I fold my arms defensively, but Bliss just laughs. “Just a thing with my ex and a pool. Hope you don’t mind damp spots!”
“In this old thing?” Dante grins good-naturedly. “She’s seen worse, I promise.”
The other girls climb in the car, already telling him about the dorm we need, and where would be best to park, but I hang back, reluctant. He hasn’t said a word to me yet. He hasn’t so much as looked in my direction. After that fight we had back at the warehouse, I can’t say I’m surprised, but his indifference stings more than any angry glare ever could.
“Jolene, come on!” Meg instructs, hanging out the front passenger door. I brace myself. Means to an end, I tell myself; he’s just the means to a necessary end. Clambering in the backseat, I slam the door, and we go.
Meg and Bliss chat the whole way, giving him an edited version of our diary quest. They laugh and joke, happy about our rescue, but I curl up, silent as the dark streets speed by. After everything that’s happened, my defenses are down and Dante’s presence is overwhelming. He hasn’t looked my way since that glance, but I can feel him all the same — every smile and nod of his head, every idle finger-drum on the steering wheel. I watch his profile, lit up in the glare of passing cars, eyes fixed on the road. It would be a comfort to be near him again, if it wasn’t for the ugly things we said just a few hours ago. The yelling, the frustration in his eyes.
He’s out of reach now.
“I’ll go,” Bliss says when we arrive on campus. The quad is empty, the earlier partiers all safe asleep — or passed out somewhere. “Shouldn’t be long. Third floor, right?”
“Yup.” Meg nods. “Good luck!”
We watch her hurry over to the front entrance. It’s locked tight, but, after a moment, a security guard comes to the door.
“I am going to sleep sooo late tomorrow.” Meg yawns. “I mean, today.”
Dante laughs. “Not a natural party animal, huh?”
“Um, no,” she admits.
“Jolene should give you some tips,” he says casually, still not looking back at me. “She’s gone days straight on nothing but caffeine and bagels.”
The memory is sharp: me and Dante in this car, with nothing but open roads and Lyle Lovett on the radio. “My seventeenth birthday,” I answer, my voice sounding like it belongs to someone else. “We drove to Philly for that Thermals show, and then just kept going to make the date in New York.”
Meg twists around to look at me. “You went cross-country?”
I shrug. “Sure, it was fun.” We planned to go abroad, too, one of those days. Europe. South America. Dante had an itch; he used to want to see it all. Maybe he still does.
“My dad won’t even let me leave the state. Not without him and Stella,” Meg says wistfully.
“We’ll work on that,” I tell her, managing a smile. “Who knows; maybe by the end of summer, we’ll get you as far as DC.”
She looks at me, and then her face breaks out into a brilliant grin. “Maybe we will.”
“Here’s your girl.” Dante nods. Bliss is hurrying back from the dorm. She climbs into the backseat next to me, already shaking her head.
“No go. It’s a different guard now — he won’t let me up. They shut the party down hours ago, and now he’s only letting in residents with ID.”
We all exhale.
“Didn’t you try to make an excuse or something?” I ask, frustrated.
Bliss looks insulted. “What do you think? I said I was his sister, visiting from out of town. But he didn’t budge. He’s kind of an ass,” she adds, frowning. “I mean, imagine if it was true — where does he think I’m going to sleep?”
I slump back. “So, what now?”
“We can’t just give up,” Meg insists. “Remember what’s in that diary — we’ve got to get it back. Tonight.”
“But how?” Bliss asks. “I mean, I tried everything in there. I even cried!”
We’re silent. Then Dante speaks. “What’s the setup in there? Do you sign in, or what?”
Bliss thinks, “Umm, there’s a card swipe on the main door. But even if we get someone to let us in, they’re not allowed to sign in guests after midnight. And this guy doesn’t leave his desk.”
“Huh . . .” Dante pauses, and I just know his mind is ticking over something. Give him long enough, and he could steal the Declaration of Independence. “Jolene, you still got that hack from Eli?”
