by Beth Reekles
“Okay!”
And then we’re in Bryce’s car and the front door closes, and the silence of my anxious anticipation floods through me. With a heavy sigh, I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes.
“You okay?” Bryce says. “Your parents aren’t that embarrassing, Mainstream, don’t worry.”
I laugh and go with that, because it’s better than explaining that I’m really freaking out about this. I’m enthusiastic and happy and anxious and scared all at once. My hands are moist and my stomach is full of butterflies and my heart is fluttering erratically. The thing I’m most scared of is being awkward and not knowing what to do—and looking so out of place that everybody will find out that I’ve never done this before.
And I really, really don’t want that to happen.
Bryce squeezes my hand and I look over at him, putting on a smile. “Yeah?”
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah, totally fine,” I assure him, broadening my smile to a grin. “Sorry, I’m just … a little spaced out today, I guess. Excited.”
He looks at me warily for a moment, but then leans over to plant a soft, long kiss on my lips. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
We kiss once more before he puts the car in gear and pulls off. The dance is at the school—which, considering Midsommer High is a pretty darn fantastic school, isn’t as lame as it sounds.
“You do look absolutely incredible tonight,” he tells me.
“Thanks. So do you.”
“Thanks.” There’s a pause, and then he clears his throat before saying, “Listen, Madison, I was thinking earlier … Well, my parents are chaperoning the dance and the school till really late, so I thought, maybe, if you wanted to go back to my place for a bit instead of the after party … We could go back to the party after if you wanted, but …”
Oh, man.
This again.
I have to admit, he is being kind of romantic seeing as it’s the Winter Dance, but …
Well, that’s exactly it. But.
“Bryce, I’m still not ready,” I tell him bluntly.
I catch his sigh. It’s barely audible, but I don’t miss it. I don’t comment on it. I don’t want to spoil the night.
He says, “It’s fine, Mainstream. Don’t worry about it. I’ll wait.” And he sends me a fleeting smile before turning back to look at the road, then reaches over with one hand to squeeze my thigh in what’s meant to be a reassuring way.
I want to ask him if he really does have a problem with it—with me—but I don’t want to spoil the night. I can ask him another time. Maybe.
Chapter 34
The school assembly hall looks absolutely incredible. It’s reserved for formal assemblies—of which we’ve only had two in the entire time I’ve been here—and holds about a thousand people. So it’s not exactly a squeeze to fit in the tables and the stage for the band and the two hundred-odd students.
It’s decorated with blue, silver, black and white balloons. They flood the floor and hang in bunches from the walls. The table centerpieces are simple vases with blue or white artificial flowers. At the entrance there’s a balloon arch, with a professional photographer taking photos of the couples as they go in. The music isn’t too loud, either, which is nice; it fills the room over the chatter, but you don’t have to yell to be heard.
“I have a hunch that the dance committee has a fondness for balloons,” I murmur in Bryce’s ear as we join the small line of people waiting to have their photos taken.
Bryce laughs loudly, causing a few heads to turn our way. “Last year it was all streamers. I swear to God we were drowning in them. People kept tripping over them too: they ended up all over the dance floor because they were too heavy to stay tacked to the ceiling.”
I laugh at the image of it. “Then I guess we’re lucky with the balloons.”
“Not if you have a fear of balloons,” he points out.
“True,” I concede. “Well, if that’s where most of the budget went, I shall look forward to our three-course meal with extremely low expectations.”
“It’s a damn big budget,” he tells me.
“And it’s a heck of a lot of balloons.”
Then it’s our turn for a photo, and once that’s done we wander on in.
Bryce starts to ask, “Can you see anyone anywh—” when someone yells, “Hey, guys! Bryce! Over here, man!” and we both spot Kyle waving us over from a table against the far wall. Bryce takes my hand again and I follow him over toward the others. Summer and Marcus are cozied up, ever the world’s sweetest couple, and Kyle and his date—a girl I recognize from parties and school, Mary-Jane—sit next to them. The tables are of varying sizes, but ours is one of the biggest, made to seat at least sixteen, so there’s enough space for all of us.
