“Nope.” I scoop rice onto my chopsticks and shovel it into my mouth. “She and Alan had an exciting time power-washing the deck yesterday.”
“Oh, good,” says Kristin.
“We should power-wash our deck,” muses Geoff. “Maybe I should rent—”
“Do you want to go to the dance tonight?” I say to Rev.
Both Kristin and Geoff stop short and stare at me.
Rev seizes a piece of chicken with his chopsticks. “Only if you wear that little red sequined number I like.”
“Shut up. I’m serious.”
Rev looks at me sideways. “You want to go to Homecoming?”
“With Rev?” says Geoff. His food still hangs suspended between the plate and his mouth. I can see the wheels turning in his head. It’s almost comical. He’s not homophobic at all. Instead, he’s probably trying to determine if there are signs he’s missed.
“Not with Rev.” I cough to cover a laugh and stab at my plate, pushing food around. “A girl I know asked if I’m going to be there.”
Rev raises an eyebrow. “Who?”
I hesitate, then pull my phone out of my pocket. I unlock the screen and hand it to him.
He reads for a minute, then hands it back to me. “Okay.”
No hesitation. This is one of the reasons why I love him.
“What am I missing?” says Kristin. She puts a spoonful of rice on the high chair tray, and Babydoll immediately grabs a fistful and shoves it into her mouth.
“Are you allowed to go to a dance?” Geoff says.
There’s no judgment in his voice, but it’s another reminder of the rockiness of my own rutted path. “Yeah.” I look back at my plate and poke at a piece of chicken. “If it’s a school activity.”
“Who’s this girl?” asks Kristin.
I hesitate, and then to my horror, I realize I’m blushing. “Just a girl I’ve been talking to.” I follow the baby’s lead and push more food into my mouth. “It’s nothing.”
“Yeah,” says Rev, rolling his eyes. “So much nothing that he’s dragging me to the first dance of my high school career.”
I study him, wondering if I’m missing a note of anxiety under the teasing. I make my voice serious. “Rev, you don’t have to go.”
He chews his food thoughtfully, then swallows. “I want to.” He glances at my phone and smiles. “Maybe I’d like to do something unexpected myself.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
From: The Dark
To: Cemetery Girl
Date: Friday, October 4 6:36:47 PM
Subject: Homecoming
Don’t worry, Cemetery Girl. I’ll be there.
Acemetery is a well of silence blue-and-silver party factory exploded in the school gym. Balloon bouquets hang everywhere, along with crepe-paper rosettes and streamers crisscrossed in every direction. I don’t remember a disco ball in here, but maybe they pack it away for dances. It’s so cheesy, but I secretly like the way the tiny mirrors throw spots of light around the darkened gymnasium.
Brandon is going to have a heck of a time trying to get usable pictures in here.
We didn’t drive together. He practically tripped over himself trying to apologize, but he’d already made plans to shoot candids of the dance planning committee while they were finalizing the setup, so he needed to be here ninety minutes early. He asked me if I wanted to join him, but that was a little too much intensity for my taste.
I had to get a dress anyway.
I haven’t seen Brandon yet. Instead, I’m clinging to Rowan.
Well, I’m walking beside her. Mentally, I’m gripping her arm.
My eyes rake over the crowd. The music crashed over me when I walked in, but now my ears are used to it. The driving bass combined with the flashing lights make for a sensory experience that doesn’t leave any room for my usual anxiety. Flares of light arc across unfamiliar faces, and I find myself searching the crowd for The Dark. He could be anyone.
Rowan leans in close. “Are you looking for Brandon?”
Not at all. “Yes. Have you seen him yet?”
“No. Let’s go over by the food tables so he can find you.”
Food tables. Perfect.
Along the back wall, six long tables have been set up. Alternating blue and white tablecloths hang over each, with more streamers accenting the fronts. Someone has turned on a row of track lighting behind the tables, so you can see what you’re eating but not much else. One table has two punch bowls with a teacher left to stand guard, with three huge platters of cookies spread out.
