by Lydia Sharp
“Because she’s cute?” Lucy offers.
“What?” I say with semi-feigned shock. “Lucy. No. Rainbow Brite is not cute—not in the way you’re implying. She’s a child.”
“Technically,” Marcos interjects, “Miss Brite is way older than you. Like, pushing forty? She’s a colorful cougar. Rawr.”
“Still a no,” I say, and toss a crumpled paper napkin at him. “Five years up or down, that’s as far as I’ll go.”
“So you’d date a twelve-year-old?” Chaz says. That smirk on his face is begging to be smacked right off.
“The five years down doesn’t start until I’m twenty-three, okay, we both have to be legal. Are we really having this conversation? I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. You guys are the worst.” Actually they’re the best. I love my friends. How did I get so lucky?
“My mistake,” Lucy says, serious while the other two are laughing. “I thought you had a thing for blondes.” Her gaze jumps to the dance floor, where Jenna is gyrating to the music that started up while we were eating.
Jenna and the prom committee really did do a good job with the decorations—even better than Whitman’s prom, which felt more like a celebrity wedding reception. Our theme this year is Once Upon a Time, and the whole gym looks like it was plucked out of a fairy tale. The photo booth is shaped like a castle, complete with a drawbridge to step up into it. An ornate pair of fake-gold thrones sits proudly on the temporary stage, beside the deejay’s speakers, ready for the prom king and queen to soak up their glory after they’re crowned. Strings of white lights are strewn everywhere overhead, like fairies flying around between the colorful streamers. Even the floor and tables have been sprinkled with confetti-like pixie dust. Prom is in full swing.
“But maybe it’s just that blonde,” Lucy adds, still watching Jenna.
“You wanna dance?” Chaz suddenly asks Marcos. He stands and pulls Marcos up by the hand, not giving him a choice. “We should dance now, let’s go dance.” They disappear in the crowd, leaving me and Lucy alone at the table.
Okay. Chaz knows something that Lucy isn’t telling me. “Do you have a problem with Jenna?” I say, trying not to sound agitated, but the music is loud and I have to project my voice.
Lucy turns in her seat to face me. The overhead lights are dim, and the flickering faux candle on our table gives her face a glow, highlighting the warm undertones. She folds her hands in her lap, but her thumbs twiddle. “I don’t have a problem with Jenna. I’ve never had a problem with Jenna for as long as I’ve known her. What I have a problem with is you not telling me what’s going on with you two. Since when do you keep stuff like that from me?”
“I didn’t tell you anything because there’s nothing to tell. I offered to go to prom with her as friends because she broke up with Blair”—when was that?—“Thursday night.”
“Oh. I heard it was the other way around. That he broke up with her.”
“Heard from who?”
“Blair’s whole sob story was posted on the student message board this morning. I had just enough time to read it before a teacher deleted it.”
I never check that pointless board. “Yeah. Exactly,” I say. “That’s why Jenna’s so upset. He cheated on her and now he’s spreading lies. I was just trying to help her out … and I messed that up. She had to come here without me and face the rumors alone.”
Lucy arches a brow toward the dance floor. “Whatever happened when she first got here, she seems to be over it now.”
“I see that.” She’s clearly having fun, throwing it in everyone’s faces that she’s doing just fine without Blair. Jenna doesn’t really need me, either. Whatever I thought was going to happen with her tonight? Was probably wrong.
As soon as I realize that, I also realize I don’t care. She doesn’t leave a hole inside me that needs filling, like when Lucy …
Don’t think about it. She’s with you now and you’re here to have fun. Who knows if this night will repeat again like the others? Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. Carpe noctem. Seize the night, whichever night I’m in, and forget about the others.
“I’m ready to dance,” I say, pushing out of my chair. “You coming?”
Lucy shakes her head. “I need to let my food settle first. Go ahead.”
“I can wait with you, if you want.”
“No, it’s fine. Go have fun. Don’t worry about me.”
Don’t worry about me.
