Best. Night. Ever.

by Rachele Alpine

  The refreshments table! That’s a place where people can stand by themselves. Other kids will just think I’m getting a drink for someone. I walk toward the table, still seeing white dots. A cup of punch does sound good right about now.

  Punch in hand, I spot Leif alone. What’s up with that?

  “She left with Tess,” someone says behind me. The voice makes me close my eyes and say a silent prayer to whoever listens to middle school guys’ prayers. Please don’t let this be happening to me.

  I turn around and my fears are confirmed. It’s my mom. She’s stepped out of her chaperone role to speak to me. I’d thought about asking her not to talk to me during the dance, but it seemed like an insensitive request. So here I am, wishing the dance floor would open up and swallow me whole.

  “The girls went that way,” Mom says. She points toward the bathroom, then her voice softens. “And, honey, I saw Mariah with Leif. You should probably be nearby when she and that other girl finish their conversation, don’t you think? She might need her best friend at a time like this.”

  As mortifying as it is to have your mom speak to you at a school dance, the woman does have a point. Plus, she was a thirteen-year-old girl once. She understands them. That’s something I’ll never be able to say about myself. But she doesn’t mention my crush directly, so I’m more relieved than annoyed, to be honest.

  I head in Mariah’s direction and hope for the best.

  TESS { 8:55 P.M. }

  “MARIAH.” THE NAME SLITHERS OUT of my mouth.

  “Tess,” she replies.

  I cannot believe this. Leif spent forever behind that Jurassic Park–looking fern (seriously, it could hide a T. rex), then disappeared completely, and then finally made an appearance where he was supposed to—with me.

  For a second, I thought he was ready to run off—again—even after he asked me to dance, so I pulled him far away from Mariah so he wouldn’t chicken out. He had this look in his eyes when we first started dancing, almost like I was the Incredible Hulk instead of just Tess. I don’t know what happened to the Leif I asked to the dance—the one who talked books and music with me. This guy—the one who said yes to both me and Mariah (which bothers me way more than I’d ever admit to Mariah)—looked scared to death of me, even though he tried to hide it between a tight smile and a fake laugh. I took a selfie of the two of us and couldn’t even post it anywhere because of the terrified look on his face. He’s . . . not really who I thought I’d be hanging out with tonight. Especially after he agreed to go with Mariah, too. It makes me wonder if I actually like him at all.

  But before I can figure that out, I have to deal with Mariah. Who interrupted my time with Leif. She actually had the nerve to show up mid-slow-dance and insist that we talk right that very second. She shot Leif her usual I have to deal with Tess frowny, pinchy-faced look, then grabbed my arm and hauled me halfway across the gym, toward the doors, until I broke free. And now she’s stopped in front of me, hands on her hips. I have no idea why she’s standing here, waiting for me to say something, when she’s the one who dragged me away from Leif.

  My phone buzzes in my boot. I’m pretty sure it’s Carmen, who I’d much rather talk to than Mariah. I slide it out and check.

  It’s a picture. Taken really sneakily, if you ask me. There’s an adorable guy in the very top corner, and the rest of the picture is of a table.

  Jackson!!!

  I take my time typing a reply. After all, when your BFF—who is missing the biggest moment of her life—just met a cute guy at the Wedding of Horrors, it’s important to be there for her.

  When I look up again, Mariah’s still staring at me, arms crossed.

  “What?” I finally say. She’s probably doing this to get Leif to dance with her. And that’ll be happening the same day I put on a plain T-shirt and jeans. As in, never.

  “I need a minute of your precious time,” she says.

  “That doesn’t mean you can drag me away from my date.”

  “We have to talk.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. Something’s . . . different. Her mouth isn’t doing that chewing-on-a-lemon thing it usually does when we’re forced to exchange words. She’s not looking at Leif, who I’ve now spotted hiding behind his six-foot-tall friend Chris. What is it with this kid and hiding? His white-blond hair totally gives him away.

  To be honest, I’m a little freaked out by this version of Mariah. I don’t know what to say to her. Which is probably a first.

