The Anti-Prom (13 page)

I watch her stride across the parking lot, her dress bright among the ripped denim and dark leather around. She’s halfway to the stairs when a guy breaks away from his friends and saunters to intercept. She stops dead.

“Who’s that?” Bliss asks, bobbing forward for a better look.

“I don’t know.” As I look harder, I realize that it’s the guy from outside prom, the one who asked me for a light. But the white tux is gone, and he’s dressed in a beat-up leather jacket now, his slicked-back hair disheveled.

Jolene plants her hands on her hips and shifts into a defensive stance.

“She doesn’t look happy to see him,” Bliss notes before bouncing out of the car. “Come on. This is going to be good — I can tell.”

I pause, uncertain, but then she hurries after Jolene and I’m left alone in the car on the side of the dark street. Quickly, I lock up and follow.

“What are you doing here?” Jolene is sizing the guy up as we approach. “College doesn’t finish for weeks.”

Bliss puts out a hand, stopping me from going any closer. “What do you think, is he an ex?” she whispers, loitering just within earshot. I shrug.

The guy gives her a crooked smile, his eyes drifting from head to toe. “Nice dress.”

Jolene folds her arms. “It’s prom, remember?
Someone
said it would be fun.”

“So what are you doing out here, then?”

I watch him, curious. He’s younger than I thought, maybe only eighteen or nineteen, but there’s a casual self-possession in the way he stands that makes me think he can handle Jolene. He glances past, to where we’re standing. “Hey.” His eyes widen a little in recognition when he sees me. “I’m Dante.”

“Hey,” Bliss coos back, fluttering him a little wave, while I blush, embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping. Jolene fixes us with a fierce glare, but clearly, we’re the least of her problems. She turns back to him.

“It’s none of your business what I’m doing. At least, is hasn’t been for the last year.” Jolene is trying to sound glib, but I hear something shake in her voice, just a faint quaver, but it says everything her glare and angry body language won’t.

Dante must have heard it, too, because his grin slips.

“You thought we could just slide on by that little fact?” Jolene adds, “No
Hey Jolene, how have you been?
or,
What’s going on with you?
or even,
Happy Birthday, by the way.
” Those last words, she practically spits at him, furious.

Bliss turns her head back and forth. “We should have brought popcorn.”

“Shhh!” I murmur as they face off, neither moving out of the other’s way. All night, Jolene has struck me as utterly invincible, but now, I can finally see someone real underneath all the swagger. Someone like me.

“I thought that’s what you wanted.” When it comes, Dante’s reply is quiet. “You said you never wanted to see me again.”

Jolene shakes her head. “You took me by surprise. I needed to process it all!”

“Process?” Dante repeats, his voice rising with disbelief. “You threw me out of a moving vehicle!”

“It was going five miles an hour,” Jolene counters. “And what did you expect? Just changing everything on me. I didn’t see it coming, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“You knew,” Dante answers flatly. “And you made it real clear that you didn’t feel the same.”

“So what?” Jolene gives an angry shrug. “You head off to college and don’t speak to me again? I figured our friendship was more than you just wanting to screw me, but hey, guess I was wrong about that.”

I see him wince, but before he can reply, Jolene holds her hands up. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s done.” She exhales, giving a sharp little shrug. “And now I’ve got things to take care of, so you just do . . . whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.”

She turns on her heel and stalks toward the building. Dante looks over at us.

“She hasn’t changed a bit.” He gives a wry smile, but there’s something wistful in his voice. “Anyway, I’d better . . .” He nods toward the building and then goes to follow Jolene, his pace casual but full of purpose.

“Wow.” Bliss waits until they’re both inside before turning to me gleefully. “Drama! What do you think went down?”

“I don’t know. . . .” Now that they’re gone, it feels wrong to be picking over their relationship in the dark of the parking lot, like we’re nothing but vultures swooping for gossip. “It’s not really any of our business.”

Bliss sighs, clearly disappointed. “You saw that look in her eyes though, right? He’s dead to her.”

