Happenstance 3 (Happenstance #3)(8)
Author: Jamie McGuire

“You had me worried there for a second.”

I leaned in, whispering, “I just love being loved by you. That’s all.”

“Get used to it,” he said, pulling me to sit on the stool next to him.

Chapter Four

MRS. CUP BREEZED IN. “Everyone’s here?” she asked. Her eyes bounced around the room. “Where are Josh and Noah?”

Zack looked around. “They’re already on their way.”

She paused and smiled. “Oh, those boys.” She nodded. “Okay then, we’ll see them soon. Let’s get going. Everyone has a ride? Yes?”

Weston and I walked out to the parking lot together. On our way to the mural, Weston followed me even though I was trailing behind everyone else, certainly slower than he liked to drive. He pulled up next to me at a stoplight and rolled down his window. His radio was blaring, and his head was bobbing to the music. He winked at me.

“Hey, beautiful. Nice ride.”

I shook my head and laughed.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

“Prom.”

“Oh, yeah? Do you have a date?”

“I sure do.”

“Wanna go with me instead?”

“You’re awfully cute, but I’m going with my boyfriend.”

“He must be dang amazing to have snagged you.”

I shot him a look. “Are you complimenting yourself or me?”

He threw his head back and howled with laughter. The light turned green, and I pushed on the accelerator. He sped up and pulled into my lane just before we reached the pizza place.

With an arched eyebrow, Mrs. Cup watched us amble over to the brick wall. “Why are you two always last to get here?”

Weston pointed at me. “It’s her fault.”

My mouth fell open.

He was leaned over, holding his knees, his whole body shuddering with laughter.

Mrs. Cup waited for an answer.

“I just started driving. I’m nervous…and slow.”

She glared at Weston and then looked back to me before walking over to her supplies and handing us each a paintbrush. Weston followed me to our spot before dipping his brush into a bucket labeled Saddle Soap Brown.

Weston began chuckling again, and I craned my neck at him.

“What is up with you? You have dark circles under your eyes, and you act like you’re huffing Mountain Dew.”

“I’m in a good mood. I was also prescribed a new bronchodilator. That probably has something to do with it. Are you working tonight?”

“Yep,” I said, swirling my brush in the paint and standing to wait for what he might say next.

“So, if I do this”—he karate-chopped the air with his paintbrush, sending brown paint splattering down my front—“everyone will think it’s chocolate?”

I flinched. Wet spatters of paint had speckled my face, and when I looked down, I saw the haphazard spots of paint that had made a perfect line from my neck to my jeans.

“Weston Gates!” Mrs. Cup yelled.

Instinctively, I dipped my brush into the bucket and flicked it at Weston, creating an identical line of Saddle Soap down his front.

“Erin Eas—Alderman!” Mrs. Cup shrieked.

The entire class erupted in laughter, shrill screams, and low yells as a paint fight broke out.

“No! Stop! Stop!” Mrs. Cup yelled, waving her hands in the air.

Chasing one another, we slapped the air with our brushes, slinging paint, and we mixed the different colors as we dipped our brushes in whatever bucket was closest.

“Not the mural! Stay away from the mural!” Mrs. Cup cried, standing between the brick wall and us.

We kept the battle in the parking lot, away from the mural, but then Mrs. Cup’s eyes widened, and she ran to the other side, holding up her arms.

“Not the cars! Stay away from the vehicles! Stop! Stop this!”

We all paused, breathing heavily and smiling, looking like melted bags of Skittles.

“Detention! All of you!” Mrs. Cup said, heaving out each word. She let her hands fall to her sides. “How are you all even going to get back into your vehicles without making a mess?”

“I can’t go to detention. I have to work.” I looked to Weston.

He only offered an apologetic shrug.

“You’re all walking back to school. Go. Now.” Mrs. Cup pointed south, and we all let out a deflated sigh.

We were only a quarter of the way back when the after-school traffic began to whiz by. Mrs. Cup followed the class, making sure we stayed together and went straight to the school. Once our classmates recognized us, an opus of honking and playful taunts commenced.

Beads of sweat formed along Weston’s hairline, and his cheeks flushed.

“You okay?” I said quietly.

“Yeah,” he said in a dismissive tone. The spark that had lit his eyes all day was gone.

“Weston—”

“I’m getting tired, but I’m good. I swear.”

I nodded, taking his hand in mine. Even though he was a head taller, I could feel him leaning on me for support. “This is stupid. You shouldn’t exhaust yourself.”

“Erin—”

“No,” I said, pulling out my phone. I sent a text to Julianne, explaining the situation and Weston’s appearance.

She immediately sent a message back, saying she would be right there.

“Mrs. Cup?” I said, turning to face her.

She pointed for me to continue. “Keep walking, Erin.”

“I understand you’re upset, and you’re right. We all deserve detention. But Weston was hospitalized this weekend, and he’s not feeling well. I don’t think he should walk all the way back to school.”

Mrs. Cup stiffened. “Oh, Lord, that’s right. I’m sorry, Weston.” She looked around.

“The Dairy Queen is right there,” I said. “I work there. I can get him cooled off. I texted my mom. She’s coming.”

Mrs. Cup nodded. “Just…be careful crossing the street.”

I nodded and pulled Weston along. The sun glared on the blacktop of the Dairy Queen parking lot. Frankie was standing in the window, and she turned on her heels. She met us in the back, holding the door open.

“I’ll be greased Jesus. What happened to him?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“He got too hot, I think,” I said. I tossed Frankie my phone. “Text Julianne. Tell her where we are.”

Frankie nodded, shutting the door behind her.

“You are making way too big of a deal out of this,” Weston said.