her only son had every opportunity, but she lost him anyway.”

  “Lost him?”

  “First, he got married to one of those girls who wove flowers in her hair.” Mrs. Eckerly cups her hand to her mouth and whispers, “A hippie.”

  She glances at me, and I nod, as though I understand the gravity of the word. Poor Mrs. Eckerly would have a heart attack if I told her I’d spent a night in a tree.

  “Poor mother. Her son rejected all of their values for those counterculture ideas.” She presses her lips together, as if to keep out a bad taste. “And then there was the accident.”

  “Accident?”

  “Solomon didn’t tell you?” Mrs. Eckerly shakes her head. “His parents died. What a terrible wreck. I h
eard alcohol was involved.”

  My mother swoops in before Mrs. Eckerly can sit down. “Viola, did you see the Campbells are attending tonight? They flew in all the way from New Hampshire.”

  Mrs. Eckerly looks longingly at the seat before taking a step in the direction my mother points. “I haven’t seen Edgar and Mary for years. I better greet them before they think I’ve lost my manners.”

  “Thanks,” I whisper as the old gossip slowly strolls across the room. “I thought I would be trapped with her all night.”

  My mother leans in to peck me on the cheek. “Hello, sweetheart. So good to see you.” She steps away and scrutinizes me from head to toe.

  I wait patiently while she finishes her typical examination. When her eyes linger on the telltale design of my new dress, I say, “Daddy bought it for me.”

  “You look stunning.” She nods in approval, and my tension dissipates. Too often, her careful scrutiny is followed by disparaging remarks. Mothers are judged by their children’s presentation, after all.

  “How have you been?” Between school and the time I’ve spent with Soul, I have barely talked to my mother in weeks.

  “Busy, as always.” My mother selects a cocktail from the tray of a tuxedoed waiter. “I helped plan tonight’s benefit, and as we grow closer to the start of your father’s campaign, we are entertaining more frequently.”

  My life is supposed to parallel my mother’s. Benefits. Dinner parties. Charity work. Just hearing her talk about it makes me want to yawn. “Mom, do you ever wish…”

  “Don’t ever hesitate,” she scolds. “Indecision makes people appear insecure.”

  “Sorry—”

  “And never ever apologize, unless you want to be perceived as weak.” She shakes her head. “Trust me, always act strong and confident in front of others. If you think you can—”

  “They’ll think I can.” I repeat the familiar refrain. My mother has many of these, but her confidence mantra is her absolute favorite.

  Too bad the strength and confidence they want to see is all a show. Away from public scrutiny, I’m supposed to defer to my parents’ wisdom.