Free Place Your Betts (The Marilyns) by Katie Graykowski Page B

voice held so much reverence he might have been talking about the Virgin Mary. “She’s the head cheerleader.”
    Maternal alarm bells went off, and the tiny hairs on the back of Betts’s neck stood up. “Kaitlin’s very pretty.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Tom studied the floor.
    “Do I detect some interest?” She found a paper plate and rummaged around for a fork in the drawer by the sink. Serving him cake for dinner wasn’t the most motherly thing, but it was exactly what her mother would have done and the opposite of Gigi, so Betts carved up an extra-large piece.
    “No, ma’am… I mean, yes… No.” Tom’s face turned red, and he plopped down in one of the old wooden kitchen chairs. “You’re a lady. Maybe you could help.”
    Was she really having a talk about girls with her son? Betts smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. “Well, um… What’s the deal?”
    Tom hunched his shoulders. “She won’t give me the time of day. We used to be friends but…well…it’s complicated.”
    Betts knew when to push and when to step back—this was a stepping-back moment. She reminded herself that she was nothing more to him than a new acquaintance. Too much interest would freak him out.
    “Okay, here’s the deal. It’s gonna sound stupid, but we sorta went together in the third grade. One day at lunch, I gave her half of my Hostess Ding Dong, and the next thing I knew, we were an item. The next day, I brought her a Ho-Ho, and she kissed me on the lips. Can you believe that?”
    Betts smiled and skipped the snarky comment about how the Ho was only after his Ho-Hos. “Sounds like you still like her.”
    “Yes, ma’am. That time in the third grade was the best two weeks of my life. Remember it like it was yesterday.” Tom looked embarrassed. “Now she doesn’t even know I’m alive.”
    “Why?” Betts slapped a huge piece of cake on the plate and set it in front of him.
    Her baby boy had a romantic streak and carried a torch from a torrid third-grade romance. Who had he gotten that from?
    “She’s going out with Lance Stringfellow. He’s the quarterback. I’m a nobody.” Tom dug into the cake.
    “You’re not a nobody. You’re…” She was about to say “my son” but stopped herself and sat down next to him. “You’re a smart, handsome boy. She’d be lucky to have you.”
    “You sound like Gigi. That’s what she used to say.”
    Betts flinched. Comparing her to Gigi was exactly the wrong thing to do. “What makes Kaitlin so special?”
    “Everything. She’s perfect,” Tom said around a mouthful of cake.
    He sounded so certain. Life had seemed cut-and-dried at sixteen.
    “Define perfect.” Betts stood and filled a glass with tap water. “Sorry, I don’t have any milk. It’s either this or Miller Lite. And you’re too young for beer.”
    “Thank you, ma’am, water’s fine.” Tom gulped down half the glass. “Kaitlin’s pretty and smart and nice. At least she used to be. Now she’s with Lance, and she’s too good to talk to me.”
    “Lance. Is that a name or a weapon?” Betts smirked. Wasn’t “Lance” a brand of snack foods? Evidently the Ho-Ho had moved from sweet snack cakes to more savory peanut butter crackers. “Just be yourself. If Kaitlin doesn’t see how special you are, she doesn’t deserve you.”
    “But Lance has a new truck, and he’s popular and has plenty of money—”
    “Does that make him better than you? If you want something badly enough, nothing will stand in your way. I should know. I’ve butted against my share of roadblocks. Lance is a roadblock; find a way around him.” Betts sat back in the chair across from Tom.
    He hacked off another piece of cake and shoved it in his mouth. Two more bites and the cake was gone.
    “Thanks, Ms. Monroe—”
    “Call me Betts.”
    “Betts. I never thought of it that way.” Tom picked up his empty plate and glass and walked to the sink. “Thank you for the cake. I best be going now.” He grabbed his hat off the