He’s speaking to me.
“Uh, yeah.” I manage to recover. My heart pounds as I finally meet his eyes. “It’s in my bag.”
“OK.” He nods, beginning to curl his lips in a smile. “And do you think you guys could find an ID? It doesn’t have to be from this dorm, just a college one.”
“You mean we jam the entry system and then bluff our way in?” Meg brightens, way ahead of me. “That could work. The library should be open all night, and I could try and borrow someone’s card. . . .”
“Perfect.” Bliss bounces out of the car. “You go take care of that, and I’ll go back and work on the guard, in case he breaks.”
They slam the doors. It’s just me and Dante now. Silent.
“Wait a minute.” I scramble out and hurry after them. “What do I do? I should go with you, Meg, to help out.”
“Nope.” Bliss stops and gives me that grin again, the devious one. “She’s the one with the access there, and we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves, do we?”
“But —” I look back at the car. At Dante. “You can’t leave me alone with him,” I whisper.
“You’ll be fine.” Meg looks amused. “He won’t bite.”
“Unless you’re lucky,” Bliss adds, giggling.
“Guys!” I cry. They don’t understand; this isn’t a joke. “Please . . .”
“Try starting with an apology,” Meg advises, already backing away. Then she pauses and gives me a curious smile. “He came, you know. To prom. I saw him outside, all dressed up. I’m guessing that was for you.”
And then they split off in different directions and leave me here to my fate.
He showed up.
I don’t go back to the car. The thought of sitting there in icy silence with Dante is worse than the night chill, so I wander down the sidewalk a ways until I reach one of the benches overlooking the quad. Not that there’s much to overlook: a dark patch of grass and the looming ugly concrete buildings all around. Ivy League, this isn’t. A lone neon lamp washes me in a thin pool of light. Hugging my knees to my chest, I wait.
He showed up to prom. After all this time, he remembered too — found a tux, came back down from college. That has to mean something. And even though I screwed everything up with my stupid, blind quest to even the score with my dad, Meg’s revelation still fills me with the smallest bit of hope.
If he gets out of the car, there’s still a chance for me.
I repeat it like a mantra, watching groups of drunken stragglers stumble back to the dorms. The minutes stretch out, but still I hope. If he gets out of the car, maybe this can be mended, somehow. If he comes to talk to me, then he still cares. Part of me wants to march right up to him and demand forgiveness — I’m not the kind of girl to ever wait around for a guy to make his move — but some instinct tells me that I can’t force this.
Five minutes turn into ten, and soon my butt is numb from the hard seat and I’ve got goose bumps all over my body. And he hasn’t gotten out of the car.
I’m surprised to feel a sob well, stinging in the back of my throat. I’ve been fooling myself all year into thinking I’m better off without him — better without a friend who could just bail like that. But it’s a lie. He went because I pushed him. I pushed them all. Hell, I’ve been sabotaging any chance I have of being happy — too angry to see past my dad, and the sneers around town, and all the ways this world is stacked against people like me. But what can that anger change, in the end?
Not one damn thing, except to prove them right.
I sink back, miserable. It’s ir
onic, I know. Now, when I finally understand what he’s been trying to tell me all this time, I can’t do anything to change it.
“Are you trying to catch your death?”
His voice jolts me back with a lurch. Dante is standing a few paces away, hands in his pockets and hair in his eyes. He’s casual and irritated, sure, but he’s here.
I stop breathing.
“You sound like my mom,” I tell him, trying to stay cool.
“Your mom’s got the right idea.” He sighs, peeling off his jacket. “Here, you’re turning blue.”
“Better than the pink,” I quip softly.
Dante drapes it over my shoulders, still warm from his body. I snuggle down, breathing in leather and tobacco and the unmistakable scent of him. He hovers for a moment, tapping a cigarette against his thigh.
“You haven’t quit yet?”
He gives me a twisted smile and then sits. “Clearly, my willpower needs some work.”
