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“I don’t see him,” Dylan said to me.

“Who?”

“Duh. Logan. Who else would you be looking for? Who else would I be looking for?”

We climbed the stairs and walked through the peaked stone archway into the school. I didn’t glance back at the ghosts.

“Our Hunt Valley hotties are here!” Dragging her boyfriend, Christopher, Jenna Michaels hurried down the hallway in her red-trimmed black gown that rivaled Megan’s dress in its gothy goodness. They joined Connor and Siobhan, acting as their Ridgewood dates so they could get into the dance.

We went to line up at the registration table—or as I thought of it, the point of no return. From here I could see into the dark cafeteria, where a pair of DMP agents patrolled the wall of windows, maybe making sure the BlackBox was keeping out the larger-than-usual crowd of ghosts. As if they could even know without one of us telling them. Maybe they were really there to check up on me or Zachary or both.

Behind the table, our class president, Amy Koeller, greeted us with a wide grin, her hand looped through a giant roll of raffle tickets. “Welcome to your Midsummer Night’s Dream, aka the best Ridge-wood Junior-Senior Prom ever!” As she bent to cross our names off the list, Christopher peered down her lilac fairy dress, provoking a jab in the ribs from Jenna.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” I asked Amy. I’d figured he would come home from college for the prom. Assuming he existed.

“Freaking MIT physics final. On a Saturday, can you believe it? Next year, he says, he’ll be here for my senior prom.” She smoothed a long blond tendril away from her glittery face and glanced at her silver-and-diamond watch. “Hey, Aura, I know I can count on you for a huge favor. You know how the junior class council is in charge of putting on the prom?”

“I guess.” I had not known that, but whatever.

“Molly Sachs, your homeroom’s council member, is sick with the flu, and she was scheduled to take tickets from ten to eleven. Frankly, you’re the only person from your homeroom I trust not to screw it up.” She put her hands out to fend off my protest. “All you have to do is check off names and make them buy a raffle ticket.”

I considered pleading mental incapacity, but the task would let me escape the dance floor’s inevitable heartache.

“No problem. We’ll trade places.”

She looked up at Dylan. “Sweet.”

He fidgeted with his tie as his face turned to panic.

Dylan and I moved to rejoin the others, who were standing together near a fake pear tree, looking down the hallway.

Mickey shook his head. “Man, that’s hard-core.”

“Takes some serious balls,” Connor agreed.

Megan and Siobhan were just staring, mouths open.

I pushed past them so I could see. “What are you all—oh.”

Under a trellis bedecked with swoops of green ivy and white holiday lights stood Zachary and Becca. They were surrounded by a semicircle of drooling senior girls, who were in turn surrounded by a semicircle of sullen senior boys.

Becca was wearing a strapless steel-silver gown with a subtle rhinestone trim that made her look like the ultimate ice queen. She was also wearing the world’s smuggest face, because Zachary was wearing…

A kilt.

Yeah.

The short tuxedo jacket covered none of the kilt, whose background color picked up the dark forest green of his vest and eyes—or at least the color of his eyes as I remembered them. Not that I ever thought about that.

My gaze dropped to his off-white knee-high stockings. The laces of his black shoes crisscrossed his instep, ankles, and shins, tied in front with perfect bows. Around his waist—at his crotch, to be exact—hung a black leather pouch with silver accents that glittered in the trellis’s white lights.

On its own, each piece of the outfit would have looked girlie. But together, they formed the most masculine package I’d ever seen.

“The green is for the forests of the Highlands where my clan comes from.” Zachary pointed to the kilt’s vertical threads. “The yellow line is for the sun that shines once every three weeks.” He winked. “Luckily, we keep busy with lots of indoor activities.”

The girls laughed. The boys glowered.

Behind me, Mickey whispered to Dylan, “Is that the guy?”

“Must be. I’m supposed to watch out for him.”

“I can see why.”

Zachary’s face turned serious. “The red thread is for the blood my ancestors shed, kicking out the Sassenachs, the pasty weak English.”

“So what’s the blue?” asked Rachel Howard.

“The blue is for the water. In Irish Gaelic, Moore and Muir mean ‘sea.’” He cocked his head. “But in Scottish Gaelic, it just means ‘big.’”

The girls covered their mouths and cackled.

“What a tool,” Mickey muttered.

