Ask Again Later

by Liz Czukas

  He seemed annoyed, or sad maybe. So I nudged him with my elbow. “Come on. Let’s go back to the dance.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m just going to avoid Troy for the rest of the night. No problem.”

  “You’ll be like a prom ninja.” He smiled slightly.

  Relief made me grin. “And then you can whisk me off in your mighty day-care van and rescue me from the evil troll.”

  He did a slight bow. “Consider it done.”

  17 Wherein I have all the feelings, and it’s entirely Ryan’s fault

  TAILS

  Ryan was true to his word—he didn’t dance again. But luckily, my girls were more than willing to take his place. The DJ had switched to an almost pure dance beat, spinning all the latest music into an endless stream of sound that pushed my endurance to the limit.

  It was so much fun.

  I’d abandoned my shoes ages back, and my feet were probably just as black as they had been when I’d helped Ryan move his Jeep, but it didn’t matter. Most of the girls were barefoot by this time. Ryan and some of the other crew members were more than happy to stand guard over our growing pile of high heels and purses. We’d shoved them all under a table where the wallflowers could sit on chairs and pretend they had a vital function that forbade them from dancing.

  Occasionally, I shimmied over to Ryan and held on to his hands to dance while he sat. He was good about it, doing a hideous overbite and lots of chair swaying, but he never stood.

  I’d been weaving in and out of groups for a while, dancing with anyone who was willing, even Phil and Tara. Troy, my forsaken pity date, was moping on the sidelines, but when I offered to dance with him, he just shook his head.

  “Nah, that’s all right,” he said. “My feet are killing me in these shoes.”

  “Mine, too.” I held my bare foot aloft and wiggled my toes.

  He smiled. “That’s funny.”

  “You doing okay tonight?” I rested my hand on his shoulder, feeling a twinge of guilt for leaving him alone on prom night.

  “Yeah, it’s not so bad.” He looked up at me, red cheeked and sweaty in the hot ballroom. “You know my girlfr—Amy showed up with somebody else.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I heard.” Tara had told me earlier in the bathroom when I ran into her. “Sorry.”

  “I don’t even know who the guy is.”

  “I’m sure he’s a complete jerk.”

  Troy laughed. “I bet you’re right.” Then the laughter dissolved from his expression. “There she is.” He looked past me.

  “Where?” I whirled, searching the dance floor for Amy Byers. It wasn’t hard to spot her. She was dancing with some tall, dark-haired guy close enough that Troy wouldn’t miss her. I looked back at Troy. “Dude, you could totally take that guy.”

  “You think I should?”

  “No!” I spun back to shake my head at him. “I’m just saying.”

  He squinted at the dancing couple. “You’re right. I could pound that guy into the floor.”

  “You’re not going to, though, right?” I gave him a stern look.

  “Naw . . .” It wasn’t convincing.

  I did my best teacher voice. “Troy . . .”

  He smiled. “Yeah, all right.”

  Dodged that bullet. What was I thinking telling a big lug like Troy he could take down the enemy? “Tell you what,” I promised him. “If I can figure out a way, I’ll kick him in the shins for you.”

  He smiled softly. “You’re a nice girl, Heart.”

  “And here I was trying to be mean.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” I bent over to give him a quick hug and caught a whiff of the alcohol on his breath. Thank God he was riding in a limo tonight. I straightened up and held up my fists in a boxing position. “I’ll get him if I can. Promise.”

  The song changed to one of my favorites and I sprang to my toes, peering through the crowd for my friends. Kim’s feathered updo was hard to miss. I shouted a good-bye to Troy and wiggled my way to join the girls in some serious dancing.

  Overhead, the DJ’s light displays were spinning, sending pockets of color flying around the ballroom while a small disco ball rotated at the front of the room, barely penetrating the crowd in comparison to all the colored lights. I whirled with the lights, letting the people blur in my eyes into blobs of bright colors. I spun long enough to make myself dizzy, and I had to grab Ally’s arm for support when I stopped.

