Making Out

by Megan Stine

  “Yeah,” Li’l D nodded approvingly. “You are by far the best-dressed bitch at the ball.”

  Lisa Marie laughed, loving the way he talked. He had this uber-cool street cred/attitude thing going on, but at the same time, it was obvious there was a lot more to him.

  Li’l D moved closer, close enough so that their bodies bumped every once in a while. His eyes drilled into hers, like he was seeing her soul and simultaneously exploring every intimate crevice of her body and brain. Lisa Marie had to admit that when he looked at her that way, she had a change of heart: Maybe it wasn’t better to be there with five different guys. If she and Li’l D could spend some time alone getting to know each other, just talking . . .

  She twirled and caught a glimpse of Bradley, who was glaring at her from the edge of the dance floor. What’s his problem? Did he really think she was going to dump all these other guys and just hang with him?

  Oh, Christ. Now Ramone was staring at her, too, looking pissed off.

  Screw it, Lisa Marie thought. She didn’t owe them anything. They’d all been playing with her at Starbucks—she knew that without a doubt. If she’d taken any one of them too seriously, she’d be the one getting burned.

  Besides, the word around school was that Ramone was trying to get back with Tara, his ex. So let him.

  Lisa Marie let herself go with the music, bumping and grinding when she turned her back on Li’l D, then pressing up against him when they were face-to-face. Then a slow song came on the sound system. She waited, wondering if Li’l D would take her in his arms, but he didn’t. He just kept moving to the music, close to her, drilling her with his intense eyes.

  That’s okay, too, she thought, matching his mood, slowing down, moving the way he did. There was something even sexier about dancing so slow and close, without touching.

  Was this the best night of her life? Duh.

  A lot of people had left the dance floor, ready for a break, or a drink, or whatever. They were probably headed upstairs, she decided. Some of the wealthier kids had rented hotel suites for the night, for after-parties, even though it was technically against school rules. From what John had said, she figured she’d be going up to one of the parties, too—but not yet. She had no desire to leave the dance while Li’l D was still there.

  Just as Li’l D reached out to put both his arms around her waist, the crowd thinned a little, and Lisa Marie caught a glimpse of Todd standing on the other side of the room.

  He was just standing there all alone, staring at her.

  How long had he been doing that? It creeped her out a little bit. Not because he could ever be a stalker or anything. He just looked so lonely . . .

  For a minute she felt a pang of guilt. Poor guy. All alone at the prom, couldn’t get a date . . . Except . . . why should she feel guilty? You dumped me, remember?

  As soon as Todd caught her eye, he headed toward her, making a beeline straight through the dancers.

  Oh, no. Not now. Please . . . don’t spoil this moment. Was he actually going to cut in?

  Yup.

  He tapped Li’l D on the shoulder. “Do you mind?” he said. Li’l D didn’t say a word. He simply backed off without an argument, putting his hands in the air as if to say, She’s all yours. But he gave Lisa Marie a sexy wink right before he turned away.

  “What?” Lisa Marie asked, putting her left hand on Todd’s shoulder and her right hand in his palm. At least she wasn’t going to dance close with him or let him wrap his arms around her possessively in front of the whole school.

  “What’s wrong? You can’t even stand to dance with me now?” Todd sounded like a hurt puppy.

  “Look—you broke up with me,” Lisa Marie snapped. “So I’m just not sure what you’re doing.”

  “I told you I wanted to get back together,” Todd said, waltzing her gracefully around the floor.

  Weird, Lisa Marie thought. She hadn’t realized Todd knew how to waltz. Or that he was such a smooth dancer. Was this the first time they’d ever slow-danced together? It couldn’t be. She tried to think back, but the rum and Coke had made her head feel kind of fuzzy.

  “Sorry, Todd,” she said. “But I’m here with a lot of friends.”

  And I don’t want you spoiling my night or making anyone think we’re back together, because we’re not!

  But she didn’t have to say that last part—he got the message. When the song ended a moment later, he just said, “Thanks,” and walked away.