I’m hesitant to leave, but hovering will only make her push me away. So I slip out onto the dance floor, squeezing between writhing, sweaty bodies, just far enough in that I’m not on the outside edge. Through the crowd, I can still see her in case she needs anything.
Jenna spins, then stops her rotation when she sees me. “JJ! You made it, finally!”
Does she mean the dance floor or prom in general? Because I was sitting at the table right next to hers for a while— Stop overthinking. “Yeah, I made it,” I say, and break out a set of jazz hands. “Ta-da!” Oh God, no, that was— Just shut up and dance.
“Are you okay?” Her thin brows draw together. “What happened to your eye?”
“This is nothing. You should see the other guy.” Yeah … not a mark on him.
Several songs later, Jenna and I have become the center of attention. We found our sync pretty quick, and she’s got some killer moves. A circle of people has formed around us, hooting and hollering and urging us on. Jenna’s smile is big and bright, her laughter lost in the noise. As this song pumps out its finale, I lift Jenna by the waist and spin us a full turn with her facing the crowd. She’s as thin and flexible as a willow branch. All I can see is the white sparkly fabric of her dress, like glittering moondust. Cheers ring out as she reaches toward everyone and slaps them all high fives.
We may be dorks, but at least we’re dorks having fun.
When the song ends, the next one starts up slow. I bring Jenna back down until her strappy heels touch the floor. Everyone either couples up or drifts off to the sides. I check my table—Lucy’s still sitting there, studying something on her phone. Not worrying that I’m dead. Not having an anxiety attack. Not out in the parking lot, in the path of an oncoming car.
Jenna turns to face me. Her loose-curled platinum-blond hair looks windblown, her pale skin above the crisscross neckline of her dress glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. Her fire engine–red lips spread wide, showing a familiar, contagious smile.
“Do you wanna—” I start at the same time she says, “I need a break.”
“Okay,” I say, shifting gears. “Yeah, me too. Good idea.”
She nods and goes to the drink buffet, where she’s immediately surrounded by her posse. Some of them shoot curious glances my way as the others are talking, as if they’ve never seen or heard of me. Like I’m some stranger who popped into Jenna’s life rather than someone who’s been going to the same school as they have for years. We just moved in different circles. As in, when I moved in a straight line down the hall, they moved in circles to get away from me.
I’m roasting. I take off my tux jacket and roll up the sleeves of my shirt, hoping the Taco Bell stain isn’t noticeable in the dim light. I glance downward and … it’s gone? Either Mom’s stain lifter worked on a delay or this is another glitch. Maybe time caught up with itself and realized that stain doesn’t belong in tonight’s version of tonight. Or …
This is giving me a headache. I fill a glass with ice water from the pitcher someone left on our table while I was away.
“Aren’t you Mr. Popular?” Lucy says in a joking tone. She puts her phone in her purse and she’s grinning.
“Were you taking pictures of me?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what exactly?” I down the entire glass of water in three big gulps.
“Video,” she says.
“You mean blackmail.”
Her smile is downright devious. “All you have to do is spend the rest of your life as my servant, James Jeremiah John
son, and no one will ever see it.”
“You don’t have to blackmail me for that, Lucilla Viola Bellini,” I quip. “All you have to do is ask.”
Her smile drops and a furious blush appears on her cheeks. She looks away, turns her whole body, but even from the side I can see her lips twibble. Great, I embarrassed her.
But I don’t take it back or try to pass it off as a joke. I meant every word. And what does it matter, anyway; this time tomorrow—the next today—she might not even know I said it. Just let it roll.
I wipe my sweaty face and neck with a napkin and look out at the dance floor. Chaz and Marcos aren’t so much dancing as they are swaying in place while they make out. One of Blair’s soccer buddies and his gymnast girlfriend pass them, making gagging noises and sticking out their tongues like the PDA is a poisonous gas. As if they haven’t done that themselves in the halls at school once or twenty times. Blair and Farah Justice pass them next, and Farah leans toward them, saying something that I can’t hear. Simultaneously, and without breaking their mouths apart or even looking to the side, Chaz and Marcos flip her off. Farah scowls and Blair tugs her away from them.
