by Donna Cooner
“Yes, it was.” He is still staring directly into my eyes, as though he can’t believe I’m actually here, and I can’t look away either. Finally, he asks, “Who won prom queen?”
“I don’t know. I left before they announced it.”
His eyebrows rise in surprise. “Why? Weren’t you supposed to get some kind of award?”
“It wasn’t important anymore. I’m through trying to be some other version of myself. This is who I am.”
“And I like who you are.”
My whole body relaxes in relief. This is all I need to hear.
He holds out his hand. “Want to dance?”
I nod and put my hand in his, watching his fingers intertwine and tighten around mine. But by the time we walk out onto the dance floor, the slow song ends, and “The Chicken Dance” starts up. He looks at me questioningly, and I laugh. I don’t care what we dance to, I’m just so freaking happy to be here.
The party is winding down. After enthusiastic good-byes, families have gathered up sleepy children and trickled out, leaving just Izzy and her friends left to dance the rest of the night away.
Alex and I sit at an empty table strewn with half-filled glasses and tangled streamers, watching the girls. Isabella has changed into a short bright-purple dress much more suited to dancing and is currently jumping around wildly with her two besties—their hands waving in the air to the music.
I look over at Alex. His jacket is hanging on the back of his chair. His crisp white dress shirt is untucked and unbuttoned at the neck. I can’t help it. I have to touch him. Leaning over, I brush his thick black hair back off his forehead, my fingers lingering as they slide down his face. I feel the muscles in his cheek move under my hand as he smiles. Then he turns his head and his lips are on my palm. The heat explodes into my cheeks.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Alex says, his voice soft and deep.
“Yes,” I say, although it really wasn’t a question. I scoop up my satchel from under the table and follow him out into the foyer. Alex picks up a flashlight from the entry table and leads me out onto the big wraparound porch.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise. You’ll see.” He leads the way down the front steps and along a small path, his shiny black dress shoes crunching on the pine-needle-covered ground. When the light from the party behind us is blocked by the trees, he flips on the flashlight and reaches back for my hand in the dark.
After a few hundred feet, the gravel path turns to dirt and narrows. He holds my hand and goes in front, leading the way through the trees. “Follow me. I’ll show you. Look for the lights up ahead.”
When I walk into the clearing, I gasp. It is lit by thousands of white lights draped from trees in glowing strands. Bouquets of green balloons are tied to the arms of two Adirondack chairs that sit side by side, and each balloon has one word printed on it with black permanent marker.
YES.
I blink hard, stunned. “You did all this?”
He nods.
“But how did you know I would see it?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t. Not for sure. But I was going to text you after the ceremony and ask you to meet me here. I hoped you’d come.”
Logs are stacked in the stone fire pit, ready to be lit, and all the ingredients for s’mores wait on a nearby wooden table. Everything is just right. There is no feeling of racing toward finish lines and being second best. I reach out and trace a finger along the length of his arm.
“I’m glad I’m here.”
“Me too.” He sinks into the chair by the fireplace. A touch on his phone and John Legend’s “All of Me” starts to play.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I put my bag down on the ground and sink into the chair beside him. He leans in to light the fire and it quickly flickers up into the dark.
When he looks at the bag in between us, he says, “Not exactly the standard accessory for prom.”
“I went by my house on the way over here. I wanted to show you something.” I reach down, open the flap, and pull out my laptop.
He frowns. “It’s not more Worthy, is it?” he asks.
“No, it’s not Worthy.” I push the power button. The start-up screen glows.
Alex sighs. “I just thought if we ignored all the negative attention, it would go away, but I didn’t see how much it was hurting you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I had some time to think this week … about Worthy and how I let it get inside my head. And I thought about you.” I pause and take a breath. “And somehow all those thoughts got tangled up with Isabella’s theme for tonight—Beauty and the Beast.”
His eyebrows rise in question, but he lets me keep talking.
“So I wondered … ” I lean in across the space between us, talking faster. “What if the beast never turns back into a prince at the end? Belle loved him when he was a beast. So, if the point of the story is that it’s what’s inside that matters, then he was good enough just like he was, right?”
Alex thinks for a minute, then nods slowly.
“So, I wrote a new story.” I make a few clicks, then hand it carefully over to him. “And for the first time … well … ” My voice trails off into the dark. I clear my throat, my heart hammering. “I want someone to read it.”
He looks down at the screen, then back to me.
“I mean … ” I stumble over the words. “I want you to read it.”
“You finished it?” he asks, still not comprehending.
I nod. “I’m going to send it in to the contest.”
“And I get to read it?
I nod again. My laugh is shaky, thanks to my nerves.
“Are you sure?” he asks, looking over at me incredulously. I sit with my arms wrapped around my knees. Even though the thought terrifies me, I’ve never been more sure of anything.
“Yes,” I say. “Finally.”
