by Noelle Marie
Why would he think for even a second that she would dance with him?
“She won’t have much of a choice, I’m afraid,” he informed Collette smugly, offering Emma a wink and unknowingly answering her unvoiced question. “After all, a homecoming king dancing with his queen is a tradition that simply must be upheld.”
Before either girl could soak in the implications of that, let alone reply, Gunther stalked off, no doubt to bask in the admiration of his more accommodating fans.
Emma glanced worriedly at her friend whose glare remained fixed on the jock. “You don’t really think he voted me in as queen over his own girlfriend, do you?”
Collette snorted derisively. “Oh, I’m sure he did. No doubt he got his jock buddies to vote for you too. And all in a misguided attempt to feel you up. What a desperate creep.” Her eyes flickered over to Maribeth. “It’s no wonder why she hates you really.”
“Collette!” Emma protested.
“What? I’m just saying. Her boyfriend is basically obsessed with you.”
The two girls watched as the blonde in question grinded her impressive booty into the seat of some nameless guy’s crotch as a particularly racy song began blaring through the speakers situated throughout the gymnasium. “Not that I feel particularly bad for her,” Collette quickly amended.
“Yeah, well, I’m going to feel awfully bad for me if what Gunther said is true. I don’t want to dance with him.”
Especially not with their history, if what had happened between them could even be called that.
Collette pursed her lips and met Emma’s worried gaze. “Don’t worry. I have an idea.”
Emma watched as her friend’s eyes searched the dance floor before they finally landed on the swaying forms of Luca and Lulu. “She’s on the homecoming committee,” Collette said, gesturing at the girl, “and Luca said that she was in charge of the voting for king and queen. Counting the ballots in other words. We’ll just get her to announce Maribeth as queen instead of you regardless of who actually won.”
Emma scrunched her nose in confusion. “Okay, but why would Lulu do that for us?”
“Not for us,” Collette clarified. “For Luca.”
Emma frowned, knowing that Collette couldn't possibly want Luca owing the girl who was so obviously infatuated with him a favor. “But Collette-”
“It's fine,” she said, cutting Emma off.
Emma didn’t think it was, but knew better than to argue with her friend when she got that particular look on her face; the stubborn set of her jaw told her not to waste her breath.
When there was a break between songs, Collette hurriedly called Luca over. He hustled to them, looking disgustedly hopeful, but his lips pulled into a frown when Collette explained the situation to him. He was quick to agree to ask Lulu for assistance. “Anything for my two girls,” he assured them brightly.
Lulu wasn’t quite as easy to convince. Ultimately, she only agreed to manipulate the ballot results if in return Luca went to the homecoming after party with her at Percival Davenport’s house.
Collette urged Luca to agree. He did, but with an uncharacteristic frown tugging at his mouth.
Lulu was ecstatic.
Emma was just relieved.
Or, she had been, at least, until Collette opened her mouth again. “I hope you know that we have to go to that party now too. And I do mean we.”
Emma couldn't find it in herself to argue. Her friends were jumping through the hoops they were for her after all.
And it wouldn’t be so bad, anyway.
Percy was one of their classmates. He was short and pimply, but a nice enough guy. At least he was if one could forgive the fact that he worshipped the ground Gunther walked on and was probably considered to be his best friend by the majority of the school. If one considered using someone for their deep pockets friendship anyway.
Percy – or his parents, at least – were loaded.
A half hour later, Emma finally allowed her stiff shoulders to relax when Maribeth Campbell was named homecoming queen and shared a dance with a frowning – downright pouting, really – Gunther Kingston.
An hour after that she was at Percy’s party. Unknown to her at the time, so was Heath Thompson.
* * *
“I just don’t get it. How much stupid could God have possibly fit into one person?”
Emma sighed. Collette was on her second glass of punch – a mix of what smelled like orange juice, pineapple juice, and some sort of alcohol – and on her fifth or sixth tangent of the night about Lulu.