Lucy and I both laugh, and then our faces snap toward each other. I hadn’t realized she was watching, too. Just like that, the awkwardness of a moment ago is gone. The end of that slow song blends into the start of another. The opening notes ignite a familiar warmth down my spine, and from there it spreads out to every other part of my body. I’m still looking at Lucy, in that dress she chose to wear for me, when the warmth hits my chest like a burst of flames, in this blue vest I chose to wear for her—and I extend a hand.
“Yeah, I know, I have to dance now,” Lucy says. “This is our song.” She takes my hand and gets up, then loops her arm into mine, leading me out onto the floor.
I’ve slow danced with Lucy before, to this song and others. At homecoming every year, at parties, at summer festivals in “downtown” Beaver Creek, and at backyard cookouts. She always leads. There’s no point in fighting her natural tendency to take charge. Our rhythm is smoother that way, in dancing, in everything. This time, she doesn’t move us around much, and halfway through the song, she slides her hands up and clasps them together behind my neck, leaving me no choice but to drop my hands to her waist. They settle in the dip there perfectly, and I resist the urge to pull her close against me.
Not here, with so many people around us. They’d get the wrong idea. They’d start rumors that would be too easy to believe.
She looks up at me with those big brown eyes, staring with a sense of wonder, like she’s found some precious treasure. I can’t guess what she’s thinking, but at least I know it’s good. I stare back down at her, keeping our gazes locked, and one side of my mouth ticks up as the rest of the room dissolves around us. Colorful balloons and streamers fade to black. Formal dresses and suits become stardust and blow away. There’s nothing but Lucy and me and this song.
Screw it. I don’t care who sees us. If anyone asks, I’ll claim I was under the magical influence of prom night. It wouldn’t be a lie. I slide my arms behind her and tighten my grasp until she’s right up against me. She shifts her arms so they’re beneath mine now, squeezing my torso, and then she lays her head on my chest and closes her eyes. If this isn’t the most perfect moment of my life, I can’t imagine what would ever top it.
A bright white light flashes, and for a second my throat tightens with panic, thinking the night is going to stop right here and restart—and I’ll lose this and her and everything good from tonight because she won’t remember it—but when my face snaps toward the light at my left, I see Chaz holding up his phone. He got a picture of us dancing, holding each other. Bless him.
“Text that to me,” I shout over the music. He gives me a thumbs-up and pockets the phone. Marcos pulls him close, and they disappear in the throng of swaying couples. Lucy looked up, too, but she lays her head on me again. Says nothing, just squeezes me harder, like she’s afraid I’ll slip away.
Soon, I will. We both will. Very far away from each other, on different sides of the world.
Why try so hard to keep something together that’s always falling apart?
Why try, Lucy? This is why. This feeling I have when you hold me like you never want to let go. Don’t you feel it, too? This is us at our best. How can you tell me you don’t want our friendship anymore?
Too quickly, the song ends and a new beat picks up into something fast with a thumping bass line. More people crowd in around us, and we break apart. Her hands get fidgety, and her mouth keeps twisting.
“Lucy?” I reach for her, but she takes a step back, bumping into someone, then taking another step, sideways. Both times away from me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I”—her breath hitches—“I need to get some air. It’s too crowded in here.”
She’s panicking. Why is she panicking? We were relaxed and comfortable a literal minute ago.
She turns and heads for the exit. I’m right on her heels, following the galaxy on her dress like I’m chasing the tail of a comet.
“JJ, stop,” she says at the door. “I’ll be right back. I’m fine.”
“You … you don’t seem fine. Lucy, I know you. You can hide these little tics from other people, but you can’t hide them from me.”
“I will be fine,” she clarifies, her voice wavering. Yeah, that’s convincing. “I’m just feeling too much at once right now, but it’ll go away. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.”
Saying that only makes me worry about her more.
