glasses and crying, Bradley had quietly uncapped the bottle of ketchup on our table and dumped some into the bully’s glass of orange juice. The bully went to swig his juice and ended up spitting it all over his white shirt.
When the bully started clenching his fists and looking around for the culprit, I tiptoed over and slid into the seat next to Bradley’s and pretended we’d been chatting the whole time. We’d stayed pals ever since that moment, even going to our senior prom together as friends, but we didn’t see each other much these days. Bradley still lived in our old neighborhood and worked as a photographer for
The Washington Post
. His portrait of a nine-year-old girl sleeping on her living room floor with the fireplace lit up for warmth while her mother stared at a stack of unpaid bills had just won an award.
Bradley was still sticking up for the underdog, I thought, smiling fondly as I visualized his face.
I’d call him right after I phoned my parents and Alex, I decided as I approached Cheryl and fought my way through the crowd of guys jockeying for position around her.
“Cheryl? Just wanted to wish you luck,” I said, putting out my hand.
She looked down at it for a long moment before shaking it.
“Thanks,” she said. She dimpled up as one of the account executives handed her a red drink that exactly matched her lip color.
“I doubt we’ll hear anything for a few days, so I guess we can relax,” I said. Now that I was going to be VP, I’d have to try to make peace with Cheryl. She’d be working for me, after all.
“Oh, I think we’ll hear a lot sooner than that,” she said, taking a sip of her drink and holding our eye contact above the rim of her glass.
Something about the gleam in her eyes sent a shiver down my spine.
“Really?” I asked, trying to affect a careless giggle that somehow came out like a Woody Woodpecker laugh (men
love
this, I’m told—it probably accounts for my runaway success in dating).
“What makes you say that?” I asked Cheryl. “Mason said Fenstermaker hadn’t decided yet.”
Cheryl stared at me for another beat and licked her shiny red lips as I forced myself to hold her gaze. It was a power play; that’s all it was, I told myself. She was trying to throw me. Even that predatory lip-licking thing was probably a move she’d seen on Animal Planet and rehearsed in front of the mirror.
“Oh, just call it a feeling,” she said and turned away from me.
I stared after her, trying to shake the sense of unease creeping over me. I felt like a deer in the woods who has just caught the scent of a hunter. Something was wrong.
Cheryl knew I had the promotion lined up; she was just playing her usual games, I told myself. I had nothing to worry about.
But . . . why the hell did she look so confident? She should be kissing up to me.
I started to walk slowly back across the bar to Matt and Pammy. Trust Cheryl to try to put a damper on the best day of my life. She was just jealous. I needed to forget about her and start planning my speech. I glanced at my watch for the umpteenth time: Mason should be making his announcement soon. I’d keep my comments short and sweet, I decided.
“Here’s your drink,” Matt said when I reached him.
He handed me a fresh glass of champagne, and I took a gulp. It didn’t taste quite as good as it had a few minutes ago. When I looked up at Matt, he was frowning. He wasn’t looking at me, though; something across the room had caught his eye. I followed his gaze.
He was staring at Mason.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Matt didn’t answer.
I turned to get a better look at Mason. He was pacing in a corner, jabbing buttons on his cell phone. He ran his free hand over and over his bald head, like he was trying to soothe a jittery dog by stroking it. Gone was his happy, tipsy vibe. He looked like a man in a panic. His big eyes were roaming the room, but when they met mine, they dropped to the floor.
As if he couldn’t
When the bully started clenching his fists and looking around for the culprit, I tiptoed over and slid into the seat next to Bradley’s and pretended we’d been chatting the whole time. We’d stayed pals ever since that moment, even going to our senior prom together as friends, but we didn’t see each other much these days. Bradley still lived in our old neighborhood and worked as a photographer for
The Washington Post
. His portrait of a nine-year-old girl sleeping on her living room floor with the fireplace lit up for warmth while her mother stared at a stack of unpaid bills had just won an award.
Bradley was still sticking up for the underdog, I thought, smiling fondly as I visualized his face.
I’d call him right after I phoned my parents and Alex, I decided as I approached Cheryl and fought my way through the crowd of guys jockeying for position around her.
“Cheryl? Just wanted to wish you luck,” I said, putting out my hand.
She looked down at it for a long moment before shaking it.
“Thanks,” she said. She dimpled up as one of the account executives handed her a red drink that exactly matched her lip color.
“I doubt we’ll hear anything for a few days, so I guess we can relax,” I said. Now that I was going to be VP, I’d have to try to make peace with Cheryl. She’d be working for me, after all.
“Oh, I think we’ll hear a lot sooner than that,” she said, taking a sip of her drink and holding our eye contact above the rim of her glass.
Something about the gleam in her eyes sent a shiver down my spine.
“Really?” I asked, trying to affect a careless giggle that somehow came out like a Woody Woodpecker laugh (men
love
this, I’m told—it probably accounts for my runaway success in dating).
“What makes you say that?” I asked Cheryl. “Mason said Fenstermaker hadn’t decided yet.”
Cheryl stared at me for another beat and licked her shiny red lips as I forced myself to hold her gaze. It was a power play; that’s all it was, I told myself. She was trying to throw me. Even that predatory lip-licking thing was probably a move she’d seen on Animal Planet and rehearsed in front of the mirror.
“Oh, just call it a feeling,” she said and turned away from me.
I stared after her, trying to shake the sense of unease creeping over me. I felt like a deer in the woods who has just caught the scent of a hunter. Something was wrong.
Cheryl knew I had the promotion lined up; she was just playing her usual games, I told myself. I had nothing to worry about.
But . . . why the hell did she look so confident? She should be kissing up to me.
I started to walk slowly back across the bar to Matt and Pammy. Trust Cheryl to try to put a damper on the best day of my life. She was just jealous. I needed to forget about her and start planning my speech. I glanced at my watch for the umpteenth time: Mason should be making his announcement soon. I’d keep my comments short and sweet, I decided.
“Here’s your drink,” Matt said when I reached him.
He handed me a fresh glass of champagne, and I took a gulp. It didn’t taste quite as good as it had a few minutes ago. When I looked up at Matt, he was frowning. He wasn’t looking at me, though; something across the room had caught his eye. I followed his gaze.
He was staring at Mason.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Matt didn’t answer.
I turned to get a better look at Mason. He was pacing in a corner, jabbing buttons on his cell phone. He ran his free hand over and over his bald head, like he was trying to soothe a jittery dog by stroking it. Gone was his happy, tipsy vibe. He looked like a man in a panic. His big eyes were roaming the room, but when they met mine, they dropped to the floor.
As if he couldn’t
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