“She’s not that bad.”
Collette raised an eyebrow at Emma’s defense of the girl, lackluster as it was. “She thought Mount Rushmore was formed by some miraculous act of nature, Emma. She’s as dumb as it gets.”
While it was true that Lulu wasn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box – maybe a dull brown or jaded yellow if Emma were to hazard a guess – she wasn’t a mean-spirited person. Collette was being unjustly harsh on the girl. “You’re just jealous.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Collette barked, gulping down what remained of her drink. “Why would I be jealous of that bimbo?”
Emma nudged her with her shoulder, voice soft as she pointed out, “He likes you too, you know.”
Despite the dim lighting of Percy Davenport’s living room, Emma could still see the telling red blush that crept up Collette’s neck in response to her comment. “I’m going to get another drink,” her friend grumbled instead of replying.
“Okay, sure,” Emma sighed, shaking her head at Collette as she disappeared into the kitchen.
Feeling abandoned, she attempted to disappear into the beige wall in the corner of the room that Collette had left her in. Emma felt no urge to partake in the festivities herself. She’d found out the hard way that she wasn’t much of a drinker. The one time she’d tried, well… the incident that must not be named had occurred. Plus, she’d ended up puking her guts out, praying to the porcelain gods to have mercy on her tender stomach. No, if Emma wanted to forget the world for a bit, she preferred to get lost in a good book, not drown herself in vodka or rum.
She didn’t mind being a designated driver for her friends though.
After Collette had been gone for over five minutes and had failed to return to where they’d set up camp in the living room, Emma ventured to peek in the kitchen. She immediately spotted her friend chatting up some boy she didn’t recognize – he must have gone to a different school because everyone knew everyone in Maple Valley – and decided to give her some privacy to “get her flirt on”, as Collette was apt to say.
It was getting way too warm in Percy’s house, anyway, with all the bodies that were packed together. Navigating her way through the throng of people, Emma managed to make her way to the backyard. The cool October breeze felt wonderful against her flushed cheeks and the thin layer of perspiration that had gathered on her brow in the heat of the house.
A grin tugged unbidden at her lips as she took notice of the fact that Percy’s parents still had their dock set out on the lake despite the approaching cold of winter – of course they lived on the lake a few miles east of town, they were positively rolling in dough.
No one stopped her from wandering onto the dock, and Emma fingered the smooth, wooden railings as she walked the length of it. Once she was as far out onto the water as the dock allowed, where the railings on either side of her abruptly vanished, Emma peered out into the lake. The murky water lapped at the dock, the gentle waves causing the platform to sway just the slightest bit, lolling her into a state of calm.
At least until a deep voice sounded behind her and startled her so badly that she nearly fell in.
“Please tell me you’re not about to jump.”
Whipping around to face the owner of the voice, Emma took in the form of Heath. She hadn’t heard his approaching footsteps on the dock, but there he was nonetheless, five feet away from her and leaning casually against one of the safety
railings that still surrounded him on either side.
Emma wanted to respond to his absurd statement, but her heart had leapt into her throat at the sound of his voice and was currently still lodged there, jackhammering away.
“I mean, I know you’re probably depressed after your loss to Barbie, but really, Emma, there’s more to life than high school homecoming. Losing out on the crown is nothing worth killing yourself over.” His voice was dark and mocking, like he was privy to some sort of inside joke that she was purposely being left out of.
“No,” she was eventually able to spit out when the lump in her throat – her heart – finally managed to crawl back into her chest where it belonged. “I’m not going to jump.”
The “duh” went unsaid.
Heath snorted. “Good, it’s too damn cold for me to be jumping in after your drunk ass. It doesn’t say much about your intelligence that you think wandering out onto a shaky dock is a good idea after consuming alcohol. And to think I thought you were smart.”
Emma fought the urge to roll her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she should harden her countenance because he blindly assumed she’d been drinking or soften it as she swore she could hear something resembling actual, tangible concern in his voice.