  She laughed at me, grinning. “Smooth!” she shouted over the music.

  When my vision slid back into focus, I noticed something over her shoulder that made my heart drop into my stomach. It was Schroeder and a senior girl from the orchestra. Her name was Kathryn and she was beautiful, in a serious, scholarship-winning way. Smooth, dark-blond hair and the kind of profile you see in classic paintings.

  They were dancing, closer than we’d been earlier. Not in the traditional dance pose, but like they were in a club. He had his hands on her hips, and she had her arms extended over his shoulders. They moved well together, I realized as my chest went tight. She was slinky and lithe like a ballerina gone bad, and he could move his hips in a way that would make most high school guys too self-conscious.

  “What’s wrong?” Ally peered at me, and I realized I was holding a death grip on her shoulder. “You gonna puke or something?”

  I tore my eyes away from Schroeder and Kathryn, and looked into Ally’s concerned face. “Sorry.” I let go of her shoulder. “I’m fine.”

  “Do you need to sit down?”

  With evil minds of their own, my eyes went back to Schroeder just in time to see him bend down to speak in Kathryn’s ear. She tossed her head back, laughing. A lump closed my throat.

  “I’m gonna go.” I flapped my hand to a vague destination, talking to Ally but unable to look away from Kathryn’s shifting hips. “I’m gonna . . .”

  “Go.” Ally gave me a gentle push. “You need to cool off.”

  I nodded and started toward the table where I’d left my shoes, finally tearing my eyes away from Schroeder and Kathryn when I almost knocked over another couple.

  “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, mister,” I called out to Ryan long before I reached the table where he was currently standing guard alone.

  “If this is about more dancing, you can stop. I’ll come back, I promise.” Ryan held up both hands in supplication.

  “No. This is about”—I screwed up my face and stamped one foot in frustration as I searched for the right words—“you made me . . . think about things.”

  “What?”

  I dropped into the chair beside him and crossed my arms. “I was perfectly fine, and then you said that crap about Schroeder, and now I’m . . . I . . . ugh.”

  Ryan pressed the tips of his forefingers together, twisting them and making kissy sounds.

  “Oh my God, are you ten?” I elbowed him.

  He laughed. “You’re having . . . thoughts?”

  “And feelings. Damn it, Ryan. Feelings! This is not on my agenda.”

  “You said you don’t like people.”

  “Well, I don’t like you very much right now.”

  He grinned, utterly remorseless. What is it about people that makes them so enjoy other people’s suffering?

  “So, what happened?” he asked.

  I sighed. “Well, first, when we were dancing, there was . . . I don’t know . . . a thing.”

  “A kissing thing?” He did his finger twisty thing again, drawing out the word kissing like a string of saltwater taffy.

  “No! Just an . . . eye thing.”

  “No! Not an eye thing!” He gasped, covering his heart with one hand. “I hope you used protection.”

  I snorted an involuntary laugh. “Shut up. It was there, okay?”

  “And?”

  “And then he was all weird during pictures, and now I have to think about that, and, like, wonder if it has something to do with me.”

  “And?�
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  “And you obviously suck donkey balls for making me have all the feelings. You’re probably the worst prom date ever, but I’ll have to check with Guinness on that and get back to you.”

  “I didn’t make you do anything. You already had ‘the feelings’”—he did air quotes—“before I got here.”

  “That is not true.” I poked him in the lapel. “I was perfectly fine being friends with Schroeder—”

  “Which is obviously why you have a cute little nickname for him,” he interrupted.

  “He looks like Schroeder. Hello?” Twiddling my fingers across an imaginary piano, I gaped at him. “What’s weirder is that no one else noticed before.”

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He rolled his eyes. “So, you’re all bent out of shape over some eye contact, is that about right?”

  “No.” I dropped into the chair beside him, hard enough to knock my teeth together. “I just saw him dancing out there with Kathryn Taylor.”

