by Robin Mellom
But then I remembered Ian asking me to go to Lurch’s party with him. So we could do something fun and not feel like there was any “weirdness.”
Whatever that meant. I stil didn’t know.
“I’m supposed to go with Ian.” I winced. “Maybe we could al go together?”
I felt a twinge. A shift. Discomfort. It was the rumblings of the dreaded third-wheel syndrome. That syndrome that creates the awkward moment when you realize your 112
friendship is spiraling, changing, and you can either push through it together, or push each other away.
Then I saw it in her eyes. A sparkle.
“Don’t worry about it. I’l go solo,” she said.
My face flushed with warmth. I knew we were going to have to deal with this at some point in our friendship . . . and it al happened right there in that tiny moment. She could have gotten upset. But she didn’t.
Hailey shrugged off the conversation—I knew she wouldn’t want to talk through this—it wasn’t her style. She casual y looked around the room and spotted Dan on the dance floor. He was doing the robot. “Aaaand prom is a horror movie,” she said just before she popped a bubble.
Ian slowed as he neared us, and said, “I’l go put these on the table.”
My eyes fol owed him as he walked away. “I hope you’re wrong, Hailey.”
He careful y set our drinks next to our forks, then moved them next to our knives. He liked to fol ow rules of etiquette, but he didn’t realize anyone else noticed. Which was the definition of adorable. “In your case,” Hailey said, “I am wrong.” She draped her arm over my shoulder. “I’m gone.
Now kiss the shit outta him tonight.”
“Eww.” I hugged her, knowing she might be gone before the salads were served. “I’l cal you later.”
“Hopeful y not!” She winked.
Ian was buttering his bread when I sat down next to him.
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The table was gorgeous, covered with a black tablecloth and a centerpiece that was a glass bowl ful of purple beads, lit from below. No wonder the tickets cost ninety-five bucks.
I surveyed our table to see who we would be eating dinner with. There were eight seats at our table: Me, Ian, the Stoner Mikes, and their dates. Since I was their lab partner, I guessed sitting with the Mikes would make for easy school-related conversation. So far so good.
But two seats were empty: Hailey and Dan. I figured Dan was enjoying his buzz too much to sit down for bread and salad. He probably didn’t even know he’d been ditched by Hailey.
Mike held up his cup of punch and toasted, “Thril ed to be in the company of such a stunning couple.” I blushed. A couple? Was he sensing something more between us? I only talked to the Stoner Mikes about chemistry, not the chemistry of my love life, so I couldn’t help but be silent. And a little embarrassed.
Other Mike raised his cup too. “To you dudes.” We clinked plastic cups while their gorgeous dates texted on their phones.
I couldn’t blame them. It couldn’t be fun hanging out in a bal room ful of Huntington High girls. I thought about saying hi to them, but I’d heard scary stories about Ledbetter girls—or skanks, as they were often referred to: look at them wrong and they’l shred you to pieces.
I didn’t know if they had heard the rude things Huntington 114
girls said about them, but I knew they had already given me their best up-and-down unfriendly looks by Dan’s pool. At least I hoped those were their best.
I kept my eyes on my fork.
Ian sliced a piece of bread for me. “You’re gonna start getting cranky. You need to eat.”
He was right. My stomach was growling. “Thanks for being Lord of My Blood Sugar.” I picked up the bread to take a bite, but there wasn’t any butter on it. I started to hand it back to him, but I noticed he was chewing his lip. Which meant something wasn’t right. “What is it?”
“I talked to the DJ. He can’t play our song. The school makes him play from a predetermined set list.” Ian spread butter on my bread, lots of it, just the way I liked. “Our only option is a Justin Timberlake song.”
“Eww.” I made my pouty face.
“What?” He elbowed me. “You don’t want to dance to
‘SexyBack’?”
“If I have to.” And to be honest, I real y didn’t mind at al .
I reached out to hand Ian another pat of butter for my bread, but something caught my eye. A cloud puff of pink.
