I usually loved school dances. I loved the hype, the moves and grooves, the fun hip-hop songs I would never listen to independently. I flashed back to my first dance in middle school. I was in sixth grade, and a little nervous to go at all, but was lured both by my mom’s insistence that it would be fun as well as the promise of Ping-Pong tables, chips, and doughnuts.
But then I entered the booming, flashing-lights gymnasium. How could something as boring as a basketball court be transformed into something as exciting as a nightclub? And I got so into it. The music, the lights, the freeform dancing… And mostly the ladies. The ladies. Even then. Man, they swarmed me! Mostly because I was one of the only twelve-year-old guys brave enough to get my random groove on—could I dance? I doubted it, but it sure was fun! By the end of the night, I’d been hoisted onto a much bigger kid’s shoulders and had my name chanted as I gyrated toward the strobes.
I’d found my place.
Eureka.
And I hadn’t missed a dance since.
So the fact that I was depressed about this dance, almost dreading it, made me even unhappier.
Sure, Barb was fine. She was fun, nice, she dug me, and I didn’t have to try and get anything out of her info-wise, she just went ahead and offered it up. But the plain truth was, I missed Hazel like nobody’s business. I missed her like burgers missed cheese. I missed her like my custom mayonnaise missed pesto. I missed her missed her. I missed Basil.
And it sucked.
“Everything okay in there?” one of the hipsters, the pink-haired one, asked through the shabby plaid curtain.
“Yeah. Everything is fine.”
I realized I had slumped down onto the purple velveteen stool and was staring at myself with sad eyes. I didn’t like the guy I saw in the mirror. I didn’t even recognize him. I wanted to be more, be better, do better.
I missed Hazel.
I missed Hazel, and I couldn’t have Hazel.
I wasn’t sure what hurt worse; the idea of never getting to this revenge business to begin with and never experiencing this feeling, or missing her like this.
“You like the tux?” she asked, confused.
“I do,” I said.
“Then what’s the matter?”
“Oh. It’s just…”
“What?”
What the hell. She was a stranger. What could it hurt?
“I like this girl, and I thought, well, I thought maybe she liked me, I mean we were good together. No, scratch that, we were great for a while, but we were just pretending. Only, when we were pretending it felt like the realest thing in the world, you know? You know when something just feels right.”
With wide, interested eyes, the girl nodded, encouraging my confession.
“Yeah, so what’s the problem?”
“The problem is it could never work between us. See, this girl is…well, this girl is pretty much perfect, and I’m well…”
“You look pretty perfect to me,” she said.
“I do?”
“Yeah. I don’t know many guys confident enough to pull something like that off.” She gestured toward the powder-blue tux. “I don’t know many guys willing to pour their heart out to a total stranger in a thrift-store dressing room either.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So what should I do?”
“I say if you like her, you should tell her. She might not know. Girls are kind of clueless sometimes. You know, about the clues guys give.”
“They are?” This was news to me.
“Yep.”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
She shrugged and twisted her nose ring around. “I have three brothers. Dipshits one and all…but all with hearts of rubies. I give them nudges, too.”
“Playing Cupid, huh?”
She grinned. I noticed her pink shirt had a fake jewel in the shape of a heart. Costume jewelry. They looked like rubies. The ring in her nose was a little heart.
Chapter Forty-One
Hazel
Valentine’s Day!
I stared at myself in the mirror.
My dress for the Valentine’s Day dance was pretty—pale pink with spaghetti straps, and it fit me perfectly. Mom and I had picked it out together. Well, actually, Mom picked it out and I agreed. I was a pretty easy shopper. I’d see something, try it on, if it fit, it was good enough. I didn’t love malls, and shopping all day made me feel claustrophobic. Would it kill a mall designer to put in a window or two? The lack of fresh air was making me feel funky, is what I told Mom, but really I was just dreading the dance. And I wanted this holiday, this supposed celebration of love, to just be over.
Cupid was ruining my life.
If I never heard another love song, or watched a Classic Sad in my life, I’d be happy. Feelings sucked, and missing someone felt even worse.
Give me finals. Give me applications. Give me extracurriculars, but Cupid, please, don’t give me love.
Love sucks.
Last night I’d slept fitfully, and all day at school was a drag. I just wanted to get through today, get through the dance, and move on. March couldn’t come fast enough. I wanted to put February behind me forever. March. I immediately flashed on Felix at his locker with his shamrock boxers playing peek-a-boo.
Stop thinking about Felix James!
I chastised myself so loudly that for a second, I thought I’d said it out loud.
I smacked myself in the forehead, grabbed a mint out of my backpack, and chewed it like my life depended on it.
All day long I tried to put on a “Yippee! It’s Valentine’s Day!” face, but it was easier said than done.
I picked at my turkey sandwich, nibbled on my blueberries. Smiled and nodded when it was appropriate and essentially felt entirely like crap.
I caught the back of Felix and Barb leaving the caf, his arm slung casually around her shoulders, and I thought the blueberry would catch in my throat.