  He didn’t have anything to say to that, but he leaned sideways in his chair, trying to get a glimpse.

  “And even if he did like me, he obviously doesn’t anymore, but you made me think about it, and I didn’t even know before, and—God! I’m just . . . ugh!” I dropped my head in my hands.

  Ryan patted my back. “There, there, little Pinocchio. Now that you’re a real girl, you were bound to have emotions.”

  I let one hand drop so I could glare at him. “I hate you.”

  He grinned. “You love me.”

  “Why did you have to tell me, anyway? I was perfectly happy.”

  “Sure you were.”

  “I was!” I sat up to look him in the eye. “Why does everyone think you have to have a boyfriend to be happy?”

  “I don’t think that.” He held out upturned palms. “I mean, I better not, right? Look at me.”

  I twisted my mouth in thought. “Okay, but you just said I wasn’t happy, so . . .”

  “True.”

  “I was happy.”

  “Forbidding yourself from being interested in anything resembling a relationship is not the same as not needing a boyfriend.”

  “Ugh, maybe you are gay after all.” I crossed my arms.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, you’re into sports and you hate dancing, but now here you are giving me relationship advice.”

  “You have way too many stereotypes in your head.”

  “All right. I’m sorry. You’re right.” I sighed. “I’m not being the best nongay prom date in the world right now, am I?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll do better.”

  “I have a great idea how you can start.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “Go apologize to Chase for ditching out as his date.”

  “How is that supposed to help?”

  “It’ll make him feel better, which will make you feel better, which will make you a better date.”

  I raised my eyebrow at him. “Why can’t I just tell him off instead? That would make me feel a lot better.”

  “I have my reasons.” Ryan steepled his fingers beneath his chin.

  I sighed. “Fine, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to hear from me right now.” I was afraid to check the dance floor. “And he’s probably sucking face with Kathryn, anyway.”

  “I doubt it.” He leaned over again, scanning the dance floor. “Nope. No face sucking in sight.”

  “It’s not like I can just go over and cut in on their dance.”

  “They’re done.”

  I looked up and saw Schroeder making his way toward the doors.

  “Go.” Ryan shooed me off.

  As much as I didn’t want to do it, I ran after him. The dance wasn’t over yet, but the floor was already less full than it had been, so it didn’t take long to catch up.

  “Schroeder!” I meant to only touch his back, but I underestimated my speed and ended up shoving him.

  “What the hell?” He stumbled forward two steps before he could right himself and look back at his attacker—me.

  My hands flew to my mouth. “I’m sorry! I was just trying to—” I shook my head. “I swear that was a complete accident.”

  He made an annoyed face. “What’d you want?”

  I reached out with both hands palms up as if waiting for him to grasp them. “I want to apologize.”

  “You already did.”

  “No, not for hitting you.” I scrunched up my face, wishing I hadn’t chosen the word “hitting.” “I owe you an apology for ditching you.”

  His face went still, carefully neutral. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t cool of me to bail on the No Drama Prom-a Crew. And especially you, since we had the tickets together and everything.”

  “No big deal.” He looked away and shrugged. It was a big fat liar’s shrug.

  All I wanted to do was argue. I wanted to snap back about how he sure was acting like it was a pretty big deal, and if that wasn’t what was making him act like a jerk, then maybe he was the one who owed me an apology. But I thought of Ryan, and I decided to make nice. Think Zen, Heart. Om.

  “I should have come with you,” I said. “All of you.”

  His eyes flitted back to mine, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I mean, it’s been fun with Ryan, but it’s not the same.” I stepped closer and leaned in as if to tell him a secret. “He’s a terrible dancer.”

  That earned me a smile, at last. “Yeah, I noticed that.”

  “Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry, and I hope you’re not mad.”

  “Why would I be mad?” he asked.

  I pressed my lips together to keep from launching into a litany of all the ways he’d shown exactly how mad he was, and instead took a breath. “So . . . we’re cool?”

