“Ugh. Bummer.” I know I’m supposed to stick with my class when we get outside, but I ditch them and sneak off with Carmella and the kids from her study hall. I’ve been meaning to talk with her to try to figure out whether she’s a threat to reveal my email address, but it’s been tough since we don’t have any classes together. This is my chance.
As we line up in the parking lot, I try to assume a casual tone. “So, how’s your sister doing these days?”
Carmella’s eyebrows shoot up. “How did you know I had a sister?”
“What do you mean? Of course I know.”
She grunts. “Aren’t you full of surprises? I never thought you knew the first thing about me. Or any of us.”
Whoa. Harsh. I avoid her eyes. Just because I don’t get all up in their business doesn’t mean I don’t care about my teammates. They should know better. I’m the consummate team player. I pass the ball whenever they have a better shot. I cheer them on when they make free throws and rebounds. What’s with the hostility?
“Yes. I do know you have a sister. Her name is Krista, she’s on the volleyball team, and she has a killer serve.”
Carmella nods. “She does.”
See? A girl can be aloof without being a total snot. I grin at the memory of Chris saying, “aloof” over and over at Elana’s party.
“What’s so funny?” Carmella eyes me as though I’m losing it.
“Nothing. Sorry.” I pull her aside. “Can I ask you something?” This fire drill isn’t going to last forever. I need to get to the point.
“Sure? What’s up?”
“Um, nothing really. I was just wondering, how is Krista?”
Carmella’s eyes narrow. “She’s fine. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. I suppose I’m … curious about her. And her team.”
“Wait. Are you, like, interested?”
“Interested?”
“In my sister? ’Cause she’s not like that.”
“Oh. No! No, no, neither am I. I didn’t mean curious like that. I meant … gosh. That’s embarrassing.” I laugh, but Carmella’s expression darkens. “Not that … you know … if I were, I’m sure I’d be interested in your sister. She’s very pretty.” Gaahh. This conversation is so not going the way I’d hoped.
“Then what? Do you have some sort of problem with her? Are you two fighting or something? Because that’s between you and Krista.”
“No, no. We’re not fighting. We barely know each other. I was merely—”
“Lexi!”
I turn to see Chris running toward me.
“Where’d you go?”
“I’m right here.”
“Everyone’s looking for you. Grawley’s pissed. Says he’s giving you a week’s detention.”
Wonderful. I turn back toward Carmella. “Never mind. I was just asking because I care about you and your sister. And all my teammates.”
Chris grabs my arm and pulls me toward our class line. “What was that about?”
“Nothing. Thankfully.” Carmella could not have seemed more genuinely clueless. No way has her sister asked for my email address. Assuming Krista and the volleyball team were my biggest threat, Boyfriend Whisperer Enterprises has nothing to fear. I take a deep breath, but my feeling of relief is short-lived. Mr. Grawley has spotted me through the crowd, and his Machiavellian grin is back.
“Miss Malloy. Well, well. What have you been up to?”
“She was searching for us,” Chris answers before I can say a word. “She got separated from us on the staircase. She had no idea where we went.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Grawley looks Chris up and down. It’s clear he doubts someone could lose sight of his six-foot-three frame, even in a large crowd.
“Oh, yes, I was frantic,” I say. “Total panic mode.”
I slip into line before Mr. Grawley can question me any further, and Chris steps in behind me. “Don’t ever do that again,” he mutters.
“What? I needed to talk to Carmella.”
“Lexi, I’m serious.” His expression holds the same mixture of alarm and relief as it did that day in Virginia Beach after I finally let him know I was okay. He places his hand on my arm, softly, lightly, sending a thrill through me, straight to my core. “One minute you were right next to me, the next you were gone. I had no idea where you went. What if something happened to you?”
“Like what?” I sigh at the concern in his eyes and soften my tone. “It’s a drill, not a real fire. Of course I’d be more careful during a fire.”
“How did you know it was a drill? It could have been real.”
