by Beth Reekles
He gives a small laugh and kisses my nose. “Thanks, Mainstream.”
I smile. “It’s what I’m here for.”
He kisses me again, only this time more deeply and intimately. After we break apart, we sit in silence with the background noise of the party surrounding us.
Liam’s backyard has a brick wall separating it from the neighbors’. There’s a flower bed in front of it, with old-fashioned lanterns about a foot off the ground; I can make out the quiet buzz of electricity. They cast an orange-yellow glow over Bryce’s face, sending one side into shadow and highlighting his wavy blond hair. His eyes seem almost hazel. He looks so handsome; he always does. I hope I don’t look too terrible in this light.
“Are you having a good time?” he asks. “You sure looked like you were when I saw you dancing with the girls.”
The corner of my mouth tweaks up in a smile. “Yeah, it’s a good party. And Melissa can be a funny drunk.”
“You’re not drinking?”
I shake my head. “Nope,” I confirm. “I don’t see the point. Having a good time and alcohol don’t go hand in hand. At least, they don’t for me. I suppose I can’t vouch for other people.” “Other people” meaning, apparently, most people at this party.
“You’re so different from what I expected when I first saw you. Well, okay—pretty different. Not completely, though.”
“Why? What did you expect when you first saw me?”
“That’s for me to know,” he replies mischievously, kissing me briefly.
I catch his face and hold it close to mine. “And for me to find out,” I tell him, grinning back. “Come on, tell me, I want to know!”
“Hmm, no.”
“You’re just doing this because I want to know, aren’t you? You’re doing it to annoy me.”
“Maybe …”
“Fine, be that way.” And to emphasize my point, I push his arms away and get to my feet, smoothing out my skirt. But before I step away, he grabs my ankle and gives it a tug. I cry out, but he pulls me back onto his lap. “Bryce! Don’t do that! I could’ve broken something!”
He rolls his eyes, a signal that tells me he thinks I’m being melodramatic. I ignore it.
Squeezing me a little tighter, he chuckles and I feel it reverberating through his chest where my arm is pressed against him. “All right, if you really must know, I thought you were the sort of person who didn’t take any shit from anybody, and who didn’t give a damn what people thought about you.”
Well, that’s wrong on both counts …
“Which I was right about,” he carries on, shocking me. Do I really come across as that kind of person? I must do a better job of hiding my old self away beneath these layers of the new Madison than I thought. “But I also thought you were kind of badass. The short hair, the nose stud, the attitude. So you can see why everyone was surprised when you say you don’t swear and you don’t drink.”
I laugh; I can’t help it, but so does Bryce.
“It’s not a bad different, though,” he assures me hastily.
“Good to know.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too,” I reply with a smile, and we start kissing again—until I lose all track of time. The loose trails of thought drift around my mind before I can put them together and stow them away to pick up again later.
Chapter 33
November crawls into December, the days quiet and uneventful, blurring into one chunk of too much homework. Thanksgiving is, for the most part, as it always is. We visit Dad’s family, and all my cousins gawp at my nose stud and new hairdo and until we leave for home again. About the most exciting thing that happens is that I get a Physics tutor who I see once a week on a Thursday afternoon, since Dwight and I don’t speak anymore. The only exchange between us was after the soccer match, in our next Physics lesson—I said hi, and he ignored me. That’s it. We haven’t spoken once since.
I got my dress for the Winter Dance; I bought the black one, much to Tiffany and Melissa’s—and, as it turned out, my mom’s—chagrin. They all wanted to know why I didn’t want something more colorful.
The rest of the girls have their dresses too, of course. One weekend, after we’d bought our them, they dragged me to the mall to get shoes and clutch bags and hair pins and all sorts of things I didn’t even know people had to buy to go to these things.
Now that the dance is tomorrow night, I’m not sure whether to be excited or nervous.
