by Cameron Lund
“Hey, slow down!” She reaches an arm out to me. I stop suddenly and she almost collides into my back. “He’s not trying to play you. Andrew would never do that to you.” She puts a hand on my shoulder and I whip away from her.
“How do you know?”
“Because he loves you.”
The words make it even harder to breathe. “Stop.”
I can’t handle any of this right now. A wave of nausea rolls from my stomach up through my chest and I clench my teeth together until it passes. She continues on.
“Come on, Keely.” Her voice is soft. I feel bad that she’s comforting me when just a few minutes ago she was the one in tears. “That boy would do anything for you.”
I know I have to tell her about the Plan, why everything is so messed up. Then she’ll know why she’s wrong.
There’s a sliver of light on the horizon and the sky around us is hazy and blue, almost morning. There’s a bird chirping somewhere, but I can’t tell what kind it is. I’ve forgotten all of the birdcalls we learned in kindergarten. I wonder how long it will take me to forget everything else.
I sigh and turn to Hannah. “This wasn’t the first time, okay?”
“I know,” she says. Not what I was expecting.
“What?”
“You’re my best friends and you guys have been acting so weird around each other lately. It’s not like I haven’t noticed. You can barely be in the same room together. Of course something is going on.”
“I lied to Dean, remember? About being a virgin?” I feel a sharp pain in my head and I reach a hand up and press it against my forehead, wishing for the millionth time I didn’t drink 20,000 margaritas. I can feel the tequila churning in my stomach.
“Of course I remember,” she says. “Keely, did you sleep with Andrew?”
“It was that thing you said at lunch that day,” I say, the words spilling out of me. “That Andrew was such an expert, that he knew what he was doing. He could help me practice—”
“So you’ve been practicing with him?” she asks, and I can’t help but notice Hannah seems a little excited, her eyes glittering.
“Hannah, stop,” I say. “This isn’t good news.”
“No, this is great news!” Now she’s full-on smiling.
“No, we’re not friends anymore, okay?” It feels freeing to finally say it to someone. I didn’t realize how much I needed to talk about this with her, how heartbroken I’ve been to lose him. “He never wanted to . . . practice . . . with me in the first place. We didn’t even go all the way, because he couldn’t do it. He just . . . left.”
We turn off Danielle’s street and into town, past the EVmU campus and onto Main Street. I’m struck by the sudden fear that we’ll run into Dean, that he’s stopped playing Mario Kart and has decided to come into town to go to the bars. I can’t see him right now. Not when I’m feeling like this.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” she says. “That’s not what was supposed to happen.”
“You can’t just meddle in other people’s lives, okay?” I say, harsher than I intended, and her face goes white. Her mouth turns down and she shuts her eyes for a second and I can tell that I’ve hurt her.
“I didn’t realize all of this was my fault.” Her eyes narrow.
“You’ve been trying to get us together for years,” I say. “If you had just stayed out of it, then none of this would have happened.”
We walk by Jan’s, the windows still dark. It hurts that I’ll never have a pancake breakfast with Andrew here again. The smell of something baking wafts in the air around us and it makes me sick.
“I didn’t force you to do anything,” Hannah says.
“Yeah, but look how happy you were that I did!”
“I was joking, okay?” she says with a humorless laugh. “When I told you to practice with Andrew. I never thought you’d take it seriously.”
“You weren’t joking!” I say, my voice gaining volume. “You can’t backtrack on that just because it didn’t go how you planned.”
“I wasn’t planning anything,” she says, but the catch in her voice says otherwise.
“You wanted us to fall in love and instead it ruined us. And so now you’re saying it was all a joke. Well, sorry your plan didn’t work out. Some of us know better than to fall in love with players. This isn’t like you and Charlie.”
Her face goes bright red, like I’ve slapped her, and I sort of have. Hannah turns to me and her voice is venom. “If you don’t think you’re in love with Andrew, you’re delusional.”
“He’s my best friend,” I say, my usual line, the line that used to come so naturally but now always feels like a lie.
“Yeah, so?” she says. “He’s your best friend and you’re in love with him and it’s destroying you. If you just tell him, everything can go back to normal. What are you so scared of?”
“I have to go,” I say, speeding up my walk and hoping she won’t follow. I need to get away from her. I need to be alone.
“Go where?” she asks, but she’s not running after me.
The truth is I am scared. I’m scared of tomorrow night, of the future, of who will be there and who will disappear with high school, like those birdcalls we learned in kindergarten. But mostly, I’m scared Hannah is right. Because if I’m in love with Andrew, if I’m in love with Andrew, it means I’m completely screwed. Because even if I’m in love with Andrew, he’s still in love with Danielle.
TWENTY-NINE
IT TURNS OUT the only thing worse than getting ready for prom is getting ready for prom alone. Hannah and I were supposed to get dressed together, but she ignored me earlier when I texted to go over details, so I guess we’re not talking.