“Did you see any flames? Or smoke? At no time were we in danger.”
“It’s a big school.”
“So you think I would have run toward the part of the building that was burning if there was a fire? Come on, Chris. Give me some credit.”
He pulls me into his chest in a hug that’s an awkward mix of tender embrace and friendly bro hug. “I was worried about you; that’s all.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.” I close my eyes and breathe him in. His t-shirt smells like a mix of soap and cedar. “I promise not to disappear on you again.”
“Never?”
“Ever.”
I hear a car door slam and peer out my bedroom window. It’s Jerod, looking good in his black tux, crisp white shirt, and black tie. I close my eyes and try to dream up a butterfly in my stomach, an uptick in my heart rate, sweaty palms, anything at all, but it’s no use. He doesn’t make me swoon, much as I wish he did.
I stop and steal one last look in the mirror, marveling at Abi’s magic. Somehow she’s succeeded in applying a half gallon of makeup to my face without turning me into a circus clown. She gave me smoky eyes and prominent cheekbones and lips the color of ripe raspberries. She brushed temporary highlights into my hair and hooked me up with earrings that sparkle almost as much as the dress. If I could master the snooty expression, I’d pass for a supermodel. With better arms. I flex both biceps, striking my best warrior princess pose.
“You go, girl.” Mom appears in my doorway with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. “You look so beautiful. So grown up.” She walks in and motions toward my hair, my gown, my shoes. “When did this all happen?”
Mom doesn’t tear up often. In fact, the last time I saw her cry was four years ago, at my grandfather’s funeral. I give her a hug. “Amazing what a little mascara can do, huh?”
Mom grabs one of my perfectly manicured hands and pulls me back to stand in front of the mirror. “It’s more than that. It seems like yesterday your dad was lifting you onto his shoulders to shoot baskets. Now you’re taller than me, even without those heels.” She lowers her voice and offers a conspiratorial smile. “Your date’s cute.”
“Isn’t he?”
“You never did tell me how serious you are about him.”
I give a slight shrug. “Jerod’s awesome.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“Well, that’s the answer.”
Mom sighs. “You know, you’ll probably laugh, but I always thought maybe you and Chris …”
I feel my cheeks flush, so I turn away. “That’s crazy. We’ve been friends forever. And he has a girlfriend.”
“Friends make great boyfriends. You know, your dad and I—”
“Yes, I do know.” I’ve heard the story many times. They were friends for about eight months before they realized they were in love and started dating. One big difference between their situation and mine—they both felt it. Sort of needs to be mutual that way.
“Well, what you may not know is how frightened I was.”
“You? Frightened?”
“Terrified. I didn’t want to ruin a good thing. What if he didn’t feel the same way? And even if he did, what if we got together and it didn’t work out? What would happen to our friendship? The risks were very, very high.”
“Yes, but the potential reward …” I make a circli
ng motion around my supermodel face.
“I know. You’re right.” She laughs. “I hate to admit it, but you might not be here if your father hadn’t made the first move. I couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. I was too chicken.”
This is a part of the story I’ve never heard. “So how did he make the first move?”
“Oh …” Mom offers a vague wave of her hand. “Suffice it to say it involved a darts lesson and a six-pack of beer. Not much to tell, really.”
I have a feeling there is a lot to tell, but I also have a feeling I don’t want to hear it.
“Speaking of your dad, shall we go save Jerod from him?”
I take a deep breath and nod. “Let’s.”
She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. “You look beautiful, sweetheart. You’re going to knock them dead.”
Or at least speechless. I’m not sure whose jaw drops farther when I make my entrance, Jerod’s or my dad’s.
“Smokin’.” Jerod whispers it under his breath and then immediately backs away from my father.
Dad clasps his shoulder and pulls him back. “That’s all right, son. Just keep in mind that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. And smart boys don’t mess with fire.”
“Yes, sir.” Jerod’s eyes are so wide; I can’t help but laugh.