I’m not convinced, but I don’t want to get drawn into an argument about the nuances of Jolene’s private life, not when we’re surrounded by a crowd of pierced, tattooed kids. I nod instead, heading back to the car to wait.

“What’s taking her so long?” Bliss asks impatiently not even three minutes later. She’s laid claim to the front seat in Jolene’s absence, propping her bare feet on the dashboard and wriggling her French-manicured toes. “I bet they’re making out in there. Or worse.”

“I don’t know what she’s doing, and I really don’t want to,” I reply, trying not to feel anxious. “Plausible deniability, remember?”

Bliss looks at me. “Relax; she’s a big girl. She can take care of herself. And if she doesn’t, I’m sure Dante will.” She gives a salacious grin. “He’s hot, you have to admit.”

I give another vague shrug. “Sure. Hot. If you like that kind of thing.”

“Tall, brooding, handsome — who wouldn’t?”

To be entirely honest, I don’t. Dante seems nice enough, but there’s an edge about him, as if he could do anything; some girls would say that’s exciting, but I’ve never been one to pine over bad boys. No, that honor has always gone to guys so far out of my league, they can barely even see me. Like Tristan. Or . . . Scott.

I catch myself midthought, blushing in the dark. At the party, I was too busy feeling awkward and self-conscious to even focus on him, but now that things have slowed, I can’t help but remember how sweet he was, trying to defend me against the raging sorority girls. And how I just bailed, without even saying good-bye. Not that he even cares, I remind myself. He was probably just relieved that his charity project for the night made such a swift exit.

“I’m hungry.” Bliss sighs beside me. “Brianna better have catering. Like the mini-puffs she did for her New Year’s party — they were amazing.” She looks ravenous at the thought of it.

There’s nothing I can say to that. I remember the party, though — or at least, the furious gossip that dominated the next week at East Midlands. Two new reigning power couples were formed, another split up, and Nikki Hopington did a dance routine to Rihanna that got mass e-mailed to every student in school. Just your typical, average teenage party. With catering, illicit alcohol, and a professional band.

Bliss flicks the radio on, impatiently switching stations. “What’s your deal, anyway?” She asks it almost like an accusation. “You’ve barely said a word all night.”

“I haven’t needed to,” I reply quietly.

She stops. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” I pause before venturing, “Just, you haven’t really said a thing to me, either.”

I shouldn’t have said that. I drum my fingertips lightly on the steering wheel, keeping my eyes fixed on the stairs for Jolene, but I can feel Bliss watching me.

“I haven’t seen you in school,” she says eventually. “When did you move to town?”

“About fifteen years ago.” My voice has a note of sarcasm in it; I can’t help myself. “We were in History together, ninth grade,” I explain shortly. “And study hall, all last year. And for the past eight months, we’ve had Miss Bowers for Wednesday afternoon PE classes. I was on your volleyball team.”

“Oh.”

There’s silence.

“You spilled grape juice on me in the cafeteria line last month,” I add softly. “Kaitlin said it looked like I had my period. You all laughed.”

“What are you, like, keeping track?” Bliss sounds defensive.

“No. I just pay attention to the people around me.”

She stiffens. “And I don’t?”

I’m on dangerous ground here. I backtrack. “I never said that.”

“No,” Bliss says quietly. “You don’t say much of anything. You just skulk around, keeping out of the way and pretending like you’re above us all. ‘No, we
can’t
take Kaitlin’s diary,’” she mimics, “‘We
can’t
go to a college party. That would be
wrong.
’”

I don’t respond. What’s the use? She’s back in her superior clique mode, as if she owns the place. Never mind that any sane person would think twice about getting tangled up in trouble; no, when I say so, it’s because I’m pathetic.

“See?” she says, sounding amused. “I bet you’re doing it right now, thinking how mean I’m being, and how much better you are than me.”

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, tired. “Start crying? Insult you right back?” I shrug. “What’s the point, anyway?”