Especially when her movements are getting more and more jumpy, like she can’t stand in one place, she needs to move. But hearing that phrase again also reminds me of what else she told me on night one. She thinks she stresses me out, and that’s part of the reason she was willing to end our friendship.
Afraid I might push her into that again, I raise my palms in surrender. “Okay. This is me not worrying. But if you need anything—”
“All I need is a few minutes alone,” she says, and steps out.
As soon as the door shuts behind her, I text Chaz.
Me: Check on Lucy? She went outside doesn’t want me to follow. She’s upset. No clue what triggered this
I’m not sure where he and Marcos disappeared to, but Chaz’s reply comes fast.
Chaz: On it.
Lucy is still outside when they announce the prom king and queen. It’s Blair and Jenna, and no one is surprised, but no one knows how to react, either.
To awkward silence, Blair and Jenna step up onto the temporary stage, between the fake thrones and Principal Korver standing there with a mic and confusion in her eyes. Confusion over the lack of thundering applause and everyone’s bewilderment, most likely. We the senior class voted them into this and now we’re acting like we don’t know why they won. Someone from the prom committee walks across the stage and places a gold foil crown on Blair’s head, then a tin tiara on Jenna’s. They stand next to each other stiffly, with far-off looks in their eyes like they’re at a funeral. Then the music starts up again, something decades old and slow and obviously selected to be metaphoric about our upcoming transition into adulthood, and Principal Korver informs us that our king and queen will now lead us in the next dance.
I can’t watch this. But I also can’t look away. My chest cinches tight. Jenna …
Blair takes her by the hand and tugs her out to the middle of the floor. She places both her palms flat against his chest and he does the same to the sides of her waist, and you could probably fit two linebackers comfortably in the space between them. Farah stands at the side with her arms crossed. A few people start laughing and jeering. A few others dance along, telling the others to “shut up and grow up.” But it’s too easy to find entertainment in someone else’s embarrassment, and the mob mentality takes over. It doesn’t take long to escalate, and now people are shouting things about Jenna that are wildly untrue, that she’s not good enough for him, she was never good enough for him
.
Of course they side with Blair over her. Of course they believe his lies. He’s not just the prom king; he’s king of everyone’s hearts at this school. Of course a breakup like theirs, after being the “idol couple” for the entirety of senior year, is the girl’s fault for being a slut or something. God forbid a woman can be pretty without people assigning her bad motives for it. And these are the same people who were cheering her on and high-fiving her before. Following the crowd in both situations like mindless sheep.
Jenna’s friends try to shout over the insults, but it’s useless. No one cares. And I’m just about to step into that space between and take Blair’s place as Jenna’s dance partner, just let him try something, when Blair leans down and whispers in Jenna’s ear.
Her eyes light with rage, like blue fire in the dim light. She hauls back and smacks him so hard across the cheek that his recoil knocks the crown off his head. Blair stands his ground and remains outwardly stoic, but I know from experience that had to hurt as much as the punch that gave me this black eye.
Everything goes quiet again, except for the music. Jenna lifts the narrow skirt of her dress and trots off the dance floor. The clack-clack of her heels starts loud and gets softer as she pushes past everyone until she’s across the room, then she exits into the hall outside the gym.
Blair looks around, rubbing his cheek, swiveling his jaw like he’s making sure it still works, and then he steps off, too, in the same direction.
Oh, no you don’t.
I push through the crowd and follow him into the same hall that Jenna escaped to, and her friends show up a second later. Blair takes one look at the group of us, and I swear he’s going to pulverize me. His stony gray eyes pin me in place and a muscle in his granite jaw ticks.
Jenna’s friends call him some very choice words as they pass, then round a corner, and it’s clear they found Jenna there when suddenly all of them are talking at once, their voices echoing in an amorphous cacophony. Blair presses his lips together into a firm line. And then … he just walks right past me, down the hall, in the opposite direction of Jenna. Whatever he was going to do or say, to either of us, he changed his mind. But still.