Belle 17: Prom . . . Whoop-Dee-Do

Instead of going to the lame prom, me, Abigal and the boys were going to have a wild bonfire. Better than trying to be the prettiest in a sea of cats . . .  or watching Brody with Miranda. Even though, tonight was going to be country fun, I still had a gut feeling in the pit of my stomach that something bad was going to happen. Something that would change everything.

But I couldn’t think too much about it, Kyle’s truck spun onto my property, “Hey Belle! Let’s go!” Abigal called as Kyle honked the horn.

I jumped out of my house and into the bed with what half of us couldn’t fit in the front; the radio blasting “Honky-Tonk Badonkadonk” and glass bottles of Cola being passed around. But one glimpse over at Brody’s house when Brock was hopping the fence, and my heart sank . . . Miranda in a cupcake pulling Brody every-which-way for pictures. I knew she would try to pull something tonight. Something to hurt both of us. I can only imagine what she would do . . . but there wasn’t anything I could do about it . . . we were already on our way out and I couldn’t exactly say anything to him.

Soon the bucks snapped me out of it. Kyle took us mudding to the bonfire spot. Our extended friends from the next town over came out; they’d already got the fire going. Kyle kept his truck on playing country radio. Abigal and I danced with other girls that came from Pegram. The boys drank sodas (we weren’t big into alcohol) around the fire talking about us girls and their trucks or live stoke.

“Hey there, little ginger girl,” a cute boy hollered at me (we only kick-back with them, never take much to remember them), “Com’ere.”

I bounced over to him, sitting next to him on the blanket, “What?”

“Y’all are pretty damn cute,” he smiled.

“Thanks.”

“Whatcha name?”

“Belle.”

“Ah, Trace.”

“Howdy.”

“Ya ever wanted to kiss a barrel racer?”

“No?” why would he ask that? Before I knew it he was leaning in towards me, “No! I have a boyfriend!” I held a hand up so he could keep going. Did I really just lie? I don’t have a boyfriend.

“Is he here?” he looked at me wanting that kiss . . . and something else. I looked at the boys; Clayton stood up acting all pissed-off like I was his girl.

“Get the hell away from my gal, Trace,” he yanked me up.

“Alright, man. Sorry. I didn’t know,” he admitted his wrong.

I didn’t notice it before, but when I sat down that word “boyfriend” really felt more like a punch to the heart. But the word rolling from my lips has never hurt to say afterward. I couldn’t understand why. Maybe it was just the fact that it was a lie . . . yeah that had to be it. What else could it be?