His eyes are already tracking the words across the screen, but he says to me, “Want to make us a s’more? I know it’s not exactly a fancy dinner in front of a lot of people … ”
“I don’t care about impressing other people anymore.” I slip off my high-heeled sandals and stretch my bare feet out toward the heat of the fire. “This is exactly what I want.”
“Good,” he says, but his eyes don’t leave the screen. He keeps reading, but he takes my hand in his, entwining our fingers. We sit like that, holding hands while he continues to read, smiling sometimes at the words I wrote. I look at the fire, biting the inside of my lip, and wait nervously. When he finishes, he sighs, closes the computer, and puts it down on the table next to him.
He leans in until the tip of his nose touches mine, and I feel the tingle all the way down my spine. “I knew it would be wonderful,” he says. “And it was.”
I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.
Then he smiles and gets to his feet, opening his arms wide. I walk into them, barefaced and barefoot, to enjoy one more slow dance under a night full of stars.
Max Rossi & the Huntsville High Hornets
IS HE WORTHY?
The secret is out, peeps! Max Rossi is the mastermind (if you can call it that) behind Worthy. So maybe we should give him a little taste of his own medicine?
Here’s what you are saying:
* Ha! Whoever did this gets my vote!
* I’m not voting for him here or anywhere
The vote is in …
Stay tuned …
100% of you say MAX ROSSI is NOT WORTHY!!!
*As of today, the Worthy app will no longer be active. We recommend deleting it from your phone to free up space.*
* * *
THE HORNET
* * *
SAT tests next week. Check the revised testing schedule for start times.
Congratulations to our junior-senior prom queens! Senior prom queen—Briella Davis. Junior prom queen—Jayla Williams. Check out the prom photo-booth pics online now!
> Congratulations to Linden Wilson, who won the 13th Annual Marty Speer Literary Prize for Young Writers contest, presented by the Thompson Review! Her short story, “Enough,” will be published on the journal’s website. In addition, she will receive a full scholarship to the Thompson Review Young Writers Workshop in Austin, Texas, this summer.
Good luck in the playoffs to the boys’ baseball team!
The elections results are in! Our next student body president will be Emma Johnson!
Are you CRUSHING on someone? Want to tell them anonymously to see if they like you, too? Check out this HOT NEW app—CRUSH—just for Huntsville High School students! Everybody who’s anybody is going to be talking about this tomorrow! Don’t be left out. Free download HERE.
First of all, thank you for reading. I hope you know you are worthy. Of love, beauty, ambition, laughter, dreams, and everything your heart desires.
So many people helped in writing this book, but most especially my editor, Aimee Friedman. Her editorial skills are only matched by her kindness. My deepest gratitude and respect also goes to my agent, Sarah Davies, at Greenhouse Literary Agency for her passion, professionalism, and persistence. I am continually amazed by her unwavering faith in me. Huge thanks also to everyone at Scholastic who made this book, and my dream of becoming an author, a reality, especially David Levithan, Sheila Marie Everett, Tracy van Straaten, Lizette Serrano, Lauren Festa, Rachel Feld, Yaffa Jaskoll, Kerianne Okie, Olivia Valcarce, and so many more.
I’m blessed to have so many writing friends who always share encouragement and cheer me on even when the words don’t appear: Kathi Appelt, Debbie Leland, Katy Longshore, Talia Vance, Bret Ballou, Kristen Held, Beth Hull, Robin Fitzsimmons Meng, and Veronica Rossi. My heartfelt thanks to Karen Rattenborg for her traveling companionship and Greg Rattenborg for supporting her as my unofficial PR director. Thank you also to my university colleagues and friends who support this dream in countless ways. Thanks in particular to Derek Decker, Wendy Fothergill, Jody Drager, Juliana Searle, Rod Lucero, Karmen Kelly, and Heidi Frederiksen. Writing a book is a mental exercise, so I’m very grateful to Jorine Peterson, Justin Thompson, and the whole “Old People’s Crossfit” gang who constantly challenge me to balance my writing brain with a few burpees.
As always, deep gratitude to my family for their unconditional love and support. Extra recognition to my husband, Jay Gines, for the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, and everything else that holds our life together when I disappear into the writing cave. I love you. Forever and ever, Amen.
Finally, I miss you mom. Every. Day.
Donna Cooner is the acclaimed author of Skinny and Can’t Look Away. A Texas native and graduate of Texas A&M University, Donna currently lives in Fort Collins, Colorado, with her husband, a cat named Stu, and two chocolate Labradors, Roxanne and Murphy. Follow @donnacooner on Twitter or visit her online at donnacooner.com.
ALSO BY DONNA COONER
Skinny
Can’t Look Away
Copyright © 2017 by Donna Cooner
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
First edition, April 2017
Jacket photographs by Michael Frost, © 2017 Scholastic Inc.
Jacket design by Yaffa Jaskoll
e-ISBN 978-0-545-90394-3
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