by Askew, Kim
“It’s okay, girls, you can leave us,” I said, squatting to be on Craig’s level.
“No, they should stay,” Craig said. The girls stood there looking awkward, as if they’d really rather give us our privacy. Craig held up the crown and glanced at it from underneath, as if it were a scientific specimen. “Isn’t it funny, how you guys called it from the beginning?”
“I don’t follow,” said Kaya.
“You said I’d be king. Or I guess it was that mask you had me try on. ‘A warrior king,’ isn’t that what you said, Cat?” Nobody responded. “But you also warned me it could mean death. That part ended up being true, too.”
“Craig, really … I mean, I don’t think,” Cat said, trailing off.
“Oh believe me, I’m not one to buy into all that witchcraft nonsense,” he hastened to add.
“I wouldn’t call it witchcraft,” I said quietly.
“Still, there’s no denying that it was right. So ladies….” Craig looked up at my friends. “What other prophecies do you have up your sleeves?”
“Craig,” I said, soothingly, as Tess shot me a concerned glance. “It’s all behind you now.”
“That’s right,” Cat said, unaware of what I was really referring to. “We’ve practically graduated. That’s all she wrote, man. Ten-four, onward and upward, the best is yet to come.”
“So you’re telling me I’m off the hook?”
“Of course. It’s all good!”
“I’m out of the woods?”
“You don’t have to worry about the woods, you don’t have to worry about the forest, you don’t have to worry about a single tree for that matter,” said Kaya cheerfully.
“God, it would be nice if I could believe that,” he said, sighing. I took his hand in mine and gave it a squeeze.
“Tess, Cat, weren’t we supposed to go get our prom favors before they all ran out?” Kaya said.
“Oh right. I think they’re picture frames. Skye, do you want us to grab you one?”
“That would be terrific,” I said, giving my girls a grateful look.
“I like them,” Craig said when they rounded the corner. He was still grasping my hand. The music coming from upstairs was just the faintest noise now, as I sat back against the wall next to him and nestled my shoulder behind his. He perched his crown on my head.
“Was I a total idiot up there?”
“Well, the most memorable kings were the crazy ones. You know: Mad King George….”
“Caligula….”
“Well, he was an emperor….”
“What,” Craig said, teasingly. “Are you saying I couldn’t be emperor if I wanted to?”
“Hey, sure. Like I’ve told you before, you control your own destiny.”
“Yeah, well, this probably sounds nuts, but I think I took my first step toward controlling my own destiny tonight.”
“I think so, too.” We sat in silence for a moment, each gripping the other’s hand. I was glad it was dark, because I still felt awkward and self-conscious, especially after everything Craig had said to me tonight.
“So, I’ll say it again: You look amazing.”
“Thanks.”
“Right answer.”
“Did you really mean what you just said up there?”
“Yes … and so much more. Three years too late, I guess.”
“It’s never too late.”
“Sometimes it is,” he said. “But I’m glad it’s not too late in this case.” He looked over at me, and even though I could barely see him, I flushed red, averting my gaze. The intensity of the moment was too overwhelming for me. Every cell in my body felt alive with possibility.
“There’s one thing I still haven’t gotten, though,” he said thoughtfully after a few minutes.
“What’s that?”