As if he knew I was watching him, his head turned slightly. When our eyes met, he pulled his arm off Barb and just looked at me until I finally dropped eye contact and went back to being miserable.
And now it was time for the dance.
Jay would be picking me up—right on time—at 7:00 p.m.
I went through the motions of getting ready: showered, scrubbed, and shaved my legs. I took special pains with my appearance, blow-drying my hair before straight ironing it. Carefully applied my makeup. I looked the part of a girl ready to be picked up for a special dance. But I didn’t feel special. I felt used and awkward and like I’d made the wrong choice.
I swallowed away a lump in my throat, blinked away the tears popping into my eye threatening to ruin my makeup, when I heard a knock on my doorframe. The knock was just a formality as my mom entered the room.
“You look beautiful, honey,” she said. But her tone was more like she was asking me what was wrong.
“Do I?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I don’t feel beautiful.” I slunk onto my bed.
“Well, you’ve had a rough week.”
“You can say that again.”
“You’ve had a rough week,” she repeated.
“Mo-om.”
“Sorry.” She patted my hand. “But you remind me of Molly Ringwald at the end of Pretty in Pink,” she said. “Before the dance. Remember the scene where she’s getting ready and she’s determined to go even without the boy she wants to go with.”
“Yeah.”
“You have a Molly face.”
“Well. It’s just because I’m tired. And I just got over being sick. I probably need more iron. Do we have kale?”
“Usually turning the conversation toward health food works, my darling girl, but tonight it won’t. I’m talking an eighties movie, and you know how I am about those films.”
“The most classic of the Classic Sads.”
“I still think she should’ve ended up with Ducky,” Mom said.
“I know you do,
Mom.”
“And I also know who you want to end up with, Hazel.”
I swallowed and avoided eye contact. No matter how big a wall I tried to build between Mom and me, she could always see right through it. So years ago, I’d stopped trying to fool her. I told her the truth or didn’t say anything at all.
But I could barely admit the truth to myself. How could I admit it out loud to her?
“It doesn’t matter what I want, Mom. I made my choice. It’s the only choice I have.”
“You can always change your mind.”
“I could change mine, yes, but it doesn’t mean he’ll change his. It’s all just such a mess. I hate feeling this way! I feel…like…one of those girls in your movies and it’s so frustrating and terrible and I’ve gone out of my way to avoid feeling like this for so long. I…never wanted to feel lonely like that again. Lonely like I felt after we lost dad.”
“Look at me, Hazel. Hazel, look at me.”
I did.
“Grief is the price we pay for love, remember?”
“Queen Elizabeth II. How could I forget?”
She caressed the side of my face. “And it’s true. I think the problem here is something you’re afraid to admit even to yourself. You only feel this bad because you care. You care very much about someone you never set out to care for. Cupid worked his magic outside of your carefully scheduled life, kiddo.”
“I hate Cupid.”
“You hated the Tooth Fairy, too, but she still kept coming and stealing your teeth.”
I laughed through my tears. And when the tears and the laughter finally faded enough for me to speak, I said, “I’m scared.”
“About the future?”
“About everything.” I swallowed. “I don’t want you to think I can’t take care of myself.”
She just looked at me for a few seconds, and like Mom always did, it seemed like she was putting things together. “Is that why you want revenge on Jay? Why you’re going to the dance with him? So you can show me you can take care of yourself?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”
She pulled me toward her and held me in a tight hug, then pushed me back enough to look me in my eyes. “You’re not stupid. When I was your age, I would’ve wanted the same thing. But you’ve got a choice to make. You can either grab your revenge and let go of the boy you want. Or you can have the best revenge on Jay that you could ever ask for.” She smiled. “A good life.”
Now it was my turn to pull her toward me in a fierce hug.
“Thanks, Mom.”
We sat there looking at each other. My cheeks warmed from the pressure of admitting the truth.
Would making Jay and Kimmy hurt make me feel any better? It sure hadn’t so far. So say my revenge worked, Kimmy and Jay broke up (maybe), and all four of us ended up miserable and alone on Valentine’s Day?
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “Maybe revenge won’t help.”
“It won’t. It never does. The only thing that works is grieving…and then moving on to live the life you deserve.”
“But you haven’t,” I said quietly.
“I haven’t?”
“Moved on. Moved on from Dad. It’s been a long time now.”
She looked at her lap. “I know.”
“Will you try?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“You being a good influence on me.”
I reached over and grabbed her hand, both of us misty-eyed.
And then Jay rang the doorbell. “I have to go.”
She took my hand. “Okay, sweetie. Just remember that it’s never too late if you want to change your mind.”
“And if I don’t want to change my mind?”
She shrugged. “Hard to blame you.”
“What?” I laughed.
“Are you kidding me?” She laughed with me. “It took every ounce of willpower not to go over to his house and dump a month’s worth of fish in the back of his convertible.”
“Mystic Pizza!” I shouted.
“Mystic Freaking Pizza,” Mom replied.
“Mom?” I said as she kissed my cheek before I opened the door to greet Jay and go through the motions of our date. At some point, I’d have to tell him the truth, too.