“Stop it, you two.” I wave them off but twirl around to make sure they get the full effect.
Mom pulls out her camera, and we pose for the obligatory prom shots. Finally, after the nineteenth photo—not that I’m counting—I cut her off. “You ready to roll?” I ask Jerod.
“Are you?”
“I am.”
Grand View Junior Prom, here we come.
Chris’s tie is black. Sweet. I can’t help but give a small fist pump when I see it. He’s posing for photos with a bunch of his teammates and their dates in a courtyard outside the ballroom, and his beautiful smile sends me swooning in my heels. I tighten my grip on Jerod’s arm to keep from melting into a pool of silver across the floor.
Mid-shot, Chris glances over and spots me. His eyes grow wide, and his smile morphs into an expression of shock. Would love to get a copy of that photo.
“Wow.” Massey whistles, and he and Briggs rush over to us. “Look at you, Malloy. You have a fairy godmother you never told us about?”
Briggs circles me and reaches out to touch a sparkle on my waist. “That dress is hot.”
I slap at his hand. “Not as hot as Abi’s, I’m sure.” Briggs isn’t flirting with me. We’ve never had that vibe, but I want to remind him to keep his hands to himself and his date tonight.
Abi is hanging back with the rest of the group, watching us with a huge grin. I raise one eyebrow and wink at her. Thank you, fairy godmother.
Chris strolls toward us with Lindsay at his heels. Her dress is the color of rubies, and her hair is piled high atop her head, a few stray tendrils curling down around her bare shoulders. Very elegant.
“Lexi. Jerod.” Chris is as stiff as the collar of his white pleated shirt. He clears his throat and looks at his shoes, his hands, the ceiling, anywhere but at us. “You two going to Briggsy’s after party?”
I laugh. “Planning ahead? How about we enjoy prom first?”
Lindsay clasps her blood-red nails around Chris’s arm and gazes up at him. “Exactly what I said.” She makes a swooping motion toward my dress. “You look gorgeous.”
“You too.” Kills me to say it, but she does. No matter. I promised myself I wouldn’t spend tonight thinking about Chris. Time to accept that fact that he and Lindsay look amazing together and belong together and will no doubt go to the after party together and then have their own little after-after party together and—
I blink hard. “So. Shall we go in?” I take a deep breath and grab Jerod’s hand. “See you two in there. Have fun tonight.” I turn on my heel and lead the way toward the ballroom. Time to keep my promise and enjoy prom.
The ballroom is pulsing with a Nicki Minaj song. A few of my classmates are hanging out in clumps near the tables waiting for dinner service to start. A few are chatting in the corner and sipping punch from elegant faux-crystal glasses, and a few are making half-hearted attempts to pull their friends out onto the dance floor.
But most are watching Alicea Springer.
Standing on a riser by the D.J. booth, her arms in the air and her eyes closed, Alicea is having her own private dance party. She dips and twirls and stomps and shakes. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I walk up to my teammates Paige and April, who are staring, wide-eyed, mesmerized by the spectacle. “How long has this been going on?”
“For at least three songs,” Paige whispers, as though she’s afraid to break a spell. “Isn’t she fantastic?”
“Is she trashed?”
“I don’t think so,” April says. “She’s just … in her own world. Which appears to be more fun than ours.”
I glance around for Ty Walker and spot him at the hors d’oeuvres table with some friends. He’s laughing and joking and seems completely unfazed by the fact that his former girlfriend is making a spectacle of herself in front of the entire school. I guess it really is over between them.
As the night wears on, I take inventory of all my couples. There’s lots of hand holding and slow dancing and flirty giggles. Jolene and Brendon need to get a room. And Amy Wellbourn—the freshman tuba player I set up with drummer Brent Bartkowski—positively glows as the two of them sway to an Adele song.
And then there’s Anita. For the first half of the night, she keeps to herself and a few friends, but somewhere between the Whip and the Quan, she and Robbie Yother totally hook up. They’re on each other like butter on bread, and Anita looks as though she’s having a blast.