The other tables have bottled water, candy bars, and bags of chips, but they all cost money, so I pick up a cup of punch. I lift it to my lips and turn, prepared to scan the crowd again.
I choke on the punch and almost cough it all over Declan Murphy.
My pulse goes from sedentary to cardio in the span of one second. I’m still keyed up over the way he acted about the photograph yesterday, and it’s all I can do to keep from snapping in his face.
Or running.
I wish I could say he doesn’t clean up well, but he does. He obviously spent time with a bar of soap and a razor, because he smells fresh and clean, and his face is probably the smoothest I’ve ever seen it. The dance has a dress code, and I wouldn’t expect him to comply with something so conventional, but he did. He’s wearing a white shirt, khaki trousers, and a blue-and-green-striped tie. The sleeves have already been rolled up his forearms and the top button unbuttoned, and his hair is a little too long to be stylish, but he’s combed it. He looks like an errant boy whose mom dressed him up for pictures, and he was having none of it.
I do my best to get my heart rate under control. “Stalker much?”
“Yeah,” he says, his rough voice low and quiet and full of sarcasm. “I’m stalking you at the food table.” He moves to get past me.
“Looking to spike the punch?” I say.
He goes still in that way a dog will before it’s about to bite. There’s no growl, but the lips are drawn back, the muscles tensed to spring.
I shouldn’t have said anything. Especially that. I already regret it. He leaves me so off balance, like I need to jab at him first, before he can poke me full of holes.
Declan shifts back to look at me again. His eyes are full of ice, but his voice doesn’t change. “And what if I am? You going to stop me?”
“No,” says Rowan, speaking up beside me. “We’re going to tell a teacher.”
“Go ahead.” Then he moves past me again, throws two dollar bills onto the table to the left, and walks off with two bottles of water.
Rowan pulls close to me, and we watch Declan stalk off. “What is wrong with him?” she says, sounding completely mystified. “Why does he have to be such a jerk?”
I take another sip of my punch. It’s too sweet, or maybe I feel too bitter. “I wasn’t exactly nice, Ro.”
“After the way he treated you yesterday? You think he deserves it?”
I’m still watching Declan walk away. He stops over in a shadowed corner. I see him give the bottle to someone else, but it takes me a moment to make out who it is.
My eyebrows go up. “His friend isn’t wearing a hoodie.”
“Well, look at that,” says Rowan. “Rev Fletcher can look normal.” She pauses, and her voice takes on a note of appreciation. “Better than normal. He’s actually a decent-looking guy. Why do you think he chooses to dress like the Unabomber?”
“Who dresses like the Unabomber?” says a voice behind her.
I turn. Brandon stands behind Rowan, his camera ready in his hands. He’s wearing the vest and slacks of a charcoal-gray three-piece suit, along with fluorescent-blue Chuck Taylors, a black button-down shirt, and a red bow tie. On anyone else, it would look ridiculous, but he can pull it off. Quirky-hot, I’d call it.
He gives us an appraising look, and appreciation lights in his eyes. “You guys look nice.”
I blush. I can’t help it. I’
m almost ashamed of it. My dress is nothing special, just a strapless black sheath that stops above my knees, but considering his colorful look, I’m glad I went with something basic.
“So do you,” I say.
“Are you actually wearing a pocket watch?” says Rowan.
“Why, yes, I am.” Brandon lifts his camera to his face. “Get closer together.”
“No way.” I attempt to step out of range, but Rowan catches my arm and drags me back into the shot.
“We need to commemorate this,” she says.
“Commemorate what?” I say. “The food table?”
“Senior year,” says Brandon. “It’s your last high school Homecoming. Don’t you want a picture with your best friend?”
“I do,” says Rowan.
And that’s enough for me. I can do this for her. I force a smile onto my face.
Brandon takes a few steps back. “Try not to look like someone is killing you, Juliet.”