  She seems to spy Leif with his friends and glares in his direction. I am a little curious about why Mariah’s looking as if she’s ready to rip his hair right out of his head, when only a few minutes earlier she wanted him all to herself. “Can we talk in the bathroom?” she asks.

  If I raised my eyebrows any higher, they’d be in my hair. Mariah Wilson wants to chitchat with me in the bathroom. I bet she’s actually planning to lock me in a stall and then go running after Leif.

  “I’m kind of busy right now. Leif and I are dancing. Or . . . were dancing before you interrupted us.”

  Mariah smirks. “Doesn’t look like you’re dancing now.”

  There she is. This is Normal Mariah. This I can handle. “You’re just jealous because he chose me over you!”

  And just like that, she goes back to this new, nonsmirky, almost nice version of Mariah. “Come on.” She weaves between some kids who have snagged one of the streamers and are wrapping themselves up in it.

  Near the doors, we pass Genevieve, who’s tugging on her skirt and looking absolutely miserable. I should really ask her to hang out with the rest of the band someday. Judging from that seriously rocker-cute outfit she put together, she’d probably love going shopping at Second Threads with me and Carmen.

  “Tess! Seriously. Are you coming or not?” Mariah’s standing right outside the gym doors now, hands on her hips again.

  I try to sigh, but it comes out more like a growl. “Wait, locker room bathroom or haunted bathroom?”

  “Haunted bathroom. What, are you afraid of ghosts?”

  “Whatever.” Maybe I just don’t like faucets that turn themselves on and off or weird moaning noises that come from somewhere behind—or in?—the cinder-block walls. I don’t like to spend too much time trying to figure out exactly what those sounds are or where they come from.

  I follow her across the lobby. Mariah pushes open the door, which gives an unnatural creak. The bathroom is stuffed full of girls. Most of them are at the mirrors over the sink, brushing their hair and putting on more lip gloss while the muffled bass from whatever the DJ is playing thumps from outside the door. Mariah grabs my wrist and tugs me to the corner next to the handicapped stall.

  “Hey, personal space much?” I yank my arm from her.

  She doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she gets that softer, nice look on her face again. I move a step backward. Something bangs inside the wall by my head. I try to ignore the creepiness and focus on Mariah instead.

  “Look,” she finally says. “I know we aren’t exactly friends—”

  I snort.

  “But I think we have a common enemy.”

  Before I can even wonder who she’s talking about, laughter shrieks from behind me. I flip around, only to find myself knocked into the pipe-banging wall by my algebra teacher, Ms. Huff. Who is throwing her arms around over her head and doing something with her hips and . . . is that a Hula-Hoop?

  Ms. Huff. Is dancing. With a Hula-Hoop. In the bathroom. Badly. Very, very badly.

  I glance at Mariah. Her eyes are wide, and then she’s cackling. It’s contagious, and before I can even piece together what’s happening, I’m laughing too.

  Ms. Huff winds her way across the tile, that hoop swinging around and around, and just as I think I’m never going to be able to take a breath again, a stall door flies open and a boy—a BOY—jumps right into Ms. Huff’s path. He flings a camera up in front of his face and—snap!—captures Ms. Huff’s sick moves. And those moves? Are definitely sick. Like in a th
rowing-up kind of way.

  “Yearbook!” the boy shouts and dashes from the bathroom. Ms. Huff isn’t even fazed. She Hula-Hoops her way out the door—even as half the girls are screaming at the top of their lungs about a boy being in the girls’ bathroom—reminding everyone in general to please keep to their own bathrooms.

  “I can’t . . . ,” I barely squeak out. “How did he . . . ?”

  Mariah wipes tears from her eyes. “That was . . . not normal.”

  “I’ll never be able to unsee that.” I’m laughing again before I realize that I witnessed it with Mariah, my mortal enemy. Not Carmen or my bandmates or anyone I usually laugh with. I push my face back into a scowl, cross my arms, and pretend I didn’t just see the weirdest teacher moment of the century or a boy jump out of a girls’ bathroom stall. “Why are we here again?”