Strangely, though, the thing at the forefront of my mind is the Physics project that’s due in next week. Dr. Anderson wants it next Thursday, but … I don’t even know if we’ve finished it or not. I haven’t done any more work on it. Dwight has a copy of the whole thing, so he might’ve done more. Actually, no, he will have done, because even though he hates me, he won’t risk damaging his own grade.
Should I feel guilty about that? I’m practically sponging off his hard work. It’s not really fair … but I did contribute to it as best I could, and it’s not my fault he hates me now. Whatever. It’s not like I care about AP Physics. I just have to put up with it for the rest of the year, unless it’s not too late to transfer to something—anything—else.
“Hello? Earth to Mads! Is anybody home in that strange little head of yours?”
I jerk my mind back to reality—back to Jenna yelling down her laptop to me, raising her eyebrows to the webcam.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just … thinking.”
“About …?”
“About the dance tomorrow,” I lie.
“Liar. You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”
“Bryce?”
“No. Dwight. Oh, come on, Mads, I’m your big sister. I know you well enough to be able to tell when you’re lying. And it’s totally obvious when you’re thinking about Dwight because you get this faraway look and you frown. But when it’s Bryce it’s more of a smile.”
“Shut up already.”
She just laughs. “Have you talked to him yet?”
“No. Why should I? I don’t have anything to say to him.”
I didn’t tell Jenna about the kiss. I just said we had a fight and I didn’t want to go into details.
She just sighs, and there’s a sorrowful look on her face. “Fine. We’ll talk about something else. All ready for the dance tomorrow? Legs waxed, eyebrows plucked? Instruments of torture lined up for curling eyelashes and hair?”
I manage a laugh at that. “Yeah. At least, I think I’m all prepared.”
“Sorry I couldn’t make it down for the weekend.”
“Don’t be silly!” I burst out. “Jen, it doesn’t matter, honestly. I never expected you to, anyway. I don’t know why you and mom are making such a fuss about it. It’s not a big deal. I’m just going to some stupid school dance.”
“Exactly why we’re making so much fuss,” she argues back calmly. “You’re going to a dance, Madison. With your friends and your boyfriend. You are going to one of those stupid school dances. Don’t get too offended by this, but it’s a mile away from where you were last year. Not that there was anything wrong with who you were last year,” she tells me quickly, smoothly, “but you’re so much happier now. We all know it.”
The edge of my mouth quirks up in a teeny tiny smile, but my heart isn’t in it.
Yeah, I have a better life here. I don’t want to disappear and be invisible and I’m not trying to just make it through another day. But I hate that they all say things like that so proudly; that they think it’s something to celebrate … because that makes it seem like I’ve done something wonderful, and I haven’t.
“Whatever,” I mumble, and Jenna gets the hint.
“So how are you guys all getting there, did you say? You didn’t rent a limo like we all did?”
“No, Bryce is driving us. Most people are driving, actually, I think. It’s not as though anybody will drink there. The teachers all made sure to set very strict guidelines on that one. We’ll meet the rest of them there.”
Jenna
nods. “Sounds good. Make sure you send me pictures, though, all right?” She sounds so demanding and forceful, for a second I think she could be our mom when she’s in one of her rare bad moods. “I want to see tons of photos of this.”
I laugh, shaking my head and smiling helplessly. “Sure, Jenna. Sure thing.”
She sits back and grins broadly at me. “Great! And you’re doing your hair like we talked about, aren’t you?”
I roll my eyes. Jenna had put more thought into how I should wear my hair than I have. I figured I’d do it as I normally did, since it’s too short to do anything with, even curl. Jenna, however, spoke to Mom, and they decided I should buy cute little silver hairpins so it looks a little more special. I agreed without complaint because that was the easiest thing to do, and quite frankly, I didn’t mind.
“Yes, I am wearing those fiddly little silver things.”
“Good.” Then she pauses before saying, “So are you and Bryce going to … you know …” She pauses again. “Has he booked a hotel room for you guys or anything like that?”
My forehead crinkles in confusion for a moment or two until I realize what she’s getting at.