“I should give it up too,” I say quietly. “All my bad habits.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dante laughs, dubious.
“Really.”
There’s silence. I try to find the words to say anything at all, but my tongue is thick with panic. I can’t even look at him.
“Those two have come around.” Dante relaxes back, stretching. “Bliss, and that Meg girl. You whipped them into shape, huh?”
I swallow. “More like the other way around, I think.”
“Oh?”
I run my fingers over the jagged edge of the zipper, more nervous than I think I’ve ever been in my life. Even opening those college letters, I had my defenses up — expecting the worst. Now it feels like my chest is cranked wide open, and my heart is beating and bloody for him to see.
“You were right.” My voice almost breaks with effort to get the words out, but then it’s done, and they’re sitting heavy in the air between us. “What you said back at the office. About me, about everything.” I inhale a shaky breath, and then give him the one thing I’ve got left. The only thing I can.
“I’m sorry.”
Pulling some last store of hope, I move my hand until it’s touching his. A breath, and then I curl my fingers around his palm.
He doesn’t respond for the longest time; I can’t even tell if he moves. But staring out into the dark, his hand warm beneath mine, I feel my nerves slips away. Instead, I feel a wash of calm. So he forgives me, or he doesn’t — that part is out of my control. But the rest of my life? That’s stretching ahead of me, warm with a new kind of possibility. College, some attempt at new friendships maybe, try to let that fury ebb away. The world won’t wipe my slate clean so easily, but I can do it, for myself.
I can do this.
And then Dante pulls away.
“No.” He gets to his feet, not looking at me. His shoulders are tense, his body tall and stiff. “It’s too late for this, Jolene. It’s all too late.”
I stop breathing.
“I’ll be in the car. Let me know when the others get back.” With an awkward shrug, he turns to go.
“Wait!” I call, but he keeps walking. “Dante!” I sprint after him, desperate. Suddenly, all that zen resignation falls to nothing. Screw waiting for him to forgive me, screw not forcing anything at all. I can’t let him walk away this time. “Dante, listen to me!”
I grab his arm, pulling him to a stop.
“What?” He snatches away from me. “Don’t you get it? There’s nothing you can say.”
“But . . .”
“I gave you chances. I’ve been waiting all year!” Dante exclaims. “But you didn’t apologize. You didn’t see you had anything to be sorry for!”
I stare at him, paralyzed.
“See?” Dante exhales, the fight suddenly going out of him. He gives me a smile, faint. Sad. “You know I’m right, Jolene. We could have been something, but . . . it’s time we just moved on.” He backs away and then leaves, a silhouette in the dark.
I watch him go, stricken.
“But I love you!”
My voice echoes out across the dark quad.
He stops.
“I love you.” I yell it again, loud and certain. It sounds crazy, a last-ditch fight to make him stay, but every word of it is true. I catch up with Dante, moving so I block his way.
“Jolene —” His face twists, but I don’t wait to let him tell me no again. With my blood pounding in my ears, I take two quick steps toward him and reach up, kissing him with everything I have.
He freezes, motionless against me.
Nothing.
Slowly, my courage fades, and in its place, I just feel a deep flush of embarrassment.
What the hell am I thinking?
“I . . . I’m sorry.” I reel back, looking anywhere but at him. “I get it. You don’t —”
And then his mouth is on mine, arms locked tight around my waist. He kisses me hard, like it’s the end of the world, and there’s nothing left but us: lips and hands and hot breath against my cheek. I feel my whole body relax against him, overcome with relief.
“You mean it?” he says, finally breaking for air. He looks at me with an intensity that sets fire, bright in my chest. “You’re done with this bullshit? Because I swear, Jolene, I can’t watch you do this anymore. I just can’t.”
“I promise. It’s over.” I meet his eyes, trying to make him see that I mean it. “I don’t want to screw this up again. It’s not just you,” I add, hesitant. I don’t want to sound like I’m making any less of what he means to me, but this has never just been about him. “It’s . . . my life. I need to make it different this time.”