  Mariah straightens up. “Leif.”

  “Who is here with me,” I remind her, even though I’m seriously wishing I’d asked some other guy now. Maybe one who didn’t say yes to two girls. Plus, I have to scrunch up my toes when I think about Leif. He stepped on my feet so many times when we were dancing, it was really lucky I was wearing my boots.

  She shakes her head. “I figured something out. It doesn’t matter which of us asked him first or who he really wanted to go with.”

  “A-a-and?” The answer to both of those questions is me. Although I’m not entirely sure that I really want it to be now. But I can’t say that to Mariah.

  Mariah smooshes up her face for a second, like she’s about to argue with me. But instead, she says, “You’re not getting it, Tess. What matters is that he said yes to you and to me. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  I blink at her.

  Is she reading my mind? Yes, I definitely liked him when I asked him to the dance, but not so much now. As much as I hate to admit it, Mariah’s maybe, kind of, a tiny bit . . . right. But the idea of letting Mariah win? N-O.

  “It might bother me. A tiny bit,” I finally say.

  Mariah smiles just a little. “It really bugs me.”

  And that’s all I need to hear. “Where does he get off saying yes to two girls? What’s wrong with him, anyway? Doesn’t he have a backbone?” Now that I’m on a roll, it’s hard to stop. Except . . .

  I tilt my head and study her. “This isn’t some messed-up way for you to get me to yell at Leif so he runs to you. Is it?”

  Now Mariah blinks at me. And bursts out laughing. Again.

  “No! I promise.” She gets serious again. “I talked to a good friend earlier. And it took me a little while, but I figured out that I was mad at the wrong person. I shouldn’t be angry at you. At least, not for this. This is all Leif.”

  I tap my fingers against the wall (which I swear is making some kind of creaking noise). One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. It’s the drumbeat to the first verse of “Hear Us Roar.” Which only reminds me that for a guy who claims to really like Heart Grenade, Leif couldn’t have looked more bored when I was telling him about the new songs we’ve been working on.

  I drag up a deep breath, look Mariah right in the eye, and say the two words I never thought I’d say to her: “You’re right.”

  Mariah smiles.

  “So what are we going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. “But it’ll be something he’ll never forget.”

  ELLIE { 9:01 P.M. }

  MY POCKET WATCH SAYS 9:01, which means I’ve been sobbing in this locker room stall for far longer than I’d like to admit. I wish I had my journal with me. I wish I could unleash all of this hurt onto those tender, understanding pages. I squeeze my eyes shut and, for the millionth time tonight, relive the most humiliating moment of my life. My cheeks burn as I remember Kevin’s face, his laugh, his words.

  You didn’t think I was serious, did you?

  UGH! Stupid, stupid, stupid me. How could I have been so naïve?

  I thought he was different. I thought he wasn’t some dumb middle school boy who only noticed a girl’s looks or popularity. I thought someone like Kevin could actually care about someone like me.

  I lean against the stall wall and shake my head. Real life is nothing like a Jane Austen novel. Someone with a 4.2 GPA should have known better.

  My head is pounding and my heart is broken. I just want to get out of here. I want to go home and crawl into bed. I’ll make popcorn and read Pride and Prejudice and forget all about Kevin and middle school and horrible dances.

  I’ll call Dad or Soo-jin to come pick me up. I groan—of course, I’ll have to tell them why I’m leaving early. I readjust the beautiful headband Soo-jin let me borrow, and my stomach ties itself in knots. She was so happy for me, and I feel awful that she’s going to be disappointed. I grit my teeth as I replay the entire thing over again in my mind. How did I allow myself to fall for this? Oh, Ashlyn will be thrilled to use the most humiliating night of my life against me forever. And I can’t even blame her. I deserve it for being so clueless.

  I need to find Amanda or Lila. One of them should have a cell phone I can borrow. The thought of seeing Kevin and company makes me nauseous, but I can’t stay here forever. There’s another entrance to the locker room from the hallway. Maybe I can find someone there with a phone, and I won’t have to go into the gym at all.