“Oh! Oh, no. Yeah, we’re not doing anything like that. At least, not as far as I know. Besides, there’s an after party that everyone’s going to. But even so. No way.”
Jenna nods and says bluntly, “Good. Don’t. I know loads of girls think it’s really special, and maybe it is, depending on who you are and how your relationship is, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m just looking out for you here. You know, doing my big sister duty and all that. Safe sex, condoms—you know the drill, Mads. But I know what you’re like, and you’ve only been with the guy a couple of months. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you.”
I don’t blush; Bryce might make me blush sometimes, but this sort of thing I can handle, and I bite the inside of my lower lips slightly while Jenna talks. She’s quite open and frank—she always has been with me, so I should’ve been expecting this. But it’s still caught me off guard a little.
I haven’t even properly thought about … about actually having sex with Bryce yet. Sure, it crossed my mind a couple of times when we were making out in his room, but I discarded the idea because I knew I wasn’t ready. And I’m still not.
And that’s what I keep telling him whenever he asks. He’s always a little hard to read, so I can’t tell whether he’s okay with it or not. He always says he’s fine. And he’s going to have to be—I’m not about to go rushing into anything. If that’s all he’s after, then he isn’t worth my time. But he says he loves me, so I guess he doesn’t mind waiting for me.
So I say to Jenna impassively, “Okay.”
“Are you even paying attention to me?” She frowns slightly, like she’s not sure if I’m just saying okay to shut her up, or if I mean it in solid agreement with her.
“Of course I am.”
She continues to frown at me on the computer monitor before finally saying, “Good.”
I hear Mom yelling up to my room—“Dice, dinner’s ready!”—so I yell back “Okay!” before telling Jenna I have to go, and I’ll send her pictures, probably on Sunday.
“I’ll text you tomorrow, before you go, but have an awesome night, okay, Mads?” My big sister grins at me widely, with such an earnest look on her face. She’s genuinely excited for me—more excited than I am, actually.
“Thanks,” I say, and disconnect the web-call.
I make my way down to dinner; Mom puts a plate of beef casserole down for each of us (Dad’s working late) and asks, “What did Jenna have to say?”
“Oh, she was just going on and on—and on—about the dance tomorrow,” I tell her with a laugh. “She’s more excited than I am.”
Mom laughs too, but then she hesitates a second and says, “You are excited, though, aren’t you?”
“Of course!” I reply instantly. I am. Not quite in the same bubbly, nonstop-chatter way the rest of the girls are, but I’ve had a smile on my face most of the day because of this dance. I’m actually getting to go to a dance, with my friends and my boyfriend, and I’ll be able to kiss him and have a slow dance at the end of the night, and then I get to go to an actual after party …
But I’m nervous—and a little scared too—so that’s sort of balanced out the excitement and resulted in apparent indifference. Kind of like what my Physics tutor was talking about with destructive interference in wave diffraction, I think distractedly—and I want to laugh, but I stop myself, because it’s the kind of joke I’d want to share with Dwight, only we’re not talking, and he hates me.
Mom smiles at me. “I’m just happy for you, Dice. You know that, right?”
“I know,” I say with a smile. “I’m happy for me too.”
After swallowing a mouthful of casserole, my mom sighs and says, “I just wish you’d picked something a bit … well, a bit more colorful, than that black dress. Although it does look fantastic,” she adds hastily.
I shrug. “What can I say? It was love at first sight; that dress was The One; there could never be another one like it.”
She just laughs and shakes her head, and then tells me to “stop being so sarcastic and eat that casserole already.”
By Saturday I’m really agitated, my palms clammy from the anticipation of the Winter Dance. I finish all my Algebra II homework and answer a few Biology questions, and tidy my room, and play a video game, and read some of my book for English. But it still doesn’t pass the time quickly enough. Everything just drags and crawls until, after what feels like an eternity, it’s two hours until Bryce will be here, and I decide that’s late enough to start getting ready.