I drop into the chair beside Bryce’s and say hi. Mary-Jane says, “Your dress looks amazing.”
“Oh, um, thanks,” I say shyly. I’ve never really spoken to her much; she’s a senior. “You look great too.”
“Thanks. But seriously, it’s such a bold choice, wearing black! It looks fantastic, though—really stands out.”
I grin, and it’s entirely genuine. I thought Summer was the only other person who liked this dress. I was worried that people would think I looked weird in it—though not enough not to buy it.
“Thanks.”
“See,” Summer pitches in, detaching herself from Marcus’s mouth. “I told you it’d look hot.”
“Definitely hot,” Bryce says in a loud whisper in my ear, making us all laugh. He plants a kiss on my cheek before continuing his conversation with Kyle.
“You look really pretty too,” I tell Summer. “Just stating the obvious.”
She laughs and grins at me. “Why, thank you.” Her cell phone buzzes noisily on the table, the screen lighting up. “Ooh, that’s probably Tiffany … Yeah, she’s on her way.”
“What about Melissa?”
“Oh, she should be here any moment.”
Adam’s next to arrive, with Ann, and then Ricky and Allison turn up at the same time as Melissa and Owen. Tiffany’s one of the very last to turn up—with some guy I’ve never seen before. I thought she already had a date—she’d told me she was going with Tom, one of the football guys, a senior.
I shoot Summer and Melissa a look of confusion as Tiffany makes her way over. They’re just as baffled as I am, though.
“Hey, everyone!” she chirps. She looks amazing—her dress clings to her like liquid silver, and looks dazzling against her dark skin. “Oh, this is Justin. He’s an old family friend.”
Justin is tall—that’s the first thing I notice. He’s about a foot taller than Tiffany, so he must have a couple of inches on Bryce. From his strong build I guess he’s a sportsman. He’s got close-cropped sandy hair that’s combed down neatly, and his tuxedo is spotless.
“Dude, I remember you!” Bryce suddenly exclaims. “Used to live next door to Tiffany, moved before high school or something, right? I’m Bryce, Bryce Higgins.”
“Oh, yeah!” this guy, Justin, says. Bryce stands up and they do that weird hand-slap-shake thing that guys always do. “I remember you now. I used to babysit you sometimes, and Tiffany, right?”
Bryce laughs. “Yeah, that was me. So, how’ve you been? I heard you got some big scholarship playing football.”
“Yeah, I’m in my second year, up in Alabama. It’s the college my dad went to.”
“Justin’s just down for the week,” Tiffany explains to Summer, Melissa and me as she drops gracefully into one of the two empty seats. “Visiting some family.”
“And not too proud for a high-school dance?” I say to him, not unkindly.
“You are never,” he tells me seriously, “too old for a high-school dance.”
I laugh, picking up on the sarcasm.
“I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Madison.”
He nods. “Hi.”
I say, “He
llo.”
Bryce grabs my arm. “Let’s dance.”
I can tell something’s bugging Bryce, but when I ask, he tells me nothing’s wrong. I don’t push it because I don’t want to spoil the evening. It’s only a short while later, when we’re working our way through the absolutely delicious appetizers, that I think the problem might be Justin.
I could be wrong, of course, but Bryce just seems a little different toward Justin now than he did when he first arrived.
Tiffany, I notice, makes sure that everybody knows Justin is hers. She keeps putting her hand on his arm, his leg, brushing a loose strand of hair back—that kind of thing. When I was up dancing and mingling with people earlier, everyone seemed to be talking about Justin: because a) he’s “totally drop-dead gorgeous,” and b) he’s a college student, for crying out loud! Tiffany is so totally lucky, and c) he’s an awesome football player—that scholarship he got doesn’t go to just anybody.