  I exit the stall and turn the sink to cold and splash water on my face, which is now puffy and red. After I pat it dry with a paper towel, I make my way through the changing area toward the other door.

  Whispering comes from behind a wall of lockers. It sounds like a girl and a boy! There’s a boy in the girls’ locker room? What if it’s Kevin and Sydney? I duck behind another set of lockers so they can’t see me.

  “Did you do what I asked for phase two?” the girl asks.

  “I keep forgetting what phase two is,” the boy says. It doesn’t sound like Kevin.

  “What is wrong with you?” Her whisper sounds like a hiss. “Phase two is the most important part! Sabotage, remember?”

  “Oh yeah,” the boy says. “It’s all set. I did what you told me to.”

  “Good. And what’s your status on phase three?”

  “Phase three, phase three.” The boy pauses like he’s thinking. “That’s the slip-and-slide thing, right?”

  “You’re finally getting it,” says the girl. “Where are the supplies?”

  “Oh, right, the supplies,” he says. “I forgot those.”

  “Seriously? I literally just reminded you,” says the girl. There’s a short pause. “You know what, I’ll do it myself. Where are they?”

  “They’re all in my locker in the gold hall by the gym,” he says.

  “I have to go check in so no one gets suspicious, but I’ll meet you there in ten minutes,” she says.

  “Got it,” the boy says. “Ten minutes.”

  “Heart Grenade is going down.” There’s a sharpness to the girl’s voice now.

  “Oh, they’ll go down,” the boy says. “It will be epic.”

  The sound of the locker room door opening and then closing echoes off the walls. I peek my head around the corner to be sure they’re gone.

  I didn’t see who they were, but it sounds like they’re planning to do something awful to the band! I look around to be sure I’m the only one who heard the conversation. Sure enough, there’s nobody else in here. I bite my lower lip. Should I tell someone?

  I sit down on one of the benches and sigh. I just want to go home. I don’t need any more drama tonight, unless it’s in the form of a book. But if I leave and don’t tell someone what I heard, what will happen to the band?

  ASHLYN { 9:05 P.M. }

  “WELL, THIS IS JUST SEVEN kinds of perfect,” I state.

  There are two possible scenarios going on right now:

  A. I was a serial killer in a past life, and now I’m being punished for it;

  B. Something horrific is gonna go down at the dance tonight, and I have a guardian angel who is trying to keep me from getting caught up i
n it.

  Because honestly, what other explanation could there be for narrowly escaping a madman who dresses his iddle widdle puppy in snowflake sweaters only to run smack into a creek flowing right between the edge of the golf course and the grounds of my school? A creek that is most likely too wide to jump and filled with rocks just waiting to crack my skull open if I try to leap across and fail.

  “Fun!” Charity says and clomps right into the water. It doesn’t come up higher than the tops of her rain boots, and she splashes straight across like it’s NBD.

  Her sister has the same rain boots on (shocker!), so in 2.2 seconds they’re both on the other side giving me Come ON already! looks.

  I . . . am not wearing rain boots. I am wearing my brand new Zac Ellingsworth fall collection tall riding boots with a hidden side-zip feature. Their soft-as-that-ridiculous-Pomeranian-guard-dog suede will be completely ruined if they get the least little bit wet. I glance up at the school, all lit up and calling to me like I’m Dorothy and it’s the Emerald City.

  Sigh. Double, triple, quadruple sigh.

  The Brats are whispering with their heads tilted right into each other, and I just know they’re talking about me. Grr . . . Obviously, I don’t care one bit what they think of me, but it’s just so rude. And insulting. Okay, so I overreacted a teensy tiny bit to that “guard dog”—it doesn’t mean they get to make fun of me behind my back.

  Well, fine, then. I refuse to give them any more ammunition.

  I’m doing this!

  (But not in my suede boots.)

  I balance on one foot at a time to tug them off and tuck my socks deep inside the left one. I try to roll up my skinny jeans, but skinny jeans aren’t so much made for river-wading scenarios.

  Oh well. At least they’re washable, and I’m way taller than the twins, so it’ll probably only be my hems getting wet.