Our parents burst into laughter, our mothers wiping away tears.
"Oh, Erin," Julianne said, hugging me, "you're amazing."
Weston wasn't amused. I took his hand and squeezed it.
Veronica patted Weston's shoulder. "I think, uh...I think we can fix the evening. Don't you, son?"
It took Weston a moment to process what she'd meant, but once recognition hit, his eyes sparked. "We can!"
He whisked me across the yard, and I was glad I had on flats instead of heels. He pushed through his front door and pulled on my hand until we reached the door to the basement.
"Wait here," he said. He disappeared down the stairs, and a few moments later, music began to float up from the basement. When he opened the door, his hair had been smoothed, and he had a smile on his face. He offered his hand. "C'mon."
"What's going on?" I asked.
Weston led me down the stairs, and I gasped.
"What...when did you do all of this?" I asked.
The entire basement was draped in orange, red, blue, and white streamers. The coffee table had been made into a pretend fire pit, and white twinkle lights had been strung across the tops of the walls.
A wide smile stretched across his face. "I wasn't sure if you'd really go, so this was plan B."
"You thought I would back out?"
"Right up until we sat at the table."
"So...you made us our own prom?"
He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Mom helped."
I threw my arms around him. "I love you. I am so"--I shook my head--"in love with you. I don't know why you love me so much, but I am so lucky."
"Yeah?" he said.
A slow song came on the radio, and Weston clasped his hands behind me.
I looked up at him. "I feel bad that you didn't get to finish your last prom."
"Don't. This is better. We should have come straight here after the Grand March."
I wasn't going to tell him that I felt the same way. Instead, I rested my cheek against his chest, letting myself relax for the first time that night. No one was watching, and no one was judging or plotting or thinking up rumors to spread. It was just us, in our space, just the way our story had begun.
He touched his lips to my ear. "Nothing Brady said was true."
"I know," I said, breathing out the words.
There was no one here to tell him where to keep his hands or not to kiss me too long. I liked that about our private prom, too. His mouth traveled down my neck, and he pulled at the collar of my shirt to taste my shoulder. I reached my fingers into his hair and looked up into his eyes as he pulled away. He stared down at me with such intensity as he held me so close to him that I fell from being lost in the moment to jumping off the ledge.
Another song started, and we swayed back and forth. It didn't matter if I was any good at dancing or if I was too close or if I stepped on his toes. It was such a relief, so liberating. An upbeat song came on, and Weston began hopping around, shaking his head. I watched him for a few moments, an eyebrow raised, and then I joined in, lifting my hands above my head while shaking my hair and hopping in a circle. We were free and happy. He accepted me like no one else. He always had. His chuckles and my giggling filled the room. Just a few times had I laughed that hard or for that long, and all of them had been with Weston. So far, he was my best day, my favorite night out, and everything in between.
Once it was over, we were breathless, puffing, with ridiculous grins on our faces.
A familiar slow song began to play, and Weston held out his arms. "The best part about this? I don't have to worry about anyone cutting in."
"I wouldn't want to dance with anyone else but you."
Weston loosened his tie, and I helped him pull it over his head. That small movement began an avalanche of soft kisses, and strong hands grabbed at my skin, becoming more intense, more like need. I walked backward to the couch, pulling him with me, while his mouth smiled against mine. We sat together on the worn cushions we'd occupied so many times before, but this time was different, and we both knew it.
It was such a cliche--the predictable sex on prom night--but I had already given him my virginity. During this flutter of time in our lives, there were so many firsts and lasts that it all seemed to blur together. Eighteen was all about existing only for the present because we didn't know if the next time we opened our eyes would be the moment our youth was over. For that reason, we would break rules, make mistakes, intentionally take a wrong turn. We were living in the last days of vindication. One day, when we looked back on these pages, if it hurt to look, we could say we were just kids.
That was what I told myself when Weston lifted my shirt over my head. For a moment, I held my breath and tightly closed my eyes. My heart thundered in my chest, but I forced myself to be present, to no longer live my life with my head down.
The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes again was the pure adoration in Weston's eyes. That look promised that no matter what happened between that moment and the rest of our lives, I would never forget the way I felt in this second of infinity.
"You're so beautiful." He stumbled over the words, so caught up in undressing me.
His touch was reverent, making me feel like his most precious possession in the world. After eighteen years of wanting to be free, all I could think about was belonging to the man pulling at me like he needed me to breathe. So many thoughts and emotions fought with each other inside my head, all leading toward the same desire.
I couldn't speak. I didn't know what to say anyway. All I knew was that the night was ours, and he was mine.
Reaching out, I touched his chest and felt his exquisitely sculpted body flex underneath my palm. I wanted his shirt off, too. My fingers were clumsy as I fumbled with the buttons. As I unfastened each section, I kissed a line down his chest. Taking each side of the shirt in my hands, I tugged it down his arms, and Weston maneuvered them from the sleeves as he kept his eyes locked on mine.
He thought I was beautiful, but he was perfection.
"Lie back for me." His request sounded almost like he was pleading.
Easing back onto the couch, my breath caught as he moved over me. The warmth of his body covered mine, causing my legs to tremble. If this were all that happened, it would be enough.
