Page 54 of Forest Proximity
Her big brown eyes blink up at me. “Well ...”
Shoot.
I’m doing this. For her. Only for her.
“I’ll be there,” I say before she can answer my question. “Of course I will.”
She squeals, grabbing the front of my T-shirt in her fist and dragging me down to her. She plants a much-too-quick kiss on my lips, then seems to realize what she’s doing. With a light laugh and a deep blush, she smooths the fabric of my shirt against my chest. “Thank you, Adam.”
I cover her hand with mine, holding her there. “I can’t say no to you”—I shake my head, peering down at her—“and it might get me in trouble.”
“Getyou in trouble?” Her grin is devious and tempting. “You’re already there.”
Chapter 21
Stevie
Adam is visibly uncomfortable, and I can’t do anything to help him. I feel awful.
He showed up at the town meeting as promised, took a seat in the back row, and has been observing quietly—surprise, surprise—for the past hour.
I, however, am front and center. It’s not a position I relish when it feels like I’m on trial.
Every citizen of Cape Georgeana, including Speedo Kevin and his new dog, showed up for this ad hoc circus. Marlow and I are seated in front of the select board, which is composed of an old guy named Hal, Martie Shaw (who also teaches at my school), and Ike and Diana Wentworth.
That’s right. The same friends who are betting against me are running this meeting. The phrase “conflict of interest” means nothing to them.
As far as I can tell, the only people in attendance who bet on me finding Bigfoot are myself, August, Lola, and Adam. Oh, and my dad. My mom is staunchly Team Boyfriend. She’s not even sitting by my dad. Our house is divided. The town is not. Team Bigfoot has been the underdog all night.
Someone wheeled in a dry-erase board, and Lola was assigned the task of documenting the terms as they are agreed upon. The specifics of the bet have changed enough that Lola’s black foam eraser has been as busy as her marker, and she’s sweating.
Here’s what we’ve agreed on so far: Acceptable evidence of Bigfoot includes new timestamped photographs of a footprint or prints, the cryptid itself, or video footage of the same. Admissible proof of the existence of a Boyfriend for Stevie Sullivan includes evidence of three consecutive dates or the majority vote of an ad hoc committee that has yet to be formed.
My dating life is about to be under the scrutiny of a committee. How did I get here?
I've tried so hard not to watch Adam’s reaction to the proceedings. I’ve fought to keep my eyes off of him since he snuck in five minutes late, as has every female in the room. He wore a shirt, after all—a button-down number, with the sleeves rolled up. He has no idea what he’s doing to the women of Cape Georgeana. It’s cute.
Now it’s just after nine p.m. We’ve taken a ten-minute recess, and we’re waiting for the meeting to resume. The stink of musty old town office building and gossip hangs in the air.
“Okay, everyone,” Ike calls. “Let’s wrap this up.”
No one hears him over the chatter that fills the room.
“People!” He tries again.
Diana nudges him, nodding to his gavel with a twinkle in her eye. August gave it to Ike as a joke years ago, but it’s become a critical element of our town meetings. Things tend to go sideways without it.
BANG, BANG, BANG!
Ike cracks his gavel, and the room falls silent.
Lola is back at the dry-erase board, marker in hand and ready for battle. I saw her chugging an energy drink by the vending machine in the hall during the break. She’ll need it.
“Everyone take your seats, please. We need to wrap this up.” Ike rubs at a knot in his shoulder. “Where were we?” he asks the select board.
Muffie, not a member of the board, raises her crinkled hand. “You need to vote on the formation of the ad hoc committee,” she calls from the front row.
This was the solution we found to the age-old conundrum of how to determine a winner of a bet involving Bigfoot and Boyfriends, where every member of the select board has a personal stake in the outcome. You know, the kind you always hear about.