“You scared me. It would have been your fault in I had fallen in,” she replied after deciding he deserved neither a smile nor a frown from her. “And I’m not drunk,” she added pointedly. “I don’t drink.”
Surprise flickered across Heath’s features before his face settled back into its usual mask of indifference. Emma could tell it was a façade, though, when he unconsciously shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He almost seemed… nervous?
“Me neither,” he admitted after a moment.
Emma frowned. “So… what are you doing here then?”
Heath narrowed his eyes at her. “What? Am I not allowed?” he quipped sarcastically.
Emma’s eyes widened as she realized her question could be taken as an insult. “No! I mean… yes, of course you’re allowed. You have as much right to be here as anyone. I… I just didn’t think… you don’t seem like,” she gestured vaguely at the house jam-packed full of kids behind them, “the partying type,” she finally finished lamely.
What with the complete lack of socializing he did at school.
Heath shrugged. “I’m not, but Maribeth and those two twittering idiots, Bambi and Flower,” Emma could tell by the face he made as his mouth formed their names that he felt as stupid saying them as she always did, “invited me.”
“Oh.” Emma was surprised and maybe just a little bit hurt that he was at the party because Maribeth of all people had talked him into it. Judging by his actions at school, she hadn’t thought that he liked her. Or, you know… anyone.
Emma cleared her throat. “Well, where are they then? If you only came because Maribeth and her posse invited you, then shouldn’t you be hanging out with them?” She hoped that didn’t sound nearly as accusatory out loud as it did in her head.
Heath rolled his eyes, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. “I didn’t say that was why I came; it was just how I knew about the ridiculous party.”
Emma frowned. “Well, why did you come then?” If he thought the party was “ridiculous”, didn’t drink, and had the whole socializing issue…
“I thought you might be here.”
Heath’s words were muttered so softly that Emma wasn’t sure if he’d actually said them or if she’d somehow imagined them by sheer force of will.
Not that, you know, she willed he’d say anything like that, of course.
“Sorry, what?”
He glared at her. “You heard me,” he accused.
“Well, yeah,” Emma agreed, a bit flustered at being called out so easily, “but I thought… I mean, why would you…?” she trialed off.
Why would he be looking for her?
Despite her general curiosity about Heath and, okay, physical attraction to the man-boy, their past interactions had been… tense at best. Even though he’d probably talked more to her than he had to anybody else at school, she hadn’t been lying when she said she was convinced that he didn’t like anyone. Including her.
Heath huffed in annoyance. “I just wanted to apologize for the other day.”
Emma’s stomach tightened. “Oh? Well… I got your flower,” she pointed out awkwardly.
“Yes, I know,” Heath grit out between clenched teeth, “but I still felt… bad,” he admitted like he was honestly flabbergasted by it. “I mean, you were crying. I didn’t mean to… it’s just…” A fidgety hand swept through his hair, pulling at the caramel colored strands there in frustration. “This is so stupid!”
Emma blinked in surprise, tentatively reaching forward and grabbing the distressed hand before it could abuse his disheveled hair even more. Feeling brave for some reason unbeknownst to her she held on and interlaced her fingers with his. “It’s okay.”
And it was.
Especially when he looked at her with something resembling awe in his eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and blushing at the rush of pleasure seeing that simple action gave her, she looked down at their entwined hands. Something felt so right about it, but… Emma frowned.
Even in the dark of the night, she could make out a half dozen scars – small, perfectly round patches of discolored skin, each about the size of a pencil eraser – decorating his hand. “What happened?” Not thinking much of it, she allowed her thumb to brush over the one nearest to it, the one on the fleshy juncture of his thumb and forefinger.
Heath flinched violently, his face paling as he ripped his hand from hers. “Don’t touch me.”
Emma immediately retreated a step. “I…what-”
“Save it,” he spat, the angriest she’d ever seen him. “And mind your own business, damn it!”