Eva was headed right for us.
I imagined stuffing her pink dress into a shredder. Yeah, I quickly weighed the consequences of that. They weren’t good. So instead I flattened my napkin out on my lap, then re-flattened it and pretended there was absolutely nothing unusual going on.
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Nothing awkward. Nope, nope.
Eva knelt down behind Ian. “Can I talk to you?” She glanced over at me. “Oh, hi, Justina,” she said with a brief dismissive nod.
Everyone knew Ian and I were just friends. I was no threat. It probably didn’t even cross her mind that stealing him back right in front of my face would make me want to shred her pink puff of a dress.
But I didn’t have to. Ian quickly turned around and faced her. “Eva,” he said, as if she were a toddler, “I never want to talk to you again. Leave us alone.”
I almost squealed.
Eva’s eyes reddened. “But I—”
“Go. Away.” He said it without emotion. He even went back to buttering my bread as if he had dusted away a gnat.
No big deal. He was done with her.
“Here!” Eva tossed a folded note into his lap and stormed off, crying.
She crumpled into the arms of Brianna Portman, who consoled her and dragged her across the floor, back over to Jimmy DeFranco’s table, where they were al sitting together.
Jimmy was chewing on bread, looking clueless. His faux-hawk had flopped over.
Ian opened the note careful y, like it might bite him. He read it, shook his head, and started to crumple it up.
I wanted to read that note so bad I would’ve put a mafia hit on someone just to get a glimpse. Ian must have seen 116
my I-wil -kil -someone-to-read-that face because he set it in front of me and said, “Read it. I don’t mind.” So yeah, I read the thing, and if I had read it any faster I would’ve eaten it.
Ian,I am so sorry for hurting you. You deserve to be with someone better than me. One day you’ll find that special girl.
Peace & love,
Eva
*Luke 7:47-48
Oh, that’s right—Eva had that Christianity thingy.
“What’s the bible passage?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Forgiveness, I’m sure. They always are.” He picked at some lint on his sleeve.
“Wow,” I said, flattening the napkin on my lap again.
“When you’re done, you’re done.”
Ian took a deep satisfying breath. “Yep.” At that moment I actual y felt sorry for Eva. Hearing Ian Clark say the words I never want to talk to you again would crush me. He was the one who listened to al of my babbling—he knew virtual y everything about me. I could never let our friendship go.
My chest clamped down. Oh my god. What were we doing? Kissing Dan wasn’t my fault—but deep down, did 117
I let it happen? Did I miss my partying kissing life too much? What if my need to kiss Ian ended up costing us our friendship? I’d never forgive myself. I would not al ow myself to become the next Eva.
“Let’s not do this,” I said.
“Eat bread?” He flipped my piece over and began to double butter it. Forceful y.
“I can’t handle you ever saying those words to me. What if you never wanted to talk to me someday?”
“She kissed another guy.”
“So did I about an hour ago. Remember? And I know I’m not your girlfriend or anything, but I am your friend. And your date. What kind of person am I? You should run away while you stil have the chance.”
Huh.
I went in the wrong direction with that. Tel ing him I’m not his girlfriend? Pretending like he should dump me? That was not how I wanted to steer this. I was confusing the situation. Maybe it was time to be direct. Tel him.
He pressed his lips together and dug deeper into the butter, shaking his head. He was frustrated. I knew al his looks—angry, sad, defeated. This was frustration. It was all in the eyebrows—tilty and uneven. As he lifted the knife, the butter took flight and landed with a thud. Right under my armpit.
I barely even moved, just stared straight ahead. This was becoming routine for me. Ian quickly grabbed a cloth napkin and wiped it off, trying not to get too close to my boob, 118
which was tucked into my extra-enhancing Miracle Bra. He could have easily copped a feel, and I wouldn’t have stopped him, but he didn’t. His being timid near my boob made me question whether he was ever going to explore there. The possibility seemed slim. Maybe that’s why they cal ed it a Miracle Bra?