As it turns out, two hours was a little too long, as I realize just after I step out of the shower, so I prolong all the rest of my predance preparations: moisturizing, and doing my hair and makeup. But even so, I’m ready a good seventeen minutes before Bryce is due to turn up.
I sit on the edge of my bed, smoothing out the skirt of my dress. I have my shoes on, and all the fiddly little silver pins in my hair, and I used a subtle sweep of silver eyeliner and shadow to brighten up my features. I have a silver clutch purse too, and my shoes are silver. I wasn’t going to go entirely in black—even I drew the line somewhere.
When my clock finally ticks to just eight minutes left of waiting for Bryce, I head downstairs. I have my ticket, my cell phone, some cash … and my iPod. I couldn’t help it. It’s in the zip-up pocket inside my purse. I have another bag with a change of clothes for the after party.
I get to the bottom of the stairs and Mom springs out of the family room. I bet she’s been waiting to hear my footsteps.
“Oh, Dice, sweetie!” she gushes, and a huge grin spreads over her face. “You look absolutely beautiful.”
I smile for her, but my stomach is curling into knots. “Thanks, Mom.”
Dad walks out of the office and brandishes his camera.
“Careful I don’t break the lens,” I tell him, nodding at it. My parents laugh, and Mom adjusts one of the silver pins in my hair before holding me at arm’s length and smiling at me. I could be wrong, but for a moment I think she’s almost on the verge of tears.
I hug her back tightly when she hugs me, but she pulls away first. She sniffles slightly and says, “Don’t want to crease your dress, do we?”
“When is Bryce supposed to get here?” Dad asks.
“Soon,” I say, and that’s when we all hear a car outside. I’ve heard him pull up outside enough times to realize it’s his. And suddenly the knot in my stomach contorts itself in the most nauseating way possible. There’s a ringing in my ears that blocks out the pounding of my heartbeat and I stare blankly at the cream wall in front of me.
Dad opens the door, and I hear them talking—the usual hey-how’re-you pleasantries. Then it occurs to me: I should probably turn around. He’ll think I’m being rude.
I snap myself back to life, out of my dazed stat
e, and turn around to face Bryce, putting on a smile for him.
Before I can say hi, he greets me with, “Wow. You look … wow.”
I roll my eyes, but a warm blush spreads over my cheeks. I like this kind of blushing, which goes with a fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “You look pretty dapper yourself.”
He cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “Dapper?” I shrug, and he chuckles at me. “Well, thanks.”
He does look even more wonderful than usual in his tux. It’s black, of course, as is his bow tie. His white shirt fits snugly on his muscular chest, and if I thought he was out of my league before, he most certainly is now.
But he’s smiling at me as though I’m the only thing in the entire universe, and all I can do is look shyly back at him before dropping my gaze to his extraordinarily shiny and undoubtedly expensive shoes.
“Picture time, I think!” Dad announces.
“Oh, wait!” Bryce raises his hand, which up until now has been tucked out of sight. “I nearly forgot. Your corsage.”
I’d forgotten all about the whole tradition of corsages.
It’s beautiful, though—a white rose with white ribbons. I take off my silver bracelets and he ties it around my left wrist, and then kisses the back of my hand, which makes me giggle. Then he pulls me close and slings an arm around my waist, and we smile for the camera as my dad takes a couple of photos.
“Got your tickets?” Mom asks us.
“Right here,” Bryce replies brightly, patting what I assume to be a pocket inside his tux jacket.
“Good. Now remember to call if you want a ride home from this party afterward, okay?”
“Yes, Mom, I know,” I sigh. She’s only told me about a billion times. And I’ve told her a billion and one times that it’s fine because I can stay over at Tiffany’s with the rest of the girls.
I pick up my small overnight bag and then turn to Bryce with a grin. “Ready?”
“Yep. Goodnight,” he says to my parents as I begin to herd him out of the door.
“Bye!” I call to them.
“Bye! You kids have fun!” they yell back. “Madison, text us when you’re back at Tiffany’s.”