This is just the beginning though. With that thought, I shivered again.
Weston pressed a kiss to the side of my face, his warm breath tickling my ear. "Nothing in my life will ever be this damn sweet," he said just before he let his weight press against me.
THE WEEK OF GRADUATION, the halls of Blackwell High were full of whispers speculating why Weston had attacked Brady during prom. Some said I had been cheating on Weston with Brady, some said Brady had tried to cut in and Weston had gone into a jealous rage, and some had actually gotten a bit closer to the truth.
Frankie had cleared my schedule at Dairy Queen until summer break, and because baseball was over, Weston had requested that we carpool to school for the week.
I heard his red Chevy grumbling from the street before I'd made it all the way down the stairs. I opened the door to see him jogging to the front steps, and he playfully tackled me to the hardwood floor in the foyer.
"What on earth?" Julianne said with a giggle, looking down on us.
Bending over at the waist, Weston was shaking with laughter, his feet on each side of me, as he held on to my upper arms. "I didn't mean to knock you over!" he said. He lifted me to my feet and then pecked my cheek, still chuckling.
"Good morning to you, too," I said, leaning into his kiss.
Julianne watched us for a moment, feigning disapproval. "C'mon. Biscuits and gravy in the kitchen."
"Yes!" Weston said, dragging me down the hall.
His mood had been all over the place since prom. The night before, on the phone, he had been quiet and a little sullen when we talked about the fall semester. Now, he was nearly manic.
Julianne cut two biscuits for Weston and me and the
n doused them in gravy. When she set the plates in front of us, Weston dug in.
Julianne crossed her arms over her chest. "Remember, if Brady--"
"He's not going to say anything to her," Weston said with a mouthful. "Don't worry."
Julianne frowned. "I'm worried about you, too. You're lucky you're not getting suspended."
Weston scooped another large bite into his mouth. "They can't suspend me if they're not suspending Brady, and Brett and Lynn wouldn't let that go down, so I'm safe."
"So," Julianne said, leaning against the counter beside the stove, "if he starts anything, you'll shut him down, right?"
"Right," Weston said with a nod.
"And not by escalating the situation?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am." He nodded again.
"I'm really okay," I began.
"I'm at her locker between classes," Weston said.
"What about the classes she has with Brady? Or his friends?" Julianne asked.
"I'm here," I said a little louder than I'd intended.
Julianne covered her mouth. "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry."
"I've been doing this for a long time," I said. "It's not my first rodeo. I can handle Brady. I don't need anyone shutting him down."
Julianne took a step. "I'm just...we're so close to the end. I want this week to be all good memories for you."
"Thank you." I took a breath. "But you can't keep me safe all the time. You can't ensure that bad things won't happen. I'm better equipped to handle Brady and anyone like him anyway."
"That doesn't mean you should have to deal with him, especially not this week," Weston said.
"I don't need anyone to fight my battles for me," I said, my tone too sharp.
"You don't need anyone at all," Weston said, pushing his nearly empty plate toward Julianne. "Thanks for breakfast."
"You're welcome," she said.
"I'll be in the truck," he mumbled before leaving us alone in the kitchen.
I shook my head.
"Is everything okay?" Julianne asked.
"He was upset last night and hyper this morning. Now, he's upset again. I can't keep up."
"It's tough," she said.
I could tell she was purposefully avoiding a true response.
"What am I missing?" I asked.
She hesitated. "I...don't know, honey. I couldn't begin to imagine what is going through his head."
"But you have an idea," I said.
Julianne swallowed, already regretting her next words. "Maybe feeling strongly about you is...difficult when he doesn't know where you stand."
"But he knows how I feel about him. I don't know how else to make him feel better, except for making him promises I can't keep."
"He's worried about what will happen after the fall semester starts. Boys are just as emotional as girls. They just don't always feel things as intensely as we do. And when they do...well, they just don't know how to handle it."
"Clearly," I said, standing.
"I put your backpack by the door last night."
"Thank you." I waved to her before walking down the hall.
Grabbing my bag, I swung the straps over my shoulders and then walked to Weston's truck. He was standing next to the open passenger door, looking down at his phone while he tapped on it with his thumbs.
I climbed into my seat, but my quiet thank-you didn't get a response.
When Weston sat behind the steering wheel, he reached over for my hand. When I didn't take his hand, he looked up at me.
"Talk to me," I said.
He reached for my hand again. I expectantly watched him.
He sighed. "Talk to you about what?"
"Your mood last night. Your polar opposite mood this morning. Your mood now. What you're thinking. What you're worried about. Everything you're not saying, I want you to put it out there."
"That will take longer than we have before class."
"Then, we'll be late."
Weston thought for a moment, and then he shifted the gear into drive, pulling away from the curb without another word. Even though I lived inside my head most of the time and didn't quite understand how particularly chatty people always seemed to have something to say, the silence was suffocating.
After we reached an open parking spot in the high school lot, Weston got out and then helped me to the pavement. He began to walk into the building, but I didn't move. He turned around and held out his hands long enough to let them slap to his thighs.