Justin, for his part, seems pleasant enough: he’s nineteen, in his second year of college, studying to become a sports therapist. It’s not long before we’re all sitting down to dinner.
“Looks like they didn’t blow the entire budget on balloons,” Bryce tells me with a chuckle, pushing away his empty plate when he’s done with the first course.
“Uh-uh,” I warn him. “That was only the appetizer.”
“True. I’ll reserve judgment till the end of the meal.”
I laugh, and then he takes his fork up again, and stabs it into one of the remaining pieces of chicken in my salad. I turn my head and raise my eyebrows at him. Gradually he raises the fork to his mouth and takes a deliberately slow bite of the chicken.
“Stealing my food,” I say, mock-scowling at him, and bump my knee against his under the table. “Rude.”
He winks at me and gives me a quick kiss, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You guys are all coming to the after party later, right?” Mary-Jane wonders.
There are affirmative answers from all around the table. Turning to Justin, Marcus asks, “What about you?”
“Party?” he says. “I’m in.”
As the catering staff collect up the mostly empty dishes and bring out the main course, conversation turns automatically to the food—it’s some kind of beef dish with a red wine sauce, and it smells and looks absolutely delicious.
“I remember the last prom I had at high school,” Justin starts with a laugh in his voice. “There was this huge disaster with the catering staff, because they’d blown most of the budget on getting some on-the-rise pop star, so they had to be a little stingy when it came to the meal, but they still tried to be all fancy, and we ended up with escargot as the appetizer. I don’t think anybody touched them. Then we got oysters for the main course, and some kind of disgusting custard thing for dessert. So we ordered a ton of pizza.”
“I can imagine how flattered the dance committee was by that,” I say.
He laughs. “Hell yeah. My girlfriend went bat-shit crazy on me for making her look like a laughingstock.”
“Girlfriend?” Mary-Jane picks up on what I’m sure we’re all thinking.
“We broke up ages ago,” he says dismissively.
“Aw, that’s a shame … Anyone on the scene now?” No one could legitimately think that she was interested in Justin—she sounds like she’s just making polite conversation.
“Nope,” he replies. “But that’s partly because my football coach has us all working our butts off so hard there’s not really much time for dating right now.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but there’s a mischievous grin on his face telling us that he’s not really been abiding by the rules, and a few of us laugh. I notice that Bryce doesn’t, so I turn to him questioningly.
He gives me a smile and reaches under the table to squeeze my thigh. I put my hand on his and squeeze back.
“Hey, I’m watching you two,” Justin says suddenly, making me jump a little. “No funny business under the table there. Save it for the after party.”
I manage not to blush, and force a laugh. Bryce’s hand tightens on mine a little—in irritation, maybe.
“You sure you’re all right?” I ask quietly.
“Sure,” he replies, and smiles at me again.
There’s easy conversation over dinner; after dessert everyone’s so full they don’t want to move … But gradually people begin to get up and make their way onto the dance floor, where the band have started to play again. Bryce is deep in conversation with Kyle and Ricky, so I let the girls pull me up.
“What’s up with Bryce?” Melissa asks me. “He’s acting weird.”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “But I kind of get the feeling he doesn’t like Justin.”
“Well, that would make sense,” she tells me with a shrug. “I bet he feels threatened, is all. I mean, Bryce is pretty much the hottest, most popular guy here, and then all of a sudden this other hot guy who’s in college comes swanning in.” She shrugs again. “Just guys being guys. Testosterone wars.”
“Yeah, I guess …”
“You two aren’t having problems, are you?” she asks.
“No!” I insist quickly. “Why would you think that?”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean anything by it! It’s just that I thought maybe that could’ve been why he was acting weird.”
“Oh. Well, no, we’re fine.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
But I feel strangely guilty for saying that—as if I’d lied to her. And I refuse to admit to myself that this might be the case. I don’t want to think about that right now. I can think about it tomorrow. Tonight I’m just going to forget about all that and have fun, and enjoy my first high-school dance.