  One thing you could say for the guy: He wasn’t dumb.

  Chapter 18

  As Heather walked back into the ballroom, the DJ turned on the disco ball again, and the sparkling light began flashing everywhere, like little bits of mirrored confetti raining down on the prom.

  Where was Tony, anyway? she wondered. It was getting late. If they were going to hang out, they’d better hook up soon.

  By now, some of the black streamers had fallen from the ceiling and were littering the floor. Fewer people were dancing, although the floor was still crowded enough so that you couldn’t see straight across it. Clumps of people had spilled out into the lobby, where they were lounging, kicking off their shoes and stripping off their ties, or just hanging out in the halls outside the ballroom.

  The prom’s almost over, Heather thought. And she still hadn’t had enough fun, drama, or memorable experiences to fill a diary page.

  If she was going to make this one count, she had to get busy.

  She headed for the refreshment table, deliberately taking a wide path around Katie and her friends who were huddled off to the side, talking on someone’s speakerphone cell, trying to solve the big crisis, whatever it was.

  “Hey!” Lisa Marie came up to Heather at the refreshment table and squeezed her arm. “Having fun? Where’s Tony?”

  “I haven’t seen him yet.”

  “Oh, wow.” Lisa Marie searched the crowd herself. “I saw him a few minutes ago . . .”

  Well, at least he’s here, Heather thought. She was afraid maybe he was going to be a no-show.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll bump into him sooner or later,” Heather said.

  And if she didn’t? She’d have to cope. There were plenty of other guys out there she could experiment with. Marty Alexander, for one. She could feel him eyeing her every time she passed the group of guys he was hanging with.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Lisa Marie asked, clearly worried that Heather was having a bad time.

  God. This was the last thing she needed—Lisa Marie pitying her.

  “I’m good,” Heather said. “How’s it going with the gang of five?”

  “It rocks!” Lisa Marie said. “I’ve been dancing with Li’l D for like, forever, but I promised Marco the next slow one, so I’ve got to go. You sure you’re okay?”

  “For the third time, yes! Get out of here and quit cramping my style,” Heather joked, shooing Lisa Marie away.

  With a small cup of club soda in her hands, she wandered through the lobby, then back into the ballroom, searching for Tony. He had to be here somewhere . . .

  Just looking for him made her feel better. It was such a relief to stop thinking about Katie for a while. She didn’t even want to think about not thinking about her. She just wished the whole topic would go away.

  Finally she spotted Tony in a dark corner of the main ballroom. He looked amazing, she had to admit. He was wearing an elegant designer tux with the palest pink shirt she’d ever seen, and a long, sleek, black necktie. His wavy hair fell down over his forehead just enough to give him a hip bed-head look.

  There was only one problem: Was that a video camera in his hands?

  Heather made her way to him just as he turned the camera on and started shooting a bunch of people who were holding a private conversation in the corner.

  “Hey,” she said, not quite sure if he was in the middle of something.

  Tony didn’t answer and didn’t flinch, but after a longish pause he swung the camera in her direction. The red lig
ht on the front indicated that he was still shooting.

  “Hi, stranger,” she said, looking right into the lens, giving him a little smile.

  Tony kept shooting, but he moved the camera away from his face and gave her a warm smile back. “Hi. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I just thought we were going to hang out,” Heather said. “You want to dance?”

  “Sorry,” Tony said. “I got here late. And I can’t dance now—I’ve got this going on.”

  He pointed at the camera with his free hand.

  “Well, could you turn it off?” Heather asked bluntly.

  “Sorry, that’s not happening,” Tony said. “I’m making a documentary about the prom.” He eyed her dress, taking in the shoes, the bag, everything. “You look fantastic, by the way.”

  Heather relaxed. Was that the first compliment she’d gotten all evening? It felt like it. “Thanks.” At least that was something.

  “So what’s the documentary for?” she asked him.