  “We’re cool.”

  An awkward silence fell between us then, and we both looked everywhere but at each other. It seemed like the sort of occasion that should end in hugging it out, but I couldn’t picture doing that.

  “I saw you dancing with Kathryn,” I said.

  “Yeah?” The word lifted, hopeful.

  “She—she’s a good dancer.”

  “She is. You don’t think of the orchestra people as having any rhythm.”

  A snort jumped out of me before I could hold it back, and I clapped my hand over my mouth in embarrassment, crushing my drooping, pinned-on corsage in the process. It was a running joke among the actors in the musical that the pit orchestra members were slightly lacking in rhythm. Or, you know, completely unable to keep time. Every year, the school had to hire a professional drummer for the three days of the show because no one could keep time well enough to trust the entire production to the student orchestra. With my hand pressed over my lips, I could hide my smile, though there was nothing to be done about my eyes, which I could feel were wide with stifled laughter.

  When I could control myself enough to speak, I managed to get out, “That’s not nice.”

  Schroeder grinned. “Kathryn didn’t think so either.”

  “You did not say that to her!” I swatted him in the shoulder.

  “I’m kidding! Relax.”

  This was the Schroeder I knew, and I was surprised at how relieved I was to see him. Maybe I’d been overreacting before and he really wasn’t pissed off at me. Maybe the photographer had rubbed him the wrong way and he just wanted to get out of there. I ran over the incident in my mind. Yeah, okay, there was definitely more to it than that, but at least he seemed ready to get back to normal now.

  “So, next year, if we’re going to have a repeat of the No Drama Prom-a, and we happen to be ticket buddies again, and you happen to get asked to the dance by two other guys . . . ,” he prompted.

  I bit my lip. “I’ll tell them to go with each other and count me out.”

  He smiled. “You wanna go dance again before they shut this place down?”

  “Yeah.” I nodd
ed. “I’d like that.”

  18 In which my brother practices his sales pitch, and I am suckered

  HEADS

  The DJ gave us a two-song warning for last dance, and I pumped my fist in the air. I’d successfully avoided Troy since abandoning his gasping fish tongue on the dance floor, and now the end was in sight.

  I’d stuck to my friends like glue, trying to keep someone taller than me between myself and the rest of the dance floor as much as possible. Schroeder was being particularly obliging in this ruse of mine, always checking over his shoulder for me and blocking me from view whenever he could. I could have kissed him. Overall, it had been an extremely successful strategy, and I was finally in the home stretch.

  And that’s when Phil snuck up on me from behind and slithered his hand around my shoulders. “So, we’re obviously going to Blanchard’s for the after-party.”

  I tried to shrug his arm off. “You might be, but I’m not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Um, besides the fact that Troy tried to stick his tongue down my throat earlier? Gee, let me think . . .” I tapped my finger against my chin.

  “You’re still being a psycho about that?”

  “Yeah.” I crossed my arms. “I’m not going.” Across from me, Schroeder and Cassidy looked concerned, but I shook my head at them. I knew they couldn’t hear what we were talking about over the music, but I was certain I had this in hand.

  “Everybody’s going,” Phil said near my ear.

  “If everybody jumped off a cliff, would you?”

  “If there were a kick-ass party at the bottom of the cliff, I absolutely would.”

  “God, you suck.”

  “I told you, you don’t have to call me God. My Lord will be just fine.”

  I punched him in the arm. Not hard enough to do any damage, but hard enough that he rubbed the spot where I’d hit him.

  “Come with me.” He made puppy-dog eyes at me.

  “Phil, I’m really not in the mood. I just want this night to be over.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  “Do you want me to start with the water that Olivia slopped all over me at dinner? Or should I just cut right to when Troy elbowed me in the head on the dance floor? Or maybe I’ll look fondly back on that disgusting golden retriever kiss he planted on my tonsils. Hmm, it’s just so hard to decide what the best part was!”