“A dance with you.” He stood up and pulled me to standing along with him. The music was barely audible, but there was enough for us to sway to in this long, dark hallway. It was so dark, in fact, that I couldn’t look into his eyes, but I knew his lips hovered a few inches from mine. Being tall had its advantages, I realized. His long hands were clasped on my lower back and my cool fingers grazed the back of his warm neck. I was still the eighteen-year-old dork who’d never been kissed, but having spent the last four years worrying about the technical logistics of locking lips with a boy — where to stick my nose, what to do with my tongue, how to angle my mouth — it now seemed so obvious. In that perfect moment, your brain no longer factors into the equation. And neither do words.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Drink, Sir, Is a Great Provoker
IF I COULD HAVE REMAINED IN THAT DARK UNDERBELLY of the hotel, I think I would have been content to hide away there with Craig forever. But of course, that was impossible. I didn’t know what to expect when he and I headed back up those two flights of stairs. Would re-emerging to the surface of the earth fling us back in time, as if our stolen kiss had never happened? Would Craig and I return to our respective social circles, keeping up the façade that we’d carefully constructed over the past three years? As we ascended step by step, Craig’s hand gripped mine tightly, but I kept waiting for him to release my grasp once we came back into contact with civilization. Because what would everyone say if they found us paired-off? It would likely cause a rip in the fabric of the space-time continuum or at least burn the retinas of disbelieving classmates. In any case, I was certain that Beth could quite feasibly morph into a giant prehistoric monster and swallow me whole.
To my surprise, and to the surprise of the growing throngs of butterflies amassing in my stomach, Craig kept my hand firmly in his. He apparently wasn’t concerned about public perception. Not that we caused much of a stir. The ballroom was emptying out, and the deejay was packing up his equipment as we glanced around at the few people who were still lingering.
“Guess everyone’s off to the afterparty,” I said.
“Wanna go?”
“With you?”
“Yeah, with me, knucklehead. Who else?”
“But what about Beth?” Craig sighed ruefully and acknowledged that I had a point.
“She’s not my favorite person right now, but I’d better try to find her.” Figures. Here was the part where he went groveling after his real girlfriend and I was left feeling like a schmuck as we went our separate ways after all. But instead, Craig tightened his grasp on my hand as we approached a few stragglers. “Anybody seen Beth around?”
“Lose a member of your harem?” said class comedian Tyler Babcock, who eyed Craig and me with some amusement. “Our dear Queen of Tarts was last seen out front, ordering your limo driver to put the pedal to the metal. That lady did not look happy. Think it’s possible to actually die of embarrassment?”
Craig looked back at me warily, as if to say yikes.
“That means I’m officially rideless. How are you guys getting to the Hurlyburly?” he asked Tyler.
“We’re going with Stefani and his lady.”
“Got room for two more?”
“No, but when did that ever stop you?”
• • •
You always hear on the news about teens killed in car crashes and wonder why the idiots weren’t wearing seatbelts. As I crouched to keep my head from hitting the ceiling of Dan Stefani’s Subaru station wagon, I was one of those idiots. I hoped that Craig’s arm, currently hooked around my waist, was strong enough to keep me from being propelled through the windshield in the event of an accident. I could die, both literally and figuratively. Figuratively, because I couldn’t believe I was sitting on Craig’s lap right now. Granted, there were four other couples crammed into the car — not exactly the most romantic of interludes, but still, I felt downright punchy with exhilaration. This was the best night of my life.
“Five-O, keep it low!” yelled Dan as we went through an intersection. Everyone tried to duck so as to not be seen by the squad car in the oncoming lane. At least I could be certain Dan was sober — his family was über-Christi
an. I don’t think the guy would even take an aspirin if his life depended on it.
Behind us in the hatchback, Trista Sarvak and Matt Lackey were swapping spit like gangbusters. My face hovered directly above Craig’s in my contorted position on his lap, but I’d have been way too embarrassed to kiss him with all these other people around despite the fact that I really wanted to — how could people be so okay with public displays of affection?
“How much do you think the tux place will charge me for losing my jacket?” Craig said to no one in particular. Before leaving the hotel, we looked everywhere for his coat but couldn’t find it. Another guy must have swiped his by mistake.
“Like your dad would even notice an extra charge to his gold card,” said fellow jock, Kevin Wunar, who was crammed with his girlfriend, Stacey, on the far side of the back seat.
“Good point. Yo, Stefani — open the sunroof for a second,” Craig said. When the glass window slid all the way back, he stuck his flimsy crown out the roof and let it go flying in the wind.
“Dude! Sweeeet!” said Matt, coming up for air from Trista’s face to watch the crown bounce along the road behind us. It finally spiraled to a stop in someone’s front yard. At the same time, I felt Craig pinch me on the behind.