“The point is, you need to start sticking up for yourself.” Bliss begins to twist her hair around one finger. “You’ll never get anywhere like this.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need your advice,” I reply, fighting to stay calm. I hate that I get emotional so easily — already, I can feel the telltale heat of tears welling up in the back of my throat, my skin flushed and prickling. “I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Bliss snorts. “Sure, being a total outcast is fine.”

I break. “Why do you have to be such a bitch?”

There’s silence, and then she looks at me with a curious smile on her freshly glossed lips. “That’s better.”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

Bliss sighs, clearly exasperated. “I mean, fight back, for once in your life. God, don’t you get sick of it? Always doing whatever you’re told. No wonder I don’t remember you; it’s like I’m looking at a black hole or something — you just suck all the fun and energy out of a room!”

“I . . .” I start to reply, but my survival instincts are screaming the same as usual. Retreat. Hide. Wait for this all to go away. “At least I’m not shallow and self-absorbed like you,” I manage, still holding back tears.

“There you go again.” Bliss shakes her head, sending ringlets bouncing around her face. “Little Miss Perfect. Did it ever strike you that maybe the reason you don’t have any friends isn’t that we’re all bitches, but that you’re just . . . boring?”

I look away, but that doesn’t seem to matter to her.

“I mean, sure, I might not talk to you in school, but give me one good reason why I should,” Bliss continues, sounding self-righteous. “I didn’t just wake up one morning with friends and plans every weekend. I worked for it. You’ve got to make an effort, Meg. No one will just hand you everything for free.”

I pray for her to finish, but it seems like she’s just warming up.

“It’s not that you’re even weird.” Bliss gives me a critical look. “I mean, you’re kind of nerdy, but look at Callie Stephans, or that Tom guy who keeps scoring perfect 800s on all the SAT prep — they manage to have functioning social lives, so why can’t you?” She sighs, as if I’m exhausting her with my uselessness. “You could be fine, if you’d just stand up and
try.
”

That gets me. I feel the tears again, hot in my throat.

“Just join a few clubs,” she suggests, as if I’ve never thought of that before. “Or try out for teams. Well, maybe not sports.” She corrects herself. “But you’ve got to be good at
something
, and —”

“Shut up.” I can hear my voice break and hate myself for it, but not as much as I hate her right now. “This is my car, and I get to make the rules, so you just shut the hell up!”

Bliss just gives me this pitying look. “OK.” She shrugs. “Fine. I’ll go find Jolene.”

I wait until she’s inside before I let myself cry. She sounded as if she was almost trying to help me in her own twisted way, but to me, it’s so much worse than a sneer. Bitching, I can ignore; I just tell myself that it’s all a stupid lie. This sincerity is something worse.

Something true.

I walk away from Meg feeling like a totally worthless human being. I didn’t mean to make her cry like that; I didn’t even mean to get so personal. I just wanted to give her a few social pointers, but something about the way she looked at me set me on edge — that resigned, victim expression in her eyes, like she’s curling up and waiting for it all to be over. The thing is, it’s never over; that’s what she doesn’t get. We have to fight for everything — status, popularity, whatever — and Meg might think I don’t understand what it’s like for her, but I do. I orbited on the edge of Brianna’s clique all through junior high, getting invites as an afterthought, tagging along after the others at lunch and to the mall even though they didn’t really care if I came or not. I was the new kid then, the outsider, but I didn’t give up like Meg. I decided I was going to belong, and I didn’t quit until I was right there in the middle of everything.

At least, I used to be. Before tonight.

Inside, the Loft is dark and noisy, with a grungy band onstage wailing about misery and alienation, and people mooching around, trying to look like they’re not having any fun. I’ve never been here before. This is freak central, a place for all the alt kids to drink bad coffee and plot against consumerist society, or whatever. No need for IDs or, you know, actual social skills — just torn-up couches and the sound of third-rate emo screeching from the sound system. I grimace, heading deeper in search of Jolene.