I’m tempted to give him the finger, but his voice is light, teasing. Everyone here is having fun. I should be, too.
Maybe I can fake it. I put an arm around Rowan’s waist and lean into her.
She puts her head against mine. “I’m proud of you,” she murmurs. “I know you don’t want to be here.”
A wave of emotion hits me hard, and my eyes are welling before I’m ready for it.
Brandon lowers the camera. “Are you okay?”
A tear escapes. I grab a napkin to stop it before any more can damage my makeup. “I’m fine. I’m stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” Rowan says, getting a napkin herself and dabbing gently to get something I’ve missed. “You’re amazing and brave and—”
I push her hand away and throw my arms around her neck to hug her. “Stop.” My voice is broken. “Stop, Ro. I’m none of those things. And I’m sorry I’ve been a bad friend.”
“You haven’t been a bad friend,” she says. “Not even once.”
A camera flash flares, and I draw back, sniffing away the tears. “Great,” I say to Brandon. “That’s a moment I want saved forever. The time my makeup dripped off my face at Homecoming.”
He presses a few buttons on his camera and turns it around to show me. “How about the moment two friends supported each other?”
Rowan and I look at the image on the screen. Brandon captured us with our eyes closed, midhug, and you can barely make out the fine line of tears on our lashes. Even on the small preview screen, emotion pours out of the camera. It’s a great photograph.
“You’re really talented,” I tell him, meaning it. He was great last year, but this is miles ahead of what he was shooting last spring. “It’s almost wasted on the yearbook.”
“Thanks.” He snorts. “And you’re right. Half the guys in our class won’t look past the fact that your boobs are touching.”
“How about you?” I say. “Are you looking past that fact?”
He gives me a crooked smile. “Maybe.”
He’s flirting. I wish I could do the same in return. I’m smiling, but it’s probably on par with the expression from earlier when he told me to stop looking like someone was killing me. I feel so hollow inside.
I wonder, if I keep faking it, will I eventually believe it? A part of me worries that I’ll keep faking it and completely forget what’s real at all.
“Do you have to shoot all night?” I ask him.
“I can take breaks.”
“Do you want to dance?” The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I’m even saying. I was looking for something to do that wouldn’t involve talking or taking more pictures.
His eyes widen, and then he smiles. “Sure.”
I grab Rowan’s hand. “Ro has to come with us.”
“No, I do not,” she hisses. “You’re on a date, Jules—”
But then she sees my expression, and she allows herself to be dragged. “I hope you like threesomes,” she teases Brandon.
“Do you hear me complaining?”
We dive into the crowd. The theme of the dance is Songs through the Ages or something else completely lame, and the songs range from current, floor-pumping hits to bubblegum pop from the sixties. They’ve got a good DJ, though, because even the oldies are undercut with bass, the tempo altered to give everything a modern vibe. Right now we’re jamming to “It’s My Party.”
I’m not a great dancer or anything, but I can hold my own. I’m glad the music is fast so I don’t have to press close to Brandon. My hair is pinned up on my head, but I must not have enough bobby pins, because some of it has come loose. I don’t care. Now my hair can match my makeup.
The loud music is cathartic, and I begin to lose myself in the beat. Brandon has taken my hand a few times, but I’ve drawn away. He doesn’t push, which I appreciate. He’s also paying equal attention to Rowan, but she doesn’t avoid his hand. He spins her until she laughs. Her dress is white and strapless with silver beading through the bodice. The skirt is chiffon and flows past her knees, but it flares when she moves.
He’s a good guy. I wish I felt something.
Well, I do. Gratitude. He asked me out, giving me the opportunity to say yes.
Though he’s not the one who gave me the strength to say yes.
My eyes flick around the crowd again. He said he’d be here. I’m surrounded by people—hundreds of them—but somehow I’m trapped in a sphere of loneliness. Knowing The Dark is here keeps it from collapsing around me.