"Come on, babe. We're gonna be late."
"Why won't you talk to me about this?" I asked.
"Because it's a long conversation, and we have classes."
"You could have talked to me last night."
"It was late."
"So, you're just waiting for the right time?"
"Yes."
"So, it's important."
"Yes." Then, he shook his head. "No. I don't know. You want to talk about it, so I guess we're talking about it."
My eyes narrowed. "Just tell me why you were so happy this morning and what changed."
"It doesn't matter. It was a stupid idea, and I just realized that it won't matter."
"What won't matter?"
The bell rang, and Weston sighed. "C'mon, Erin. We can talk about it later."
A loud conversation erupted in my mind. The words wait, patience, and now came up the most.
Weston held out his hand. Part of me wanted to roll myself up in his arms, and the other wanted to slap his hand away. Then, I realized that my thoughts and emotions were just as jarring as his behavior, so I couldn't fault him for whatever was going on in his head.
"Promise?" I asked.
"Promise," he said, jutting his hand out for me.
We walked together through the double doors and then down the hall toward my locker. Weston gave me a quick peck before jogging down B Hall for his class, and I hurried to Bio.
Brady was in his seat, scribbling in his notebook. He barely noticed me come in. The swelling had gone down in his eyes, but it was still obvious that Weston had gotten in more than one good hit.
Mrs. Merit shot me a look, but she continued passing out the study guide for the final. "This is a fifth of your grade, ladies and gentlemen. If you intend on walking in Saturday's graduation ceremony, I suggest making time to study this sheet."
I held the paper in front of me, seeing all the questions to the test, accompanied by the correct answers. Mrs. Merit's study guides were always the test and answers in order, and I wondered if the final would be any different. Regardless, just memorizing what answer went with what question would be enough.
"Did you get the punch out of your dress?" Sara asked.
My eyebrows pulled in as I processed her question.
"Your prom dress. I heard Brady spilled his punch on you--well, tossed is more like it."
I nodded.
"Did he really pour it over your head?"
Brady's face came into focus just over Sara's shoulder. He was staring at me with the only eye that wasn't too swollen to see. I focused back on Sara and then back down to the paper.
"If it's true, he deserved those shiners. And if it's not, he probably deserved it anyway."
"Nobody deserves that," I said quietly.
Sara seemed shocked, but she didn't speak. She glanced over her shoulder to Brady, who looked away. "From now on, I bet he'll keep his drinks away from you--and anyone else he might have wanted to pull that with."
I pressed my lips together and continued reading down the line of questions, pretending to study them, while Mrs. Merit's voice droned on in the background. It was hard to concentrate while so many thoughts were swirling inside my head.
The rest of the day seemed to take forever, yet before I knew it, Weston and I were picking up art supplies next to the mural downtown. Mrs. Cup watched us all like hawks. If it seemed we didn't have complete control of our paintbrushes, she would make sure we remembered her threat to fail us if we used the paint for anything but the mura
l.
After we were done, Weston held open the passenger door, and I climbed in. He stared up at me, a storm brewing in his eyes. He had been quiet all day, and I wasn't sure when he would decide to talk about what was bothering him.
He made me wait until we were in his basement.
"Do you have homework?" he asked.
"I have to study for finals."
"Me, too," he said, picking at the sole of his shoe. He was quiet for several moments, and then he heaved a heavy sigh. "What if I..." He frowned.
"What if you what?" I said, pressing him.
The room was quiet. The television was dark. Peter and Veronica were still at work. The basement felt a mile underground instead of just downstairs. But still, he wanted to tell me whatever he had been holding back in the privacy of his space, on his turf, where he felt safe and in control. I swallowed. For the first time, I felt scared of what he was about to say.
"Are you breaking up with me?" I asked.
He made a disgusted face and turned away from me, shaking his head. "You would have to be my girlfriend for me to do that."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I said, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. Every inch of my skin felt raw, like the scars I'd built up over the years had just disappeared, leaving me defenseless.
Weston was instantly sorry for his comment, grabbing my hands. "That's not what I meant. I just meant that you aren't really mine. At least, that's how it feels."
I stood up. "Then, what are we doing?"
Weston coaxed me back down to sit next to him. "I'm saying this all wrong. I've been going over what I would say all day...all week, and I'm still screwing it up."
"Screwing what up? What is going on with you?"
He took a deep breath. "It freaks me out when you talk about August. I think about our relationship existing on the phone and holidays, and it freaks me the eff out, okay? I thought maybe...I was thinking I could enroll at OSU. Then, maybe if I'm there at O-State with you..."
"What?"
"Then, this morning, you...I remembered..."
"Remembered what?"
He breathed out like he'd been punched in the gut. "You don't need me, Erin. And that scares the hell out of me."
I thought about his words. He looked wounded, and even though I wanted to be truthful, it was dishonest to hurt the man I loved.
I carefully chose my response. "What makes you think I don't need you?"
He looked away. "You don't need anyone. I was...I'm too late. I waited too long. You've had to build walls. You've made plans for your future that don't include me. Maybe it's pathetic that I'm thinking of ways to keep from losing you, but I'm finally where I want to be."
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