  “I got into NYU,” he explained. “They have an incredible film school that can seriously launch your career. I’m shooting a bunch of footage for an independent project I want to do over the next few years.”

  “That’s so cool,” Heather said.

  “So how’s the prom?” Tony asked, sounding more like a documentary filmmaker than a cute guy chatting her up.

  “Eh,” Heather shrugged. “It’s okay. So are you . . . I mean . . . are you going to be doing this video thing all night?”

  “Not all night,” he said, grinning at her and sort of mocking her at the same time. Then he put the camera back up to his eye and zoomed the lens in close. “But right now, I want to interview you.” He made it sound like a come-on.

  Okay, Heather thought. This could be fun. At least she still looked fabulous—that much was true. Everyone else was pretty rank by now, they’d been dancing so long and partying so hard. The good thing about not having a date was that she still looked fresh at eleven P.M.

  “So what do you think of the prom theme?” Tony asked, kicking into interviewer mode.

  “What theme?” Heather said. “Did someone forget it’s not Halloween?”

  Tony laughed, like that was exactly the kind of answer he was hoping for. But she couldn’t tell if he actually agreed with her, or just liked having someone being snotty about the decorations on tape.

  Was this an interview . . . or a date?

  “How would you rate the DJ?” Tony went on. “On a scale of one to ten . . .”

  “Ten being you want to kill him and steal his record collection? And one being you want to kill yourself if you have to listen to another minute of this crap?” she said.

  Tony laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “I’d give him about a three,” she said honestly. “I mean, he’s kind of schizo, bouncing from one kind of beat to another. I mean, seriously, do you like this stuff?”

  A kind of Latin beat dance thing was playing right then, and Tony shrugged. “With the right partner,” he said, giving her a sly smile.

  Well, then, why don’t we dance! Heather wanted to say. But she didn’t want to sound whiny.

  “Okay, so tell me, Heather Proule, what prom night means to you,” Tony said, sounding all serious and deep and personal, like he really cared about her answer. “I mean, what do you hope will happen tonight?”

  He moved the camera away from his face—although it was still taping—and gave her an intense pierce-your-heart, open-your-soul stare.

  “I don’t know.” It was a lie, but she wasn’t about to spill her guts on videotape. With her luck, the movie would probably go straight to Sundance. She could see the posters now: Prom Night Pathos, A Film About Loss and Rejection, by Tony Vilanch.

  Besides, right at that moment, she had no idea what the truth was.

  Did she want Katie? Or was she really hoping she could forget her feelings for girls and find out how it would feel to be with a guy?

  “No, honestly, tell me,” Tony said. “Is prom night different from every other night of the year? Would you do things tonight that you wouldn’t do at any other time?”

  “Like what?” She was stalling. Trying to hide the thoughts that were racing through her head.

  “Like sex,” Tony said, cocking his head.

  Whoa. Was he coming on to her? Or did he ask everyone this stuff?

  Just then Emily VanDerMoot came up and poked her head into the frame, interrupting. Right into the camera, her face close to Heather’s, she said, “Tell him about your major lesbo moment in the bathroom.”

  Then she walked away.

  Oh my God, Heather thought. Thanks a lot, Emily. Why don’t you just out me in front of the whole school?

  Tony raised an eyebrow. “Really? This is interesting. Tell me more.”

  Heather’s heart was pounding. She didn’t want to talk about it at all—and certainly not on video! Her head raced, trying to think of some way to change the subject.

  “Come on,” Tony said. “Let’s hear about that.”

  Heather felt trapped.

  “Why?” She blurted out the first nervous comeback she could think of. “Do you want to make it a threesome?”

  Wait a minute—that didn’t sound right. And from the look on Tony’s face, she wasn’t sure he knew she was just kidding.

  Tony grinned at her with his Cheshire cat smile as the camera light continued to blink red.

  Oh, man. He’s going to win a freaking Oscar for this. And I’m going to be the laughingstock of the D.C. private school brat packs.

  Suddenly Heather wanted to disappear, as far away from him as she could possibly get.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said, turning around and walking away.