“Hey!” I laughed and shifted in my seat across his thighs. He pursed his lips in a tight smile, an adorable, “Who me?” look on his face. Fact was, I needed to be pinched. This all seemed totally surreal. And yet one growing concern continued to gnaw at me. Yes, all my hopes concerning Craig were beginning to manifest before my very eyes. Maybe he’d dump Beth … but then what? I was fairly certain, after all, that I was in love with a murder suspect. Whether it was negligent homicide or manslaughter or just a tragic, terrible accident, it was still an issue. This wasn’t just a small character flaw, like being a bad tipper or never arriving places on time. This was major.
With Craig’s strong hand resting solidly on my knee, I decided that, for tonight at least, I would allow myself some selective amnesia. At some point, yes, we’d need to have that conversation, but we didn’t need to have it tonight. If Beth got to be Prom Queen, then I could certainly be Queen of Denial.
The parking lot at the bar was crowded, as usual, so we parked on a nearby side street and hoofed it. Craig carried me for the last block once he noticed that I wasn’t the most agile pedestrian in high heels.
Inside, the bar was packed. I followed Craig, whose arm reached back behind him, holding mine, while he muscled his way through the crowd. I was a little terrified about coming face to face with Beth. It was bad enough having all the rubberneckers in the room checking out the fact that Craig had showed up with me. Fortunately, I didn’t spy her anywhere in the crowd.
As we inched our way parallel to the bar, I noticed that all the over-forty crew had wisely vacated the joint. The line for ordering drinks was at least three-feet deep, but Craig was tall enough that he caught Easy’s eye straight away.
“Hey, Ace,” Craig said, as familiar as if he and Easy spent time bivouacked in the jungles of Vietnam together. “Can we get a pitcher of Coke and some glasses?”
Behind me, Matt Lackey snickered. “Yeah, Coke,” he emphasized, raising his fingers to make air quotes. “With a little something else, if you know what I mean.”
Easy winked back at Matt and continued hustling behind the bar. Through the crowd to my left, I saw Kaya, Tess, and Cat huddled in a corner with some of the student council kids. Cat threw me a subtle “thumbs up” at hip level, raising her eyebrows to convey that she was impressed. Kaya and Tess smiled and waved. I gave them the “one second” signal, figuring I’d mosey in their direction to fill them in once Craig and I had staked out some standing room of our own. The room was deafening as what amounted to my entire senior class continued to up the decibel level with every passing minute. Glancing back toward the entrance, I saw a steady stream of people filing in the door. Craig finally claimed some territory for us on the far side of the bar, but it was tight. He backed up to make a little more room for our carload, inadvertently bumping his elbow into the back of someone who was belly-up to the bar. Duff slowly swiveled around on his bar stool.
“You need to back it up. Now,” he said, his tone ominous.
“Sorry man.” Craig raised his hands in surrender. Duff furrowed his brow and turned back toward the bar. Easy hoisted over a pitcher of Coke and a stack of plastic cups. Craig passed the cups out and started pouring.
“None for me,” I said when he handed one to me. He shrugged and passed it on. Brett Sanders, now wearing his bowtie around his forehead, crammed his way in between Craig and me. He looked like Rambo, and his cheeks were flushed. I wondered exactly how over-the-legal-limit his blood alcohol level was. It would have been nice to just have Craig to myself, without the mob scene. It’s not like I really had much to say to any of his circle, after all. He must have sensed, by my silence, what I was thinking, because he sidled behind Brett back to my side.
“What’s up, girl,” he said, taking a sip of his spiked Coke. “Can you believe we’re graduating in a few weeks?”
“No, it’s so crazy.”
“Hey, so what are you doing next year anyway?”
“USC.”
“Wait. What?!?”
“USC,” I repeated over the din. Next to Craig, a drunken Brett got to gesticulating so wildly that he bumped Craig’s elbow. Some of his drink sloshed out of his glass, landing, unfortunately, on Duff’s back. His soaking shoulders cringed their way up to his ears and he slowly turned around. A silence fanned out across the restaurant as people realized what had just happened.