“I’m not running away.” Ian grabbed another fresh napkin and wiped one more time, getting off as much as he could.
“Sorry, Justina.” Then he went back to buttering my bread.
A smile fil ed my face. “I can do that. You don’t need to be my personal bread butterer.” It suddenly felt like we were one of those old couples who sat on rockers on the front porch, drank sweet tea, talked about the grandkids, and cut each other’s meat.
He took a little nibble of my bread and raised a brow.
“Too late.”
Toe-dip.
My face flushed and my stomach orbited the rest of my organs—a feeling that gave me a slight buzz and a little seasickness. Whoa. Was this what they meant by love sickness?
Wow.
If having Ian Clark for a boyfriend meant never kissing another guy, I’d sign that contract. I was in.
“I hate what Eva did to you.” My stomach was still fluttering. “I’d never kiss another guy.” Was this it? Was I putting it al out there? About to tel him how I real y felt?
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He turned away, looking embarrassed. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say this.”
“I mean, I’d never choose to kiss another guy. I can’t help it if some jerk drinks Jel -O shots and plants one on me.
Even though I know I’ve gotten a reputation as an Excessive Kisser, but that’s al in the past—”
“Shh.”
“But it would never be my choice to kiss another—”
“Shh!”
“Ian! Don’t shush me! I want to tel you this. Don’t tell me not to talk.”
“I don’t mean shush like stop talking. I mean shush like you don’t have to explain.” He leaned over and placed a perfectly double-buttered piece of bread on my plate.
It glistened like it had been beamed down straight from heaven—an appetizer from the angels. “I trust you,” he said.
“Now eat.”
Relief fil ed the air. Everything was so easy with him—it always had been. I was the one making it complicated.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Eat some freaking food. Your low blood sugar is making you crazy crackers.
I picked up the bread to take a bite, but I heard a strange squawking sound. Dan-o the Man-o was out on the dance floor al by himself, doing the chicken dance and some polka moves, and there wasn’t even any music playing. The alcohol had clearly changed him—from a perfectly nice guy to a total boob.
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“Let’s party, people!” Dan stumbled across the floor toward our table, bopping his head and snapping his fingers like a character from an old Saturday Night Live skit. He mobbed Ian and me, hugging us from behind.
“Why don’t you sit down, Dan?” Ian stood up to steady him. “You could use some food.”
“Didja hear? Hailey ditched me. I’m solo, dude!” Ian tried to guide him to his chair. “Sit down with us.”
“No time to siddown. We gotta party, people. Let’s go hot-tubbing. Time to get naked!”
“No. Not getting naked—sitting down.” Ian tried to grab him by the arm to force him into the chair, but Dan twisted and squirted out of his grip.
Suddenly he was behind me, and I could feel his hand on my back. “Naw, dude! Naked!” And that’s when I heard zip!
And a gush of air rushed around my back. Dan had unzipped my dress. UNZIPPED MY DRESS!
I immediately grabbed the sides and did my best to cover the important parts. Ian pushed Dan back. He lost it. He was done. “Get out of here, asshole!” He dragged Dan by the arm over to one of the chaperones. That was the end of Dan-o the Man-o’s little one-man party.
But his drunken-zipper stunt had caused a serious dress malfunction. I reached behind me and discovered that the zipper was completely missing. He had pul ed it right off!
Oh my god, oh my god. This can’t be happening!
I rushed past Ian as he was handing Dan off to the vice 121
principal, my zipper stil dangling from Dan’s hand. “Going to the bathroom!” I yelped. “Dress malfunction! ” Ian yel ed after me as I ran away. “Need help?”
“I need girl help!”
The bathroom was empty, thankful y. It was the kind that had a front seating area, like a little living room. It was decorated with fancy Victorian love seats and thick maroon carpeting. There were endless drawers, huge mirrors and perfect soft lighting. The room felt too fancy for me to be having such a redneck problem. No zipper? For real?!