Becca merely laced her arm through Zachary’s and gave a quiet, knowing smile. I wanted to smack it off her face.

As if hearing the shrieks in my head, Zachary turned in my direction. When he saw me, he broke into a smile—a real one, not the arrogant smirk he’d been wearing for the last minute. I ducked behind the pear tree.

“What’s that say on your belt thingie?” Hailey Fletcher asked Zachary.

“Er, it’s the family herald.”

“I can’t read it.”

“Hailey, get away from his crotch,” Becca snapped, before her voice turned sweet. “Zachary, tell them what it says.”

I peeked out from behind the branches.

“It’s the family motto,” he said. “
Durum patientia frango
.” Zachary looked at me from the corner of his eye as he translated. “By patience, I overcome difficulties.”

I stared at him, frozen with regret. He’d asked me first. It could have been me standing with him. Even if we’d kept it painfully platonic to soothe his fears, I could’ve at least kept him out of Becca’s clutches. If I hadn’t been an idiot.

Her hand slid up his biceps. “I don’t think you’ll have difficulties tonight.”

My eyes and nose began to burn, and I almost expected smoke to pour out my ears, like a cartoon character’s.

“Forget him,” Megan whispered to me. “Let’s go dance.”

I took Dylan’s arm, steadying myself as we proceeded past Zachary and Becca’s crowd, on into the gym.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

I looked back. This time, Zachary wasn’t watching me at all.

W
hen did you get taller than your brothers?”

After three minutes of slow-dancing with Dylan—one hand on his shoulder and one in his hand, like people our parents’ age—
that
was the best conversation starter I could conjure up.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Silence fell again.

I considered pleading sore feet so we could stop. In fact, my brand-new shoes were chafing like crazy. Thank God I brought blister bandages.

But as I loosened my hold, I saw, not ten feet away, Zachary and Becca dancing, next to another sparkly fake tree. Their bodies were melded together from chest to thigh, her arms draped around his neck, her fingers playing with the back of his hair. They were laughing
together, at ease in each other’s arms. Like something more than plain old prom dates.

Over Zachary’s shoulder, Becca caught my eye. Her smile turned sly and triumphant.

I wanted to run away more than ever, but wouldn’t give Becca the satisfaction. I twined my arms around Dylan’s neck. “That’s better.”

His eyes widened at the sudden press of my chest against his. He looked away quickly, but his Adam’s apple bobbed with tension.

People walking by did a double take at the sight of us, no doubt remembering Logan from when he went to Ridgewood before the Keeleys moved. Before bleaching his hair, Logan had looked a lot like Dylan did now.

My regret deepened. Only a total basket case would take her dead boyfriend’s little brother to the prom.

As the song ended, Dylan practically pushed me away, then looked at his watch. “It’s ten o’clock. Don’t you have to do something?”

“Crap!” I said, the way most people would say,
Hallelujah!
“Come with me.”

I hurried out to the hallway.

“Right on time!” Amy handed me a ballpoint pen and a thick roll of raffle tickets that looked no smaller than before. “Almost everyone is here, so you’ll be catching the stragglers, aka the drunks.” She picked up her purse. “Right now I am dying to dance.”

“So is Dylan. He’s a friend of mine.” I put extra emphasis on the
F
-word, then pushed him in her direction. He gave me a panicky look as Amy dragged him off.

I sat at the table, grateful for the solitude. Alone, I didn’t have to
pretend to have a good time. I didn’t have to pretend to ignore Zachary and Becca. Or pretend I didn’t miss Logan more than ever.

At eleven o’clock, the class treasurer, D’Wayne Singletary, showed up to take the cash box and the raffle tickets. I thanked him and headed for the girls’ room.

In the stall, I examined my right foot, grimacing at the red welts beneath the shoe’s strap. “Ow.” Luckily, the bathroom was empty, so no one heard me whine.

But then a trio of new voices sounded from the hallway outside.
Please keep walking. Please keep walking.

A hand thumped the outer door, swinging it open.

Hailey Fletcher’s squeal echoed in the tiled room. “Becca, how do you keep from humping that boy on the dance floor?”

“Massive self-control.” Becca’s footsteps stopped near the sink. “Gross! Look at the shine on my face.”

“Powder. Now.” Chelsea Barton snapped her fingers. “You have to look perfect for your prom queen picture.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Becca said.

