Six

It's easy to be brave when someone believes in you.

—Hailey Fairchild, What the Heart Needs

It's Monday, and I've borrowed Mom's car and am off to Cascade High to speak to Mrs. Wharton's freshman English class. Under

my coat I'm wearing a beige cashmere sweater over black leggings. This time I'm wearing my boots. I don't want any more close

encounters with the pavement.

Even though my book signing was a success, the gremlins are back in my stomach, churning the eggs I had for breakfast. There's

nothing to be nervous about, for crying out loud. According to Carwyn, I'm returning like a conquering hero. And didn't I

prove that at the signing? I park the car, square my shoulders, and walk into the school. The same school where I was once

the shy bookworm, bullied by Gwendolyn and her gang of pirates.

Those days are gone. Carwyn was right. I am a conquering hero. Mrs. Wharton greets me like I'm Taylor Swift.

"This is so sweet of you," she gushes.

Mrs. Wharton was never really a gusher. She was more of a frowner. A tall frowner who, I think, felt like fashion and literature couldn't co-habit. Today she's wearing a pea-green top under a stern black jacket to match her outdated black slacks. Her hair was starting to go gray when I had her in school; now it's arrived at its destination. I remember once overhearing her tell my mother that her students were going to turn her hair gray. It looks like they succeeded.

But this seems like a mellow class. They're all quiet, smiling, and looking at me expectantly. Waiting for pearls of wisdom

to tumble out of my mouth. Which is suddenly very, very dry. But there's Emily, my fan from the book signing, looking adoringly

at me. The gremlins settle down.

"Everyone, here's the surprise I promised you. Hailey Fairchild, one of our own Cascade High graduates, has graciously agreed

to tell you about her life as a bestselling author."

Who has had three love fails and is stalled out on completing her next book.

I clear my throat. "It's not easy getting published."

My number-one fan's smile falls from her face. I've just told her the writer's equivalent of "There is no Santa."

"But that doesn't mean you can't do it," I hurry to add. "You have to keep trying, and you can't give up. And you have to

write every day, no matter what is going on in your life." Says the woman who hasn't written a word since December 1. "Get

out there and get under the mistletoe." Oh no. Where did that come from? The sizzle is hitting my face. "Metaphorically speaking,"

I quickly add.

I babble on for what feels like a century but is only ten minutes, and then it's time for questions.

"Do you ever get writer's block?" asks one girl.

"Every writer does at some point," I say and then wonder if that's really true. Maybe there are authors out there who are

sailing happily through every book they write, who never run out of ideas.

"When is your next book coming out?" asks my younger twin, Emily.

"June," I say. Although the manuscript should have been turned in by October. I block out my last conversation with my editor. It won't be pretty if I don't hand it in by January 3.

This is not the time to think about that. I need to focus on... oh no. What is Carwyn doing slipping into the room? He

smiles and gives me a thumbs-up, and my brain switches off.

"Did you always want to be a writer?" asks one of the boys.

How else do you work out your fantasies about Carwyn Davies? "I guess so," I say. "I've always loved stories and reading.

Every time you open a book, you open the door to a whole new world."

"Wow," Emily says under her breath, as if I've just said something profound. Maybe I have.

The kids continue to pepper me with questions until the bell rings, signaling the end of class. Also, since it's the last

class, the bell means it's the end of school until January. The room explodes with energy as the kids rush for the door and

freedom.

"We're all so proud of what you've accomplished," Mrs. Wharton says to me as the students stampede past. "Thanks for coming

today. I think we have some budding writers in this class. I hope you've inspired them."

"Me too," I say.

"You inspire me," Carwyn says as he walks me to my car. "How about dinner tonight? Do you have plans with your family?"

Just as he's asking, a text comes in from Sam.

Sam: Pool at Pete's Pizza at 6?

I love spending time with my brother, but I hate to not see Carwyn. "How do you feel about pizza with Sam tonight?" I ask.

"I feel great," he says.

Hailey: Kk. Carwyn's coming with.

Sam: Kk

I drive home happy. This will be fun.

Or not. It turns out that Gwendolyn is coming too.

She and Sam have already staked out a table when Carwyn and I arrive a little after six, and as we join them she greets me

with her famous fake smile that never reaches her eyes. Ugh. The smile warms up when she turns to Carwyn. I've lost my appetite.

"I already ordered pizza," says Sam. "You're on your own for drinks."

Gwendolyn is already halfway through her drink, a large glass of beer. Carwyn orders one and she asks for a second. I stick

with my usual diet cola.

"Come on, let's shoot some pool," says Sam, so off we go to the pool table. It beats sitting across from Gwendolyn, trying

to find something to say to her.

She teases Sam and flirts with Carwyn the entire time we're playing. I fade into the background along with the eighties music.