I’m standing in front of the mirror with an eyelash curler, staring at it like it’s a weapon of torture. The events from last night keep flashing through my head like some twisted movie reel of my greatest mistakes—playing spin the bottle, taking a bath with Andrew, fighting with Hannah. I know I said some messed-up things to her about Charlie, but I can’t remember them. I can only remember the way the color drained from her face, the sick feeling in my stomach when she told me I was delusional. When she told me I was in love with Andrew.
I push everything from my mind and try my luck with the eyelash curler. I know I should have texted Danielle or Ava—someone would have taken me under her wing for today, but Hannah is probably with them. Besides, I can’t handle watching Danielle get ready, listening to her excited chatter about her stupid night with Andrew. But as I wrangle with the eyelash curler and all the rest of it, I wish more than ever I had Hannah here to fairy-godmother me; that I hadn’t pushed her away.
My mom swoops in to save me. I never realized she actually knew how to do any of this because she’s always so dressed down and mellow. But maybe part of being a woman is learning how to put on this armor. She paints my lips a dark red, sweeps my hair to one side, soft waves down my back. Hannah made me buy the green dress from the mall, and I guess it doesn’t look as ridiculous as I thought. When I check the mirror, I don’t even recognize myself. For the first time, I think I understand what Dean sees in me.
“You look beautiful,” my mom says when she’s all done. And I smile, because I actually agree.
Dean said he would meet me at the lake, so my parents drive me there for pictures. I ask them to stay in the car, but I know they won’t. This is probably even more meaningful to them than it is to me. My mom needs these pictures for when I’m in California.
When we get there, everyone is standing around in little groups, giddy with excitement and nerves. I scan the parking lot for Dean, but I don’t see him, and I’m struck by the horrible thought that maybe he won’t show up. I can feel all of my earlier confidence fading away as I look around, searching for somebody to stand with so I’m not the girl all alone with her parents. I wish for the millionth time tha
t I hadn’t pushed Hannah away last night because more than anything I want her here with me. I want to tell her I’m sorry, to ask her about Charlie and make sure she’s okay.
“Oh, there’s Diane and Robert,” my mom says, pointing toward where Andrew’s parents are standing. “Let’s go say hi.”
I try to dig my heels into the ground to keep her from dragging me over there, because the thought of seeing Andrew after last night is excruciating. When I do see him, standing with his parents, my breath catches. He’s in a navy blue suit, his hair combed flat to his head. I miss the way it usually flops down into his eyes. He spins around and puts a leg up on the fence post for a silly picture and I hear his mom’s voice as we approach.
“Can’t we at least get one serious picture?”
“Mom,” he says. “Just wait until Danielle gets here.” At the mention of her name, I feel something sharp in my chest.
“I just want one nice picture of my son in a suit,” she says. He shakes his head, laughing as she snaps furiously with the camera. And then he turns and looks right at me and I stop walking, like I’ve run into an invisible brick wall. The smile is frozen on his face, his eyes are dancing, and they’re so green, and I can’t help but think back to last night when there were drops of water in his eyelashes like morning dew on grass. My parents keep walking, meeting up with his, greeting each other with hugs and handshakes, but I’m barely registering it because I can’t move, can’t stop looking at him, can’t breathe. All I can think about, looking into his eyes, is how badly I want to kiss him. I want to be right back in that bathtub, his skin slick against mine, his hands threading through my hair, pulling me tight against him, so tight that it’s like we’re made out of the same particles.
And I realize Hannah is right. Hannah is so, so right, has always been right. I’m in love with him.
But I don’t want to be just like Cecilia, just like so many other girls who fell for him the same way and were tossed aside. I don’t want to just be the girl he made out with in a bathtub at a party after too many margaritas, the girl who fell for his stupid lines even though she knew better. Because I’m not in love with Party Andrew. I’m just in love with Andrew. My best friend.
But that doesn’t make it any easier.
He must realize I’m having trouble moving, because he walks toward me, closing the distance between us.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” I say, suddenly shy.
“You look . . .” he says, but then doesn’t finish the sentence. I want him to say that I’m beautiful, but I know if he does it’ll just be another line.
“Thanks,” I say instead, like he already has.
“We need a picture of you two for the fridge!” My mom waves her camera. “Get together.” Our parents surge forward and push us into each other, smoothing down the waves in my hair, picking imaginary lint off his suit jacket so that we look perfect.
“Drew, put your arm around her,” my dad says. “What are you scared of?”
“Look how grown up you both are,” Andrew’s mom says, her voice going misty.
“You’re both so beautiful,” my mom says.
It’s weird to me how our parents have no idea what’s going on between us. Once, they knew everything about our lives, and now there’s so much right under the surface they’ll never understand. My dad is so clueless he can casually tell Andrew to put his arm around me, not realizing Andrew’s arm around me is both the best and the worst thing in the entire world.
Andrew looks at me and then back at our parents and then dutifully obeys, placing his arm gently around my waist, his hand just barely resting against the fabric on my hip. I think of how many times he’s slung his arm over my shoulder in the past, leaning on me at parties, pulling me tightly against him like it’s no big deal. I think of the hammock in his backyard, all the times we lay there together, letting gravity pull us practically on top of each other. Touching him now shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t be a problem, but his hand on my hip is hot and heavy and it’s all I can think about.
