I FOUGHT WITH MY HAIR, trying to “up-do” it with Bobby pins without much success. Mom knocked on my door just before I pulled my hair out of my head in frustration.
“Stupid hair. I don’t know why I bother. It’s not like I’m staying long. Don’t be surprised to get a call from me soon after I get there.”
“Oh, Casey. It’s just a dance. Who knows, you might surprise yourself by having fun.”
Uh, I didn’t think so.
“Why couldn’t I have gotten my hair from you?” I pouted. Mom had short, straight, shiny hair.
“You’ve got beautiful hair, Casey. You just have to know how to work it to your advantage.”
“I don’t possess hair skills.” I threw the brush on the bed.
Mom promptly picked it up. “Can I have a shot?”
I sat on the edge of the bed. “Sure, Mom, work your magic.”
My hair had grown over the last few weeks, and Mom managed to pin it up expertly and in moments. Not too tight, slightly messy, quaint curls falling around my face. Not bad.
“Wow, Mom. You're a lifesaver.”
Next on the agenda: eyebrows.
She sat on my bed, watching as I attacked my face with a pair of tweezers. I had to hunch over, pressing close to the mirror to identify all the offending hairs.
“Why, if I had to get my hair from Dad, did I have to get his eyebrows, too?” I huffed. “Ouch.”
“You don’t have your dad’s eyebrows, and there’s nothing wrong with yours, Casey.”
“They’re huge!” Mom chuckled. “No, they’re not. They’re lovely and they suit you. They look like feathers.”
I know she was trying to help, but really. Feathers? Enough pain; I put the tweezers down, then applied a bit of eye shadow (violet to go with my hazel eyes), mascara (brown to go with my hair), blush (to make my skin look rosy) and lip-gloss (so I could pretend there was a chance I might kiss a boy. Ha!).
I wasn’t used to my look with make-up and I hoped I didn’t come off like a clown. Mom helped me with the zipper at the back of my dress. “You look lovely, Casey.”
“You think so?” I slipped on my only pair of dressy sandals, and frowned. “I'm not too tall, am I?”
“No. You look like a model. Every guy is going to want to dance with you, no matter how tall or short he is.” Mothers can be so delusional.
Mom drove me to the high school gym where Lucinda waited for me near the door. Balancing carefully on my high heels I went to her.
“You look awesome,” I said.
“You do too, Casey.”
The gym was dark and it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust. A large mirrored globe slowly spun from the ceiling in the middle of the room, little sparkles of light flashing on the empty floor. Everyone was lined up along the wall, in cliques. The brains along one side, the artsies in the corner, the beauty queens near the punch bowl so everyone would have to look at how pretty they were when they got a drink, and the jocks tucked in just behind them, ogling as expected. Mr. Turner split up a grind in front of the stage.
I groaned. “Why did we come here, again?”
“It's going to be okay,” said Lucinda. “There's a spot over there.” She pointed to a space of bare wall across the gym from the brains, a little too close to the jocks.
“Beside the jocks?” I said. “Are you crazy?” Didn't she know who would be there? Of course she did. That's why she wanted us stationed there.
“It's where we'll get the best view. Hear the best stuff.” She gave me a gentle shove and started walking. “We are fact finding, remember?” How could I forget when I felt like we were Dumb and Dumber, traipsing inelegantly across the gym floor, all eyes on us?
“Lucinda!” I hissed.
“Shh, the painful part is almost over.”
Promises, promises. So, the loners—that would be us—stood alone behind the jocks, observing as they primped before the beauty queens who unabashedly flirted back. It was going to be a long night, and there was no way I was ever going to the refreshment table.
Nate stood in the midst of the jock group, along with his buds, Tyson, Dylan and Josh. They all looked amazing. And Nate, in a dark suit with a crisp white shirt and blue tie was—ah—stop it! I had to keep slapping myself so I wouldn't keep forgetting that I Hate Nate. The task got easier when I spotted Jessica, not, thankfully, in that white dress she'd had on at Filenes, but in a plainer, green number. So what if the color was fantastic with her strawberry blond hair?
Somehow, her evil radar picked it up— me trying not to stare. She saw me and Lucinda standing against the brick wall like so much graffiti. I felt like an imbecile and cursed myself for having agreed to come. Forget THE Prom. I had all the facts I needed; I wouldn't be going to that. Actually, this was one fact I was glad to have gathered. Dances suck. Don't go.
Finally, the disk jockey got things going and called everyone to the floor. He had moderate success with all the couples leading the way, including smug Jessica with Nate. Watching them dance was pure torture. So she was pretty. So she was dancing with Nate. Why did I care? I forced myself to look at the glass globe spinning on the ceiling and stopped when I started feeling sick.
“When can we go, Luce?”
The song ended and Nate and Jessica returned to taunt me. “We just got here.”
“That's not true. We've been here at least fifteen minutes. What else do we need to learn?” Besides alienation, rejection, humiliation? I tried to imagine what we looked like, standing against the wall barely changing position, wallflowers to the extreme. Maybe I should go get a chair. The disk jockey played song after song and the two of us remained by the wall as I had fully anticipated. Not that I wanted to dance. This wasn’t Dancing with the Stars, people, just a bunch of geeky teens trying to keep a beat while getting away with sometimes questionable touching of persons of the opposite sex.
Jessica returned to the dance floor, this time with Craig the sophomore. He was okay looking, but I wondered why she kept teasing him. Besides the fact that Jessica Fuller would never date someone younger than she was (so I’ve heard), she had Nate. And why didn’t Nate seem to care? Or did he? Maybe they were into open relationships? My legs were stiffening up. I checked my watch. One hour almost up. I was about to suggest a speedy departure when I felt a nudge in my side.
“It's Nate,” Lucinda whispered. I know, Nate, Nate, Nate. She nudged me again. I looked to my right. I felt like a girl dying of thirst in the desert, convinced there was a stream of water running toward her. It really looked like Nate was walking our way.
I glanced behind me. Just a wall. Back to Nate. Yup, he was still walking towards us. My eyes popped wide. My brain was shutting down. I tried to remember my mantra. Hate Nate. Hate Nate. He stopped right in front of me. The only thing I could think of was how tall he was. Even with my heels on, he had to look down at me.
“Would you like to dance?” he said. To me. Nate to Casey. Wants to dance. I should have said no. My mind understood this. My spirit understood this. Somehow my mouth got it wrong and I heard myself say, “Okay.”
The thing was it was a slow dance. He took my hand in his and put his other hand around my waist. I wasn’t breathing. I put my free arm on his shoulder and gulped. Maybe I'd fainted from lack of punch and standing against the wall for too long, and this was just a hallucination.
He sure seemed real. He smelled good, spicy. Was I moving my feet? I was still standing so I must be breathing. My heart beat wildly. I was going to hyperventilate. When I dared to look at his face, he smiled. I was so confused! I stole a glimpse at the crowd by the punch table. Nate's friends were laughing. Jessica looked really mad, and pulled Craig tighter, if that were possible.
I was starting to enjoy this. We didn't talk, just swayed to the music. I wondered what life was going to be like for me post-dance. I would be miserable. Purely miserable, since Nate would surely never set eyes on me again. Jessica would make certain of that. I decided to just enjoy it for what it was
.
“You look very nice tonight.”
What? He spoke! He thought I looked nice. I was hyperventilating. I felt faint, dizzy. Was that bad? Nate was so strong, he would hold me up. Uh-oh, it was bad. Very, very bad. I wasn’t dizzy because of Nate. Oh, no!
CHAPTER SIX