“Here, let me help.” Malorie reached around me to shove the tower of papers and books back in while I yanked the notebook out. Her perfectly polished nails in some peachy color landed next to my bare nails with nothing but yellowy stains from setting tobacco every evening for the last week.

Embarrassed by the striking contrast, I quickly withdrew my hand and mumbled, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Malorie said brightly as ever. “Oh, I have a swatch of the fabric in my purse I want to show you.”

After producing the tiny strip of shiny dark-pink fabric and practically shoving it in my face, Malorie jabber-jawed about wearing her hair in a twist and having to get her shoes dyed to match the dress while I struggled to keep the hurt and jealousy from showing on my face. I leaned inside my locker, angling my back toward her, as heat lit my cheeks and stung my eyes.

Thankfully, she drifted down the hall, nagging someone else about her awesome news.

When Vance showed up at the farm later that afternoon in all his happy, handsome glory, I sufficiently ignored him. The plan was easy enough to pull off until he cornered me in the feed room in the packhouse. A bucket of chicken feed and my pride prevented him from getting too close to me.

“What’s up your craw?” He formed his question as a joke, grinning like he always did when he thought he was being cute. Sad part was, he was cute, coming straight from the ballfield in his practice uniform. His hair curled around the edges of his backwards ball cap. Completely cute, making it hard to stay mad at him.

It was a question I couldn’t answer without giving away the fact that I was jealous, and that in itself might have been ridiculous because he’d not made any verbal commitment to me. I believed in actions speaking louder than words. Obviously I’d misinterpreted his actions. But what else could have been the meaning of him holding my hand when we sat in the porch swing, or the weekly batch of cookies he gave me to right his cookie-thieving wrongs, or the way he placed his palm to my cheek when no one was looking?

“Talk to me, Austin. What’s the matter?” He tilted his head, the smile slowly fading. “Did I do something wrong?”

I clutched the bucket closer and shook my head. My jaw refused to unhinge until he reached to touch my cheek. I flinched out of reach and blurted, “I don’t think your prom date would think too highly of this.”

His relaxed expression tightened. He yanked his hat off and ran a hand over his messy curls before slamming it down on his head.

“That’s all my mother’s doing. She had the date scheduled before Christmas.”