Magnolia Read Free Page B

just . . . I don’t know. He’s cute,” I add lamely. He is cute. Why hadn’t I noticed it before tonight?
    Lucy shrugs. “I guess if you like skinny white boys.”
    â€œI’m getting a headache,” I say, massaging my temples. “I think I might be about ready to call it a night.”
    Lucy eyes me sharply. “Coward.”
    â€œYeah, the party’s at your house,” Morgan reminds me. “Where are you going to go? At least have some dessert first.” She puts two mini éclairs and a cream puff on a plate and hands it to me.
    I take it with a sigh and follow them to a table. Just as we sit down, Tanner sidles up and waggles his brows at me suggestively. “Hey, heard you were having some fun tonight, Jemma. You and the Pat Man, huh?”
    Heat floods my cheeks. “Oh my God. Shut up, okay? There’s no me and anyone.”
    He folds his arms across his chest. “That’s not what Mason says.”
    â€œMy brother is an idiot,” Morgan says around a mouthful of pastry. “You know, in case you didn’t notice. By the way, your fly’s unzipped.”
    Tanner glances down at his gaping fly with a shrug.
    â€œReal classy,” Lucy says. “Your mom must be so proud.”
    Grinning, he makes a show of zipping up. “Aw, you know you want some of this, Luce.”
    â€œYou’re delusional,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Go away, Tanner.”
    â€œYeah, before I puke,” Morgan adds.
    Tanner lets the insults roll off, unaffected. “Before I go, just a heads-up. It looks like Patrick is over there talking to your dad, Jemma. I wonder what they’re talking about.” He winks at me. “Later, cuz.”
    I choke on a lump of custard. “Wha—?” I manage, rising on unsteady legs. I spot Patrick and my dad standing by the bar, their heads bent together in conversation.
    Lucy reaches for my hand and pulls me back into my seat. “Chill, okay? I’m sure they’re just talking. About, you know”—she waves one hand dismissively—“something.”
    I drop my head my head into my hands. “Easy for you to say.”
    Lucy’s dark eyes narrow a fraction. “Ugh, I can’t believe your mom invited her .”
    I follow her gaze to find Cheryl Jackson standing beside the punch bowl, filling her cup.
    â€œShe volunteers at the library,” I say. “Mama didn’t have a choice. Trust me, she wasn’t happy about it. She was hoping she wouldn’t show.”
    Morgan wrinkles her nose. “And miss an opportunity to hobnob with Magnolia Branch’s finest? Not a chance.”
    â€œWell, she can kiss my ass,” Lucy says with a scowl.
    Lucy’s mother, Dr. Parrish, is a pediatrician—the best in town, by a long shot. Most everyone adores Dr. Parrish, except for Cheryl Jackson, who’d been very vocal about taking her children elsewhere because she couldn’t possibly trust her precious babies to one of “those” people. And by “those” people, she means black people. Of course, her son is a complete tool, and her daughter spent half of last semester in rehab, so there you go.
    Morgan nudges me in the ribs. “You should go tell her that Dr. Parrish made the punch. See how fast she spits it out.”
    We all laugh a bit uneasily, because it’s probably true. Ignorant beyotch.
    My gaze is involuntarily drawn back toward my dad and Patrick, who are still standing together, discussing . . . something. My stomach lurches uncomfortably, and I push away my plate of sweets. “What could they possibly have to talk about?”
    â€œThere’s no telling,” Morgan says. “I still can’t believe you kissed him.”
    â€œSpeaking of,” Lucy says coyly, “on a scale of one to ten . . . ?”
    I just stare at her, mouth agape. “What, you want me to rate