But Dante doesn’t take it wrong; he just breaks into a grin. “About time.”
He lifts me suddenly, swinging me around in a circle. I laugh, clutching at him in surprise. “Dante!” I swat his head. “Put me down!”
“OK.” He sets me down with my back hard against the car, and suddenly my laughter fades. I look at him, breathless.
“So we’re doing this?” I ask, still nervous. How is it even going to work? Just the summer before he’s back at college, trying to paste over the raw gaps we both left behind. There’ll be no hiding here: it’s all or nothing.
He leans close, touches his lips gently to my forehead. “Hell yes,” he whispers, and then that grin is back, and he’s kissing me hard enough to make me believe everything’s going to be just fine.
The library is almost deserted now, and even the security guard just waves me in with a yawn, barely moving from his seat by the front entrance. The building is eerily still: fluorescent lights bright overhead, and not even the usual hushed murmurs to be heard among the tall stacks. I try not to shiver. Quiet is good, especially when you’re about to “obtain” official identification cards, but I can’t help wishing for more than a few sleeping bodies slumped over their books for company. Although . . .
Slipping silently past the empty tables, I creep up behind one of the students — facedown in a large textbook, unmoving. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I carefully scope his desk: highlighters, note cards, and — yes! — the pale edge of his student ID card, peeking out from under his right elbow. I hover there for a moment, just to be sure, but he lets out a snuffle and then settles again, his breathing steady and slow. Perfect.
Leaning in, I reach for the card, easing it out from under him with the very tips of my fingers. Slowly, slowly . . . I hold my breath, tugging it closer until —
“Meg!”
I startle at the noise, knocking into the sleeping boy. He jerks awake under me, making a grunt of confusion. I leap back.
“Hey, I thought it was you!”
I whirl around. The boy from before, Scott, is hurrying down the stairs toward me. He looks tired but happy, his T-shirt wrinkled and his sandy hair all messed up. He comes to a stop in front of me, breathless. “You switched outfits again; I nearly didn’t recognize you. What are you?” He grins. “Some kind of secret agent?”
I gulp, glancing back a
t my target. He’s frowning, still sleepy, but beginning to register the noise.
“Whas goin’ on?” The boy yawns, looking around. I panic.
“Nothing!” I squeak, backing away. Scott opens his mouth, so I pull him after me, dashing into the library stacks until we’re out of sight, surrounded by tall rows of books and abandoned stepladders.
I catch my breath, leaning against a section of ancient philosophy. “Sorry,” I manage to say. “I was, umm, in the middle of something.”
“Should I even ask, or is this top secret too?” Scott raises his eyebrows. He peers around a shelf and scans the floor, hand above his eyes in an exaggerated gesture. He ducks back. “All clear. He’s napping again.”
“Thanks.” I relax. Then I think of the last time I saw him — and my less than polite exit. “Did it go all right, with those sorority girls?” I bite my lip, remembering their wrath. “Sorry I had to bail like that, but . . .”
“But they were pretty mad,” he agrees. “It’s OK. I threw down gossip magazines to distract them, and eventually they went looking for easier prey.”
I blink, but then the edge of his lip tugs in a grin, and I realize that he’s joking.
“Oh.” I laugh. “Good move. Although, maybe you should keep a spare US Weekly on you, just in case they come back. Or some diet snack bars.”
“Not that, you know, we’re making shallow assumptions about those fine members of the college community,” he adds, mock-serious.
“Of course not.” I grin.
There’s a pause. Scott tilts his head to look at me. I shift slightly under his gaze, but I’m surprised to find I don’t feel self-conscious in this dress anymore. I stand a little straighter. “There was this party,” I say, waving my hand vaguely. “I was . . . trying to impress someone.”
He nods. “So, what’s this latest mission you’re on?”
“I’m not sure I’m at liberty to tell you. . . .” I reply, but my voice comes out more teasing than I meant.
He laughs. “Well, if you need any help, I just finished up here for the night.”
The Anti-Prom Page 20