  Great exit line. Write that down, Heather. Be sure to use it again real soon.

  Chapter 19

  “I’m starved,” Marianna said as she and Luke rode the elevator up from the parking garage. She had skipped breakfast and lunch so that she’d fit into her dress without the slightest hint of a tummy bulge, and had pecked at her lobster tails, too nervous and excited to eat. Now she was on the verge of a major blood sugar drop. Her stomach was growling, and she prayed Luke wouldn’t notice. “I could kill for some blueberry pancakes.”

  “You total cow,” Luke teased. “I saw you and Lisa Marie in the Florentine. You were scarfing down an entire side of beef. Each.”

  “We were not!” Marianna shrieked, punching him. But of course his outrageousness just made her like him all the more. How many guys could get away with calling a girl a cow, even as a joke, without being instantly strangled or stabbed with a stiletto heel? “I barely ate at dinner. Can we grab something? I’ll even eat dried-up, crusty old chip dip if there’s any left on the refreshment table.”

  Luke gave her hand a squeeze. “I can do better than that.” He sounded like he knew a secret. “Stick with me.”

  When the elevator reached the lobby, Marianna started to leave, but Luke pulled her back. Then he pushed a button that took them back down to a subbasement level. The door opened onto a deserted hallway with cement walls and floors. It was clearly not part of the public space in the hotel.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” With a mysterious smile, he led her through the empty corridor to a set of double swinging doors. Beyond them was another hallway, which angled off and led past the huge laundry room. It looked like hundreds of towels and sheets were being washed.

  “Are we allowed to be here?” Marianna felt like a trespasser as they prowled deeper and deeper through the underground corridors of the hotel.

  Luke stopped and pulled her close to him as he leaned against the concrete wall. “No one’s here,” he said. “Who will know?”

  She closed her eyes and let him hold her tight against his body. The smell of beer on his jacket reminded her of the long, passionate kiss they’d shared in the garage. The whole prom was all wrapped up in that one kiss, it seemed to her.

>   Suddenly a door opened and a uniformed hotel waiter came bustling past them, pushing a room service cart.

  Uh-oh. Marianna flinched. Too many years of her father’s strict rules. She hated getting in trouble.

  “Luke! Whatchoo doin’ here?” The waiter grinned, smiling as he passed.

  “Hey, Francisco.” Luke nodded to the waiter. “Prom night.”

  Francisco kept moving, like he didn’t have time to stop. “Keep it real with the pretty lady, Luke-o!” he called as he disappeared around a corner. “And say hey to Danny for me!”

  Marianna was stunned. “You know him?”

  “My brother Danny used to work here last summer,” Luke explained. “As a bellhop. He showed me all these back corridors and underground tunnels that lead to the kitchens and stuff. Come on.”

  He took her hand and led her to another service elevator, kissing her again when the doors closed. What a night, Marianna thought. It felt magical, being in all these private, secret places with Luke. Every time they were alone for a minute, he kissed her again, or she kissed him, and time seemed to stand still.

  Finally the elevator opened onto a short hallway that lead to the main catering kitchen. The place was bustling with a crew of about five cooks and sous-chefs still whipping up food for twenty-four-hour room service. Luke poked his head in the door and waited for someone to notice.

  “Lukie,” the main chef called, nodding when he caught sight of them. “Hey! How’s my favorite little bellhop’s brother?”

  Luke slapped high fives with the chef, whose name was Vigo. Then he introduced Marianna.

  “She’s got a craving for blueberry pancakes,” Luke said. “Got any leftovers lying around?”

  Vigo raised an eyebrow. “Cravings? Don’t tell me . . .” He gave them a scolding leer and stared at Marianna’s belly, like he thought she might be pregnant. Then he burst out laughing. “Just kidding, Lukie! Blueberry pancakes? No problem. You guys sit right there.”

  Vigo pointed to a single tall metal stool in the corner and got to work making blueberry pancakes, hot off the griddle.