Chapter 35
The night passes quickly, which I really hadn’t been expecting. I guess I’m really just having too much fun to notice. Everyone seems to be eager for the after party, but even so, the original hyper excitement dies down as the Winter Dance draws to a close. The band is playing slower songs, and it’s a little darker now that the sun has set.
I’m over by the drinks table, getting myself another cup of fruit punch, when a familiar voice says, “Hey.”
“Andy! Hi!” I say enthusiastically, grinning at him. His hair is just as gravity-defying as ever, and his tie is askew, and his shirt isn’t tucked into his pants, but I have to admit, he does clean up nicely—although I do usually see him in his gym clothes. “How are you?”
I still see Andy when I hide under the bleachers during Gym, but we never talk anymore. Ever since that soccer game, I’ve been keeping my distance. And Carter and I haven’t spoken much in Art for the last month. But can you blame me? Dwight hates me. I don’t want to be reminded of that every time I speak to his friends; I assumed they would have something against me because Dwight hates me. Isn’t that just what people—what friends—do?
I’ve missed these guys, I realize.
“I’m good,” he says with a nod, sipping his punch. “How’ve you been? I don’t see much of you lately. Since you seem determined to avoid me in Gym class.” He raises his eyebrows accusingly, and I drop my gaze to the floor.
“Sorry …”
“That’s okay,” he says. “I’m just … curious, I guess. But I shouldn’t pry. I’ll shut up now. You look very pretty tonight, Madison.”
I laugh. “Thanks. You look good too.”
“Of course I do,” he says jokingly, and I laugh.
“Are you going to the after party?” I ask, but I already know the answer.
He just snorts. “Not really our thing, in all honesty. Are you having a good night so far?”
“Yeah, I am, actually,” I tell him with a grin. “How about you? Did you come with a date?”
“Nah, a bunch of us just came as a group,” he says with a shrug. “Hey, you know, Dwight and Carter are just over there”—he jerks his head toward the tables we all ate at earlier—“if you want to say hi.”
I bite my lower
lip and gulp. I can only imagine how horrible it would be if I did that. Dwight certainly won’t want me going over to say hi. And I know it’ll only make me feel terrible too, and it’s been such a good night … I can’t go and ruin it all now.
“I, uh, I don’t … I don’t think I should,” I stammer in a mumble.
“What happened with you two, anyway?” Andy asks. “I don’t care if I’m prying now. Dwight hasn’t been the same since you two stopped talking. And you’ve been really weird with us too. What happened?”
We kissed, that’s what happened. I had to get out before everything crumbled to pieces. I couldn’t go back to where I was before. I’m sorry.
“You mean he didn’t tell you?”
“No. He just shuts off whenever Carter or I mention you.”
“Oh.”
There’s a pause. “So you’re not going to tell me either?”
“No,” I reply, my voice suddenly very quiet.
Andy just sighs and shakes his head. But before either of us can say anything else, the music stops and there’s someone calling down the microphone, “Hey, everybody, can I have your attention, please! It’s time to announce the King and Queen of this year’s Winter Dance!”
Andy and I both turn to look at the stage. I recognize Lucy, the head cheerleader, and head of the dance committee, and senior class president.
“Guess you’d better go,” Andy says. “Don’t want to be seen with me if you’re called up.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I say with a slight scowl at him.
“It’s not stupid. I voted for you. Lots of people did. You’ve got a good chance at winning.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Just give me a yell if you’re ever in need of a Court Nerd,” he tells me with a good-natured smile, and then he goes back to his table, leaving me alone.
“Madison!” I hear Summer call. I go on my tiptoes and spot her waving me over; I make my way across just as Lucy begins her dramatic buildup, announcing the King of the Winter Dance.
I always thought the whole prom king and queen thing was a bit unnecessary. I still don’t see why everyone is so excited right now.
