Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
As the orchestra finishes playing, the majority of the guests have made their way out to the atrium to take their seats. Soon, the crowd quiets, and Cissy and Tim McPherson come to the stage together to greet and thank everyone for coming to the Annual Spruce Ball Fundraiser for the Arts—which is a far longer official name than I remember it being before—then announce proudly how much money has been raised already. A round of applause crashes over the room.
“And now, a word from the director of the Arts program at Spruce High,” announces Mr. Tim McPherson, and his name is lost to the applause that fills the room.
As the speeches and numbers and detailed figures continue to be announced, my gaze strays off to the rest of the sea of chairs. I feel strangely out-of-body as I watch everyone with their full and undivided attention glued to the stage.
This would be a lot more exciting with Jimmy at my side.
I mean, raising money for the arts is an amazing thing. But so is the idea of two best friends who, after strings of unsuccessful relationships and fruitless searching, find the greatest of loves in each other.
Isn’t that something of a miracle in itself?
“And now for a special performance from an alumni from the Spruce High Dance Department,” announces Cissy McPherson. She gestures toward the wings of the stage. “Jimmy Strong.”
Applause ripples over the room.
I stay perfectly still as the applause is swallowed in the depths of my ears, which seem to have closed off the world as my eyes zero in on the young man who steps onto the stage. He’s a vision in red. He wears a red and black button-up shirt undone a few buttons at the neck, showing off the top of his toned chest, and hugging his slender, V-shaped torso. He’s got on a pair of tight dancer jeans, made from a fabric that’s as flexible as a second skin, and shiny shoes on his feet. His hair is uncharacteristically swept up in a perfectly-styled light brown wave with spikes here and there for accent—or it’s just one of those super cute Jimmy-Strong accidents that simply happens.
My heart breaks, melts, and is mended the instant I see him.
I miss him so fucking much.
The same music we had been rehearsing to for the past month plays over the loud speakers, but Jimmy doesn’t take his position. He marches across the stage and comes rights up to the center stage microphone, which a stagehand was about to take away.
Jimmy takes hold of it. “Good evenin’, ladies and gentlemen. Please cut the music.”
The music stops.
The audience look among themselves, confused, excited, and curious.
Jimmy takes a breath. His breath is broadcast to the whole room, his slow inhale, then his short and determined exhale. “One of Spruce’s many charms is somethin’ I think we take for granted too often. It’s a charm you don’t often find in a small town, I think some of you from Fairview or Brookfield or some other Texan towns might agree. It’s what makes Spruce such a great place to live. It’s the fact that we accept our friends and family for who they are, no matter the color of your skin, or your gender identity, or ‘who you like to kiss’, as my lovin’ mama once put it.”
The crowd titters with warm appreciation.
“But beyond that,” Jimmy goes on, “this amazing town we live in also made an environment in which some small town boy who is the younger brother of a major football star can take dance class with a bunch of girls and not be judged for it.”
Applause of approval mixed with a cheer here and there from some familiar voices—mostly Tanner and his friends Joel, Kirk, Harrison, Robby, and whoever else is out there in the crowd that I can’t see—erupt across the pavilion.
Despite my mixture of emotions, I feel a pinch of pride for my Jimmy Strong.
“Now I know you’re all expecting a dance from me, and you’re gonna get one, I promise. But …” He takes a deep breath, then flits his eyes over the room. “But I can’t perform it without my proper dance partner.”
With that, Jimmy hops right off the stage, ignoring the steps off to the side. And amidst the murmurs and whispers and stares of confusion from the crowd, Jimmy cuts straight through them, making a beeline through the tables and aisles.
I hold my breath.
Oh my God, he’s coming right for my table.
Jimmy emerges from the neighboring aisle, now on the far edge of the pavilion, where he comes right on down toward me, a smart twinkle of confidence in his eye, and a knowing smirk on his lips. Every eye in the room follows him.
Including my own.
Jimmy stops in front of my table. His eyes fall on me, beautiful and brave and full of his boundless strength and confidence.