Bonnie Tyler is singing "Total Eclipse of the Heart." I feel her pain.

The pizza has arrived, and we return to the table where Gwendolyn starts on her second beer and leers at Carwyn. She leans

on her elbows and shakes a finger at him. "Bad you."

He raises both eyebrows. "Bad me?"

"You used to be so cool. What happened?"

Sam frowns. "He's still cool."

"Naw. Look who he's with. Oops. Sorry. It's your sister."

"Yeah, it is," Sam growls, "so lay off."

She holds up both hands. "Whoa, pardon me for hurting you with the truth."

My face is totally on fire, and my brain is frozen. I sit rooted to my seat and stare at Gwendolyn. How much beer has she really had? Probably more than two, because she's getting sloppy with her bullying.

"You should have stayed with me," she says to Carwyn.

Wait. Carwyn dated Gwendolyn? When was that?

"If I had, you wouldn't have wound up with Sam," he says. His face is red. It's probably not as red as mine, though. He shoots

Sam an apologetic look.

"Pfft." Gwendolyn dismisses Sam with a flick of her hand.

"Thanks," Sam says and frowns.

She leans into him. "It's okay, baby. I'll settle for you."

Now Sam's face is red, too, and his lips are pressed together so hard they're white around the edges. "Okay, that's it. I'm

taking you home."

"Ooh, good idea," she purrs. "We can have a lot more fun without these two."

Sam doesn't look ready to have fun. He stands up and throws some bills on the table. "Let's go," he says to Gwendolyn, his

voice terse. He turns to Carwyn and me. "I'm sorry, guys. She had a beer before you got here."

"Truth serum," says Carwyn, and Sam nods.

"This doesn't look good," I say as Sam stalks off with Gwendolyn trailing behind at a stroll.

"One can hope," says Carwyn. "She's bad news."

"If you knew that, why didn't you warn Sam?" I demand.

"A man doesn't diss another man's woman. It's a good way to ruin a friendship. Anyway, I figured she'd show her true colors."

"I guess you saw them first," I venture. "I don't remember you two dating in high school." I remember every girl he dated.

He nods, grabs a slice of pizza. "It was after you moved to New York. It lasted about a minute. She's got a mean streak. And

I've seen puddles deeper than her. She wasn't what I'm looking for."

"So what are you looking for?" I ask, and I realize my leg is bobbing up and down as I wait for his answer.

"I want someone who's smart and kind." He abandons the pizza, smiles at me, and traces a hand up my arm, making me quiver

like a little girl in front of the Christmas tree. "I want you, even if you are out of my league now."

This is all so fantastical. If it weren't for the goose bumps, I would swear I'm dreaming. "I've never been out of anyone's

league," I mutter.

He shakes his head. "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Put yourself down."

Because it's hard to see past my geeky teen years, and even harder to see past all my mistletoe mistakes. This can't work

out. I shrug.

"Hailey, you're great. And I'm loving hanging out with you."

"Really?" I study his face, looking for some sign that he's feeding me malarky. I can't see any.

"Really," he says. "I always thought you were a cute kid. Even if you were a snob," he teases, making me snort and shake my

head at him.

"I was never a snob," I tell him. Just shy and awkward and in awe of you .

***

After the pizza is long gone, Carwyn takes me back home. He walks me to the door.

"So prove you're not a snob," he says.

He draws me to him and smiles down at me, and I smile back up at him, trying to hide the fact that I'm on the verge of a love

heart attack.

And then it comes. THE KISS.

I light up inside like a string of Christmas lights meeting electricity for the first time. The feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of his body—oh my! Every sensation I've imagined for my heroines cascades over me, and I want it to go on forever.

He ends the kiss and grins. "That was a lot better than the last kiss we had."

"Yes, it was, and I'm glad there was no mistletoe involved."

He gives me a teasing frown. "What's wrong with mistletoe?"

"It's bad luck," I inform him and kiss him again.

"Oh, man, that one was even better," he says.

He's ready for thirds but I pull back and tease, "Don't be greedy," which makes him chuckle.

"See you tomorrow at Mom and Dad's party," he says.

He certainly will. I am so very, very glad I came home for the holidays.

When I walk into the house, I find Sam camped on the family room sofa, gaming and scowling at the TV, shooting imaginary enemies.

My poor brother. I set aside my own happiness and plop onto the couch next to him and ask what happened.

"We're through," he says tersely.

I'm relieved, but I still feel badly that he's hurting. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I guess I've known all along what she is. I just didn't want to admit it. Lucky escape, really."

He's not smiling like a lucky man, but I hope his heart will catch up with his brain quickly.

As for me, my brain is pulling hard on the reins, telling my heart to slow down. Two kisses do not a relationship make. Plus,

we live on opposite coasts. How can that work?

My heart's not listening.