I heard the zip of a purse, then the clatter of makeup components, so I decided to stay put. I slipped off my right shoe, then quietly unwrapped a blister bandage.

“Becca, don’t worry,” Chelsea said. “The polls say you won by a mile.”

“That’s because everyone’s scared of me. You never know how they’ll vote in secret.” She groaned. “My nose is like an oil spill. Zach really makes me sweat.”

“He makes us all sweat,” Chelsea said. “I am so hating you.”

“I know. And Hailey, if you don’t put a leash on your boyfriend—”

“What’s Nate doing now?” Hailey asked as she entered the stall next to me.

“His cracks about Zachary’s skirt and pantyhose? I can
not
be held responsible when Zach smashes Nate’s head against the bleachers.”

“He knows Nate’s just bullshitting.”

“First of all, Hailey,” Becca said icily, “Nate isn’t bullshitting, he’s threatened. Second of all, Zachary seems calm, but he’s tough. He’s from inner-city Glasgow.”

No, he’s not
, I thought as I pasted the bandage over my blister. Zachary was from Maryhill—a working-class Glasgow neighborhood, but with university types. Not “dodgy,” as he would say.

“And don’t forget,” Becca continued, “those football hooligans get into huge fights—rows, they call them—and people get beaten to death. For all we know, Zachary’s killed someone.”

I rolled my eyes as I refastened my shoe. Dylan was probably wondering where I was by now.

“Fine, I’ll talk to Nate,” Hailey said. “Speaking of kilts, what’s Zach wearing under there? I’ve always heard they go commando.”

“I can’t tell yet.” Becca’s words were distorted, as if she was putting on lipstick. “I tried to feel him up while we were slow-dancing, but that kilt is made out of wool.”

“Did he grope you, too?”

“That’s not his style.” She sighed as she snapped her lipstick cap. “This is going to be the single greatest night of my life. I will be crowned a queen, and then I will wear that crown—and only that
crown—while Zachary Moore finds out what it means to be royally screwed.”

There was a chorus of hoots, following by the slap of a high five.

In your dreams.
Becca had probably seen me walk in here and was saying all this to torture me. No way Zachary would sleep with her. Right? No.

“You have to give us the play-by-play,” Chelsea said.

“I wouldn’t do that to him.” Becca’s voice was almost vulnerable. “Whatever happens is between us.”

Hailey whimpered. “But you’ll tell us what he wears under the kilt, won’t you?”

“Of course. It’s my duty as an American.”

The next voice belonged to Rachel, who I hadn’t even realized was there, since she hadn’t taken part in the catcalls. “Becca, have you two even kissed yet?”

“No, we were saving it for prom. I think.”

“Uh-huh. You know who looks even hotter than Zach tonight?”

“Trick question,” Becca said, “because the answer is no one. But who are you talking about?”

“Tyler Watson.”

“Oh my God, yes!” Hailey exclaimed. “That boy is wasted on Stacey Sellars. And what is she wearing? Panda skin?”

Chelsea snickered. “I didn’t know Lady Gaga had a line of prom gowns.”

“Stacey can have Tyler,” Becca said with a sneer. “For now.”

“Oooh …,” they crooned.

“Tyler is so next month,” Becca murmured. “After Zachary flies
home with some pure dead brilliant memories.” She mimicked his accent better than I ever could.

“You really think you and Zach’ll do it?” Rachel said. “I thought he still liked Aura.”

“Fuck Aura.” Becca’s purse zipped shut with emphasis. “By the time I’m done with him, he won’t even remember her name.”

As soon as I was released from Bitch Central, I hurried back to the gym, hoping to find Zachary. As I entered, the hip-hop tune’s pounding bass seemed to crush my skull, even though it was a song I usually liked.

On the far end of the gym, Megan and Mickey stood side by side against the wall, shoulders not touching. I scanned the dance floor, where Siobhan and Connor were jamming with Jenna and Christopher.

I had no idea what I would say to Zachary (“I like your outfit”? “My heart is disintegrating”? “Please don’t have sex with Becca”?), but I had to say something.

A hand waved in front of my face. “I’m right here.”

I started at the sight of Dylan, then took the cup of punch he offered me. “Thanks. Have you seen the guy with the kilt?”

“Why?” His voice was full of caution, and I thought of Logan’s warning to him, to watch out for Zachary.