Free Magnolia by Kristi Cook Page B

you.”
    â€œWell, you know how she is. You’re ruining her big plans for you and the boy next door. Speaking of, where’s he going to play ball next year? Ryder, I mean.”
    â€œHow the heck would I know? He doesn’t discuss his plans with me. We don’t talk at all unless we have to.”
    â€œWell, maybe you should think about rectifying that,” she says with a grin. “You know what I mean?”
    I nudge her with my foot. “Hey, I thought you were on my side.”
    â€œI dunno. . . . After seeing him this summer at the beach, maybe Mama’s onto something. I mean, let’s face it—the boy’s hot. You could do worse. Much worse.”
    â€œYeah, well . . . there’s more to it than looks,” I grumble.
    â€œRight. There’s also intelligence—check. Talent—check.Character—check.” She ticks each one off on her fingers. “As far as I can tell, he’s got it all—the total package. I mean, okay, so he’s the boy next door, and Mom and Laura Grace have been bugging you two about each other since forever. But seriously, what more do you want?”
    I sigh heavily. “You want to know what drives me nuts about Ryder? There are no shades of gray with him. Everything’s black or white, right or wrong. He’s just so . . . so . . . unyielding.”
    â€œWow, is that one of your SAT words?”
    â€œHa-ha, very funny. You know what I mean, though.”
    She shrugs. “Yeah, I know. He’s always been that way. I kind of figured he’d grow out of it.”
    â€œWell, don’t hold your breath. That boy’s got a stick up his ass, if you ask me.”
    â€œA very attractive one at that.”
    â€œWhat, the stick or his ass?”
    Nan laughs—a rich, booming laugh that makes me smile. I’m so glad to have her home. But then I remember why. . . .
    â€œSo, when are you going to Houston?” I ask, sobering fast.
    â€œProbably next week. Maybe the week after. The doctor said we’ve got to move fast. I guess the tumor’s pressing on some important stuff.”
    I snuggle up closer, laying my head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Nan.”
    â€œYeah, me too,” she says, then falls silent. For a couple of minutes we just lie there quietly, staring at the ceiling.
    â€œI’m sorry I didn’t call or text you,” she says at last. “I just . . . you know, kind of retreated into myself. I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”
    â€œIt’s okay. I know how that goes.” Because I do the same thing when I’m stressed out. I retreat. Cut myself off from everyone. I’ve been doing it this week, letting texts and e-mails slide. Luckily, Morgan and Lucy know me well enough to give me my space. Patrick, not so much. We’ll have to work on that.
    â€œYou’re going to be just fine,” I say with as much conviction as I can muster.
    But the truth is, I’ve never been more scared in all my life.

ACT I
Scene 8
    T hursday is “History Bee” day in my AP European History class. Think old-fashioned spelling bee, with students standing in a line at the front of the classroom. Mr. Donaldson fires a history trivia question at you, and if you get it right you remain standing for the next round. Get it wrong, and you sit. Last man standing is declared the winner.
    I have to admit, it’s kind of fun—way more so than listening to a lecture. Plus, the winner gets a Hershey Bar.
    â€œThe Ardennes,” I say when it’s my turn, desperate for that chocolate.
    Mr. Donaldson cups a hand to his ear. “Could you please speak up, Jemma?”
    â€œThe Ardennes!” I shout, wishing he’d invest in some hearing aids.
    â€œCorrect. You advance to the final round.”
    Beside me, Lucy mimes a high five.
    Thirty minutes later, she’s