“Yeah?”
“If things don’t go as planned tonight, I’m going to be a mess. I mean, a big-time mess.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get the supplies. I’m thinking Molly Ringwald marathon with a sprinkle of Mystic Pizza on top. If things get really bad, we’ll toss in Titanic.”
“Even the last half.”
She sucked in a breath. We never watched the end of Titanic. It was too sad, even for Mom. After, she’d sob for hours in her room, and bust out the old photo albums of her and Dad. “I’ll never let go, Jack.”
“You are nothing if not hard-core, Mom.”
“I learned from the best,” she said with a firm nod as I opened the door and stepped out into the night.
Chapter Forty-Two
Felix
I was right about the powder-blue tux—it was a huge hit.
“Looking good, dude! Felix I love your suit! You are so funny!”
A chorus of that sort of refrain greeted Barb and me at the dance.
But I didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel funny. I felt like crap because I was escorting the wrong girl on my arm.
The gym looked awesome—silver and candy-apple-red hearts dangled from the ceiling, reminding me of the booth at Fred’s, which reminded me of Hazel.
As soon as we got there, I scanned the room for her.
As much as it killed me to see her with Jay, I needed to see her.
I’d pictured her dress so many times, I wondered what it would look like. Of course, when I’d pictured it before, her in my arms, dancing cheek to cheek, laughing at my jokes, teasing me. Me tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear and kissing her.
Why did our revenge have to work so quickly?
We were too good a team, Hazel and I. My sister ended up coming with a friend of mine, Billy, so we came here together. He had a pimping minivan he was borrowing from his mom—my starter was all jacked up again—complete with car seats and Cheerios all over the floor.
Sexy start to the date.
Barb looked at it cocking an eyebrow.
Her date in a powder-blue tux and me showing up to her parent’s fancy glass beach house in a messy minivan.
I barely heard her complaints though as I stared out the window, breathing in the fog air, thinking about Hazel in her dress.
I was a bad date, and I knew it. But what could I do?
Barb was chatting up Billy almost as soon as we got in the car. They used to go out a while ago. Normally I’d get jealous and get her attention back, but tonight I didn’t care.
I just wanted to get to the dance and see Hazel.
“There she is,” Kimmy said, looking past my shoulder as we stood, the four of us, next to the punch bowl filled with pink punch and now vodka, thanks to Kimmy.
I took a sip of the spiked punch. “Who?”
“The girl you’ve been mooning over.”
“Who’s that?”
“Katy Perry.”
“Katy Perry is here?” Barb squealed, peeling her eyes away from Billy—who was dressed head to toe in black. “Where?”
“I’m just kidding, Barb, I meant Hazel.”
“Oh. Her,” Barb pouted.
I shrugged, pretending to slough it off, but the ping in my heart—damn Cupid and his arrows—made me crank my head and sneak a peek.
I sucked in a breath when I saw her in a pale pink dress that showed off her figure perfectly. Her hair, her eyes, everything looked magical. Better than I imagined.
But her expression was sad. She caught my eye, and I waved.
She waved back, her eyes lighting up. She smiled.
She smiled!
Today in the caf she hadn’t smiled, so I’d
thought she was still mad at me.
I smiled back. I’m not mad at you, Hazel, my smile tried to tell her.
She waved.
Jay saw her communicating with me and pulled her onto the dance floor.
I wanted to kill him.
I wanted to chop his hands off to keep them off her waist.
“Billy, would you mind taking Barb on a spin around the dance floor? I’ll be right back.”
“What about me?” Kimmy whined.
“I’m sure you’ll survive. After all, Hazel survived you.”
I wasn’t about to let Jay have Hazel to himself, even for just a moment. Even if it was part of our plan. Revenge be damned. Suddenly I didn’t care about revenge anymore. I just wanted Hazel. What if I had asked her to the dance for real—no revenge—just me and Hazel. Would she have said yes?
Would she want me for me, Felix James, former Player of La Playa, or did she only want me as part of her plan?
Suddenly I didn’t care.
It was a risk I had to take.
I had to put myself out there.
Cupid be damned.
I didn’t wait for my sister’s retort. I headed straight for the dance floor to try and get my girl.
Chapter Forty-Three
Hazel
Psyche was terrified. She lost all control of her senses and, pale as death, fell trembling to her knees, where she desperately tried to hide the knife by plunging it in her own heart. She would have succeeded, too, had the knife not shrunk from the crime and twisted itself out of her hand.
“Well, let’s dance,” Jay said with as much enthusiasm as a wet noodle.
“Okay,” I said.
Everyone stared at us as he led me onto the dance floor. I felt like such a tool, such a fraud. Why had I agreed to this?
And now I knew what I needed to do. I needed to call this off. I needed to let it all go.
But what would I have left?
Felix wasn’t here.
There was just Jay. And me. And my empty revenge.
Jay’s hands were dry and held me too tight. I immediately tensed up as he tried to pull me into his arms. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Kimmy slurping up a cherry-colored punch and glaring at us.
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