“Duff, oh my god, I am so sorry.” Craig reached over the bar for some napkins but Duff didn’t seem interested in having his back dabbed down.
“It’s totally my fault, bro,” said Brett.
“I don’t think so.” Duff glowered, staring down Craig. “I told you before I was about sick of your bullshit, MacKenzie. You had to go push your luck, didn’t you? It’s on now.” The tightly packed crowd backed up to give the two guys some elbow room, as it seemed clear this wasn’t going to end well. Duff inched closer to Craig, looking pissed off and menacing.
“Duff, will you just chill?” Craig asked. “It was an accident, man … spill something on me if it would make you feel better. You don’t have to get all aggro.”
“I probably don’t,” Duff said, “But this is sure going to make me feel a hell of a lot better — ”
Craig didn’t even have time to duck. It took only one well-placed punch from Duff to drop him instantly to the floor. I shrieked, along with most of the girls in the room while the guys all chimed in with “FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT… !”
Craig stumbled to his feet. There was a gash above his left eye, which was already starting to swell. A line of blood trickled down his temple. He put both arms up in a gesture of peace, but when Duff lunged at him again, Craig grabbed him by the waist and pushed his back against the bar. Glasses toppled as Easy hurdled over the bar and tried to separate them. The crowd was still going nuts while Craig and Duff struggled to overpower each other. A waitress tried spraying them with the nozzle she used to fill Coke glasses, but to little avail. Duff pushed Craig back down on the ground and pounded his face with two more punches before Easy finally managed to pull him off.
By this time, a bouncer who’d been standing at the entrance barreled through and began ordering everyone out. Easy roughly ushered Duff toward the exit. “I’m glad Duncan’s not around to see what you’ve become!” Duff yelled back at Craig before disappearing out the door.
I rushed and knelt by Craig’s side. His face was still wet with Coke, which was now mixing with rivulets of blood. He looked up at me and groaned before blacking out completely.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Patient Must Minister to Himself
IT WAS MUCH QUIETER IN THE RESTAURANT when Easy finally knelt down next to me with what looked like a tackle box. Craig was just beginning to come to, and I st
roked his arm as Easy dug through his kit. He brought forth a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide, but the fact that he was using his nicotine-stained teeth to open a cellophane package of gauze pads seemed a bit paradoxical in terms of sterility.
“Now don’t you go movin’ round, boy,” he said when Craig lifted his head in a woozy attempt to look up. Easy dabbed at the gashes on Craig’s face with the peroxide-soaked pads, making Craig wince with pain.
“Oh it hurts?” the old codger said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “And serves you right, too, starting a donnybrook like that in my bar.” Craig and I exchanged “huh?” glances with each other as Easy rooted around in his tackle box some more.
“This old gal doesn’t get much attention these days,” he continued, patting the box like it was a trusted hunting dog. “But she’s seen far worse than your scratches, I daresay.” I noticed on the side of the box a medical insignia; an eagle-winged cross with two serpents. I randomly remembered my mom once called it a caduceus, or something like that. A perfectly useless Jeopardy fact. Easy must have noticed me looking at it because he proudly said, “That’s right — combat medic in the First Battalion, Eighth Cavalry. This is child’s play compared to the things I patched up in ’Nam.”
Craig clearly wasn’t in the position to say much, so I figured it was up to me to make polite small talk.
“Sorry about all the craziness,” I said. Two waitresses and the beefy bouncer were clearing dishes off the tables and starting to wipe them down.
“Why is it that you preppy high school kids always manage to make the Hells Angels look like stalwarts of civility?” Easy wondered. “You come in here all fancy-like with your dresses and penguin suits and next thing I know I’m mopping blood off the floor.”
Easy started using his teeth again to cut medical tape. He’d made a gauze bandage that he was now affixing to Craig’s forehead.