Would he be dancing? I don’t think so—though I don’t really know for sure. I feel like I know him so well in some ways, but in reality, I don’t know him at all.
The song is ending. This one is more modern, with a really peppy beat. Rowan and Brandon are doing some goofy move, and when the song ends, she collapses into giggles, almost crashing into him. He’s got a grin on his face as he catches her and sets her upright.
Looking at the two of them, I think he asked the wrong girl to the dance.
I wave a hand at my face, fanning air at myself. “I need to get some punch. You guys keep having fun.”
Brandon loses the smile. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah! Just thirsty.”
Rowan comes after me. “I’m sorry. I got carried away. I’m totally crashing your date.”
“No!” I put my hands on her arms. “I think he’s really into you. I want to step out of the gravitational pull for a few minutes.”
“But he asked you out—”
“Ro, trust me. I’m not into Brandon. I told you that all last year when you kept telling me I should date—” I stop short. “Oh my god. Ro, did you have a crush on him? Do you?”
Her cheeks are flushed, and the spinning lights make her eyes sparkle. “Oh! No. Well. Maybe. It’s—we’re having fun. He’s really silly.”
I turn her around and give her a firm push. “Go. Dance with him. You’re actually kind of adorable together.”
She goes, looking worriedly back at me over her shoulder.
Go! I mouth, making a shooing motion with my hands. I watch as Brandon looks concerned and then listens to whatever Rowan tells him, and his expression changes to indicate some kind of acceptance.
I step off the dance floor and move into the shadows by the bleachers. There’s a gap in the risers here, backed by the emergency-exit doors. It’s one of the few corners of the gym where the lights don’t reach. I feel like I’m hiding in a cave, peeking out at the real world.
“I don’t want to scare you . . . ,” says a voice behind me.
I suck in a breath and whirl.
Someone moves from the shadows. The size and lack of sparkle tells me it’s a guy, but I can barely see anything in this corner. He gives a soft laugh. “Well, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He pauses and then moves close enough for some light to find his features. It’s Rev, Declan’s friend. “I just didn’t want you to think you were the only one standing in the dark.”
“It’s okay.” I swallow, alerting my adrenaline to dial it back a notch.
Again, I think of that moment on the quad when he and Declan looked like opposing angels. “Why are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding.” He glances at the crowd, then back at me. “I needed a moment to step away from the noise and the light.”
“Me too.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I feel a draft and shiver.
Rev frowns. “Cold?”
“A little.” I pause. “It’s a weird night.”
His lips quirk up. “Tell me about it.”
He’s got such a quiet, patient manner, and I think about Rowan’s comment earlier, wondering why he always dresses like the Unabomber. He said he wasn’t hiding here in the darkness, but maybe he hides every day, just in another way. His hair is way too long, and it falls across half his face, but it shines. Unlike Declan, he hasn’t shaved, leaving his chin shadowed. His shirt is buttoned all the way up, his tie neatly knotted. He looks like a rock star who was told he needed to go on a job interview.
Rev wasn’t being literal, but I tell him about my night anyway. “I told my best friend to dance with my date. I think I specifically told her they’d make a cute couple.”
There’s no malice in my voice, and his smile widens. “How did your date take that?”
“Pretty well, I think. I mean, he’s still dancing with her.” I pause. “You’re not here with anyone?”
He hesitates. “I don’t really date.” He glances into the dark shadows behind him. “I’m playing wingman.”
“For who? The darkness?”
Now he grins. “No. For Dec. He’s outside, grabbing a cigarette.”
I glance behind him again. No wonder there’s a draft over here. The emergency-exit door is partially propped open. A sliver of dim light peeks around the door frame.
I look back at Rev. “He snuck out?”
“You think the faculty is going to let him smoke on the quad?”
I’m appalled at this flagrant defiance of the rules.
I’m also jealous.
I walk past Rev to the door and push through. Declan is standing beyond the emergency light, and he jumps a mile. He’s stomping out the cigarette before he realizes it’s just me.