I tucked the sides of my dress up under my armpits, squatted down low, and rifled through the drawers, trying to find anything to pin it back together. Al I could find was a tampon. Not helpful.
I leaned against the wal , trying to hide my gaping back, when the door opened. And there were silver, strappy shoes.
The Grecian goddess herself stood in front of me. I was having the worst dress malfunction of my life and Al yson Moore was going to witness it.
Shit.
Double shit!
She crossed her arms and looked down on me—literal y.
I had scrunched low in the corner, trying to look invisible, I guess.
“Ian sent me in here,” she said.
Oh god, no. He sent freaking Al yson Flag Twirler Moore in here to help me fix my dress? Did he not care 122
about my feelings at al ? There were plenty of other girls out there he could have picked. But her? Did he think fixing a zipper could suddenly turn us into bosom buddies? Because that was never going to happen—our bosoms came from the opposite sides of the mammary track.
“I’m fine.” I shook my head and turned away, looking into the corner. “I don’t need anyone.”
“Don’t go al Tyra Banks on me. You need help.” I cut my eyes up at her.
She stuck her hand on her hip. “You need a safety pin. A tampon is not going to work.”
I glanced at my hand: oh lord, I was stil holding it!
Al yson reached into her straight-from- Glamour-magazine beaded purse and pulled out a safety pin. I’m sure her prom checklist included a section on survival items.
Safety pin? Check. Evil scheme to steal someone else’s boyfriend? Check!
“Thanks.” I reached up and took it from her. “I got it from here.”
“Real y?” She shifted and put her hand on her other hip. She seemed to like punctuating her sentences with hip movements. “I’d like to see that.” Another hip shift.
I tossed the tampon back in the drawer and tried reaching around to pin the top together, but nearly dislocated my shoulder.
“Relax. Turn around. This won’t hurt.”
I slowly turned, realizing I was going to need her help. If 123
Ian sent her in here, he must think she wants to be friends.
But I needed to know for sure. “Why did Ian send you?”
“He didn’t, actual y. I volunteered.”
“But how did you know—”
“I could tel he was upset. You know, he had that pouty look.” She pul ed my dress together tight. “Hold stil .”
“What pouty look?” Why was Al yson acting like she knew the intricacies of Ian’s looks? I was the one who knew al of Ian’s looks!
“He had that look he always gets when he’s concentrating,” she said. “Like just before a track meet. He paces around getting al pouty. He wrinkles his eyebrows. It’s cute.”
“It’s not cute.”
“So you don’t think he’s cute?” She smirked. “Good to know.”
“He’s my date.” I wiggled, and she pul ed tighter. It was getting hard to breathe. For more than one reason.
“You guys are just friends. What are you getting al upset about?”
“We . . . we’re not just friends.” Wow. That felt weird to say. I mean, it’s not like I said we were boyfriend/girlfriend, but stil . It was a public declaration of wanting to be . . .
more.
Just then the safety pin holding my dress together popped. My dress fel to my waist. Al yson Moore got an eyeful of my boobs tucked in an extra-enhancing bra as they made their public appearance in the girls’ bathroom mirror.
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I yanked my dress back up and Al yson reached out.
“Here, let me help—”
“No! I’l figure it out!”
“Fine.” She dropped the broken safety pin back into her purse and zipped it closed. But not in your I’m-zipping-my-purse-like-a-normal-girl way. She zipped it slowly, so I could hear every click of the zipper.
She had a perfectly good zipper. I had none.
“Good luck tonight with Ian. I hope he thinks of you as more than friends, too.” On the way out the door she turned back. “I’l go tel him your dress can’t be fixed.”
“Don’t—”
But she was already gone. And off to have yet another talk with Ian. My date.
What did she mean she hoped he thinks of me as more than friends? Was she insinuating he didn’t? No, no way. Ian wanted me to be his girlfriend.
I was almost sure of it.
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7
Funyuns
I DON’T TELL Gilda and Donna the part where I considered tying my dress together with the tampon string, before realizing the darn thing was too short.