Tears sprung into Emma’s eyes, but she swiftly batted them away. She swore she wasn’t usually so pathetic. She didn't know what was wrong with her. “Sorry,” she managed to push past her lips despite the confusion and hurt threatening to settle over her. “I didn’t-”
“Whatever,” he interrupted, refusing to let her get another word in. “I’m out of here.”
Emma felt sick as he turned his back on her, a sense of dread causing her belly to churn. She didn't know what she’d done wrong. Well, she did, but she didn't know why it was wrong. But she’d obviously hurt his feelings somehow. And it made her feel absolutely rotten. Like the worst person in the world.
She needed to relieve the feeling. “Heath…” she begged, taking a step after him.
But she didn’t manage to take another step. Because during their argument, some of the water lapping against the dock had managed to spill over unnoticed onto the wooden surface, and Emma lost her footing and… she slipped.
She managed to let out a surprised, squawk-like noise before pain erupted where the left side of her head collided with the corner of the dock, and suddenly, she was immersed in cold water.
More than cold. Freezing. And if there was a word stronger than freezing, then that.
Little bursts of pain exploded across her skin, almost like she was being stabbed by a million tiny needles on every inch of exposed skin. It was enough to knock the breath right out of her, and her lungs constricted in her chest.
She didn’t have much time to think of anything but cold, cold, cold, before something – someone— was grabbing her by the neck of her shirt. After a handful of sharp tugs, her head broke free of the water.
She could do nothing but cough and sputter, holding on with all her might to the crazy person who’d apparently been serious about jumping in after her clumsy self after all. She was in too much shock to realize that she probably shouldn’t have wrapped her limbs around Heath and clung on to him like a particularly possessive octopus.
He hadn’t even liked when she’d touched his hand.
A minute later she was being pulled onto blessedly dry land. The gust of cool air that immedia
tely assaulted her, however, did nothing to warm her. Worse, Heath was suffering from the same bone chilling cold that she was.
And it was entirely her fault.
The sound of their splashes as they hit the water must have been loud enough to catch the attention of the partiers loitering on Percy’s lawn because Emma and Heath were surrounded by their peers as soon as he had managed to drag them out of the water.
Gunther was there. “Does she need mouth to mouth?” He sounded oddly… eager.
Gross.
And Maribeth, of course. “Attention whore,” she muttered spitefully, Emma’s ears just barely managing to make out the words. “And look at the way she’s draped herself all over him. Dirty slut.”
The comment, malicious as it was, was enough for Emma to finally realize just how improper it was for her to still be clinging so fiercely to Heath, her arms in a death grip around his neck and her legs wrapped securely around his waist. She hastily released him, stumbling a bit when her feet hit the grass. “Sorry,” she had the forethought to offer, voice hoarse from coughing up the water she’d inadvertently swallowed when she’d slipped and fallen into the chilly lake. She wasn’t quite brave enough to meet his eyes.
He let her go.
“Oh my God, are you okay, Emma?” An ashen Luca was suddenly in her face.
“Someone get her a towel, for Christ’s sake!” Followed by an equally pale Collette.
“Get one for Heath, too,” Emma immediately added, but when she turned to finally face – and thank – her rescuer, she found that he had already shoved his way past the crowd that had gathered and was in the process of hastily making his way around the house, probably to wherever he’d parked his car in the front. “Heath, hey, wait! You’ll freeze!”
But he didn’t listen. He certainly didn’t stop.
Her heart plummeted – landing somewhere in her belly if the nausea she was suddenly feeling was any indication – when he disappeared from view.
“Don’t worry about him, Emma,” Collette immediately attempted to reassure her, running her warm hands up and down Emma’s chilled arms until someone finally arrived with a handful of towels. Luca tucked one around her shoulders while Collette twisted her hair up in another. “Heath’s a big boy. I’m sure he can take care of himself.”