Our parents take about a million photos, and then we pull away as fast as possible so we’re not touching. I wonder for a heartbreaking moment if we’ll ever touch again. I can’t be around him, not if it’s going to feel like this.
I glance toward the parking lot. Danielle is here now, with Ava, and she looks like someone you’d want to paint, her gown the color of red wine with a slit practically up to her neck. Ryder is behind them, not very discreetly drinking out of a flask. Even though he and Ava are here together, they’re Not Together as dates; Ava wanted to go stag. Chase walks up to them then, his arm around Cecilia.
When your school is small, in the end it’s all just one big game of spin the bottle.
I start to move toward the group, but Andrew holds out a hand to stop me.
“Wait,” he says. “Before we . . . I mean.” He lowers his voice so our parents can’t hear, but they’re not paying much attention anyway, too busy looking through the pictures in the digital camera. “About last night,” he says. “I didn’t mean to . . . I mean, I did mean to, I wanted to, I just . . .”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I was about eighty percent made of tequila by that point, so—”
“I know,” he says. His voice is so quiet, and he’s leaning close to me so our parents can’t hear, and it hurts because his lips are only about three inches away from mine. It’s funny how something can be so close but actually so far away. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“I kissed you back,” I say, my voice catching.
“But you were drunk.”
“So were you.” It’s like we’re talking in circles. “Let’s just forget it happened, okay? All of it.” And then I walk away from him and over to the parking lot. When I turn around, I’m surprised to see he hasn’t followed. He’s just standing there, scuffing one of his nice shoes into the grass. Then he nods and moves past me right to Danielle. She smiles when she sees him and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him into her body so they’re plastered together. It feels a bit like someone is stabbing me repeatedly with a blunt knife.
There’s the rumbling of an engine and then a motorcycle peels into the parking lot, and thank God, it’s Dean. He looks good—better than good. It’s like he’s straight out of an action movie in his black tuxedo. He’s not James Dean anymore. He’s James Bond.
I make my way over to him just as he’s stepping off the bike, and I can feel his eyes sizing me up, his gaze slowly traveling down the length of my body, lingering in all the places that are a bit more exposed than usual.
“You clean up nice, Prom Date.” He tries to reach for me, to kiss me in front of everyone, but I back away from him because I know my parents are watching.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, relieved.
“I wouldn’t miss my first prom,” he says, and then he takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. I wait for the usual fluttering in my stomach, the shortness of breath that always accompanies his touch, but it’s not there. I don’t feel anything at all.
I realize then that my crush is gone, surely and completely. The feelings I had for him feel silly all of a sudden—how could I have been so into Dean when Andrew was right in front of me the whole time?
My parents come over and introduce themselves, and Dean is charming as always. I should have known he would be. Somehow, he calms them down about the motorcycle, promises my mom he would never let me ride it, even manages to make her laugh. Once they’re not looking, he leans into me, whispering into my ear.
“That’s a nice dress. I can’t wait to take it off you.”
I turn and slap him playfully on the chest, but inside I feel like I’m about to split into a million different pieces.
Hannah’s Jeep pulls into the parking lot then, and I feel a pang of guilt that I’m not with her, that I was too proud, too stubbor
n to admit she was right. Hannah didn’t have a date, and now she’s coming here alone. I’m the worst friend.
But then the doors open and I feel my stomach clench, because she isn’t alone. She’s with Charlie.
They walk over to us, and Hannah can’t meet my eyes, like she knows she’s done something wrong and she’s afraid I’m going to fault her for it.
“Collins,” Charlie says, holding out a fist like he expects me to bump it. I don’t. He moves his fist toward Dean instead. “Hey, man. I’m Charlie.”
Dean smirks. “The famous Charlie.” They bump fists and then launch into a discussion of Being Old and In College.
The parents corral us into a big group so they can take a picture, and then it’s time to go. We pile into our limo—all the parents waving and crying and telling us to be safe, and I know I’m supposed to be having fun, but everything feels so twisted.
The second the doors close, Ava pulls out a full bottle of champagne from her bag like she’s Mary Poppins.
“Who wants some bubbly?” She hands the bottle to Ryder to open, shrieking when the cork pops. Everyone collectively relaxes, way too willing to drink away a little of the awkwardness.
The limo drives us around the edge of the lake and I look out the window at the water. It’s almost sunset now, and the light is catching on the surface in that golden way that reminds me of summer camp, of the feeling at the end of August when you know everything is ending.
Dean’s hand is draped casually over my leg like it belongs there. He and Ryder are laughing about something, passing the flask back and forth between them, but I’m not listening. All I can think about is how his hand feels on my skin, how the first time he ever laid his hand there it had electrified me, but now I feel nothing. He leans in and kisses the sensitive skin around my ear, and his breath smells like whiskey, making me shiver. I can’t help but look a few seats to my left to where Andrew is sitting with Danielle, their faces practically connected.