“Lexi!” Jerod shakes my shoulder. “Are you okay? Where have you been all night?”
“What do you mean? I’ve been right here.” I know what he means, of course. Enough worrying about everyone else. “Come on. Let’s dance.” I grab his hand and lead him onto the floor. This is my prom, too. And if Anita can get over Jose Ramos in the span of two songs, maybe I can truly get past a certain crush on a certain guy who happens to have kissed a certain date at least six times tonight. Not that I’ve been counting.
Jerod can dance. We’re not talking about the running man and the chest pop and all the usual stuff the other guys are doing. He pulls out a six-step, a windmill, and a Michael Jackson-worthy spot shimmy.
“Where have you been hiding him?” Carmella appears at my side, her eyes shining as we watch him do a semi-backflip with a crazy twist. “And what the heck was that move?”
“No idea.”
“Maybe they should call it ‘The Jerod.’”
He ends with a freaking turtle freeze—and that’s all for the first song. Holy crap. Where was this guy during our dates?
As the next mix comes on, a bunch of guys and even a few girls challenge him, and pretty soon, the entire dance floor has formed a circle around him. Some of the kids are pretty good, and some are just goofing. Briggs hops in and does about twenty hip swivels—his new signature move. Abi is in hysterics, and I can tell she’s having an awesome time.
About six minutes into the mix, as Jerod lands on his feet after a killer airflare, Chris strolls onto the floor. What the what? My boy does not dance. Ever. They stare at each other for a full five seconds before Chris pops into a planche, his arms holding him up like a gymnast on the pommel horse, his body straight as a board from his head to his feet. Whoa. Those biceps are for real. Not to mention the ab strength.
The two of them go at it, and while Chris doesn’t know nearly as many moves as Jerod, his technique’s pretty solid. When the heck did he learn to do all this? And what’s up with him acting like a rooster at a cockfight? Showing off for Lindsay, no doubt.
The beat of the music pounds as they perform dueling break moves, one answering the other, kicking things up a notch on each turn. They’re talking trash the
whole time, but they’re kidding. I think.
Carmella elbows me. “Is it me, or did this escalate really quickly?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Jerod pulls a six-turn UFO while Chris attempts a jackhammer. Both of them pop out of their move at the same time and—wham! Jerod’s forehead smashes into Chris’s nose, and both go down.
“Holy—” I rush over to Chris, who’s flat on the floor, blood pouring from his nose. “Are you okay?”
He sits up, grimacing. Lindsay reaches him soon after I do, and she’s a squealing mess. Apparently, blood’s not her thing. I help Chris up and someone brings us a handful of paper towels. That’s when I look around and notice Jerod sitting on the floor, holding his head. He’s watching me, and I can see it in his eyes. He knows. Ugh. I am the worst date ever.
“Want to dance?” Chris holds out his hand and nods toward the floor, crowded with couples swaying to an old Jason Mraz song. Jerod is still cleaning up in the guy’s bathroom, and Lindsay is nowhere to be seen. This is a lot like I’ve imagined dozens of times over the past few days, except it’s real, it’s happening, and … well, there’s a huge bandage across Chris’s nose and a dark red bloodstain on his collar.
“Sure.” I take his hand and let him lead me onto the floor. “So, do you dance in the shower, too?”
“What?”
My face burns. “Sorry. That sounded less … personal in my head. You told me you sing in the shower, and it turns out you have a great voice, and tonight I find out you can dance, too.”
Now it’s Chris’s turn to blush. “Thanks. Though I’m not as good as your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I say it quickly, probably a little too quickly.
“No?”
“He’s a friend who’s a boy.”
“You have lots of those. You don’t invite them all to prom.”
“True.” There’s only one I really wanted to invite. I change the subject. “I see you went with black.”
“Black?”
The Boyfriend Whisperer Page 15