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Becca put her hands to her neck, closed her eyes, and mouthed,
Thank you
.

Tyler shrugged at his girlfriend, Stacey, who seethed as he moved toward the stage, holding out his hand for Becca.

I had to admit, they looked pretty regal as they mounted the short flight of stairs. Becca’s silver dress shimmered and sparkled in the gleaming white lights. The assistant principal placed the crown on her head, then applauded with the rest of the crowd.

The dance floor cleared for the royalty as a sappy country-and-western song cued up. Becca and Tyler began to dance, as close as when they’d been girlfriend-boyfriend.

Dylan helped me down off the chair. “Looks like Scotty’s beaming his way over here. Now’s your chance.”

I gaped at him. “You don’t mind?”

“Not if I get the last dance. That’s a rule, right?”

“It is now.” On an impulse, I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Then I turned and smashed into Zachary.

“Sorry.” He steadied me as I stumbled against him. “Am I interrupting?” he asked Dylan.

“No. I think Amy needs my help with, um … stuff.” Dylan disappeared into the crowd.

Suddenly I found my purse’s zipper fascinating. “Congrats on Becca’s victory.”

“Thanks. I think.” Zachary angled his body toward the center of the floor. “Will you dance with me?”

My face flared hot. “I think this dance is supposed to be for them.”

Principal Hirsch spoke into the microphone. “Everyone is now welcome to join the royal couples on the floor.”

Zachary reached for my hand. “Please.”

I struggled to breathe. “What’s the point?”

He dropped his hand, but stepped close so his mouth was at my ear. “The point is that we want to.”

The song eased into the second verse, the singer softly declaring her faith in things unspoken, in the power of a single touch.

I moved forward as Zachary’s arms slipped around my waist. Then I was holding him close, my hands on his shoulders and my face pressing the silk of his vest. My eyes shut, lashes brushing the place where his heartbeat thumped.

We didn’t speak. I knew that later, alone, I would think of a million things I wished I’d said, all the questions that burned inside me about him and Becca—and him and me.

But at that moment, I let my mind go blank. For once I barely heard the music. We were in a dark, soundless bubble, with touch the only sense remaining. I could feel each of his fingers on the bare skin of my back.

My hands slid up, thumbs brushing the nape of his neck. He sighed and pulled me tighter against him. I remembered the first time we’d kissed, how I’d threaded my fingers through the soft waves of his hair and thought of Logan’s short, sharp spikes. If Zachary kissed me now, who would I think of? Would I think at all?

The song ended, and we let go as the last note faded. When I opened my eyes, the floor swam and blurred.

“Thanks very much,” he whispered.

I blinked as I watched him walk away. Becca glided forward to greet him with a gleaming smile, caressing her stupid silver crown. She linked her arm with his and swept him toward the other side of the dance floor for pictures. Then she turned and gave me a look that could cut glass.

Dylan appeared beside me. “That girl hates your guts.”

“So? She can’t hurt me any more than she already has.”

He laid a protective hand on my back. “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

T
he limo was about ten feet off of school property when Mickey unzipped the cooler and started passing out bottles of beer.

I drank quickly, wanting to block out the evening’s lowlights—Becca’s bitchery, Logan and Dylan’s fight, and my all-too-short dance with the guy I couldn’t have.

Mickey passed Dylan a Coke.

“Screw that,” Dylan said. “Gimme a beer.”

“You’re too young.”

“You and Siobhan drank when you were sixteen,” I pointed out. “So did—” I rubbed my upper lip, hoping they hadn’t heard me almost say Logan’s name, especially connected with alcohol.

Mickey zipped the cooler, then rested his feet on it as he lounged
on the limo’s black leather couch across from us. Megan snuggled up to him, kicking off her shoes. They looked like they’d made up, at least enough to touch each other again.

As Megan stretched out her feet, I noticed I’d left my purse on their seat on my way into the car.

I was about to ask her to pass it to me when Mickey groaned and banged the back of his head against the window. “I’d kill for a cigarette. Siobhan, why did we quit smoking?”

“It was ruining our voices, which people can actually hear now that we’re not singing backup.” She scratched her nose and gave me a panicky look—another near mention of Logan.

“Mickey, don’t sulk.” Megan thumbed a button on his dress shirt. “It’s prom night.”

“Prom night, part one!” Siobhan raised her beer bottle and draped her legs over Connor’s lap. “Next week is the sequel. The rehash that can never top the original.”

“Some sequels are better than the original,” Connor said. “Like
Empire Strikes Back
. Or
Two Towers
.”

“That’s different, my dearest darling dear. Those were middle parts of a trilogy. We’re not getting a trilogy.”

“We could,” Megan said, “if we crashed a third school’s prom week after next.”

Siobhan laughed. “Oh my God, that’s brilliant. Then when we get kicked out, we can just party someplace in our formal wear.”

Connor took her empty bottle and exchanged it for a new one from his own cooler. “I can’t afford a third tux.”

“I’ll pay for it.” Siobhan kissed him. “You can be my kept man.”

“Mmm, sounds kinky.” He scooped her into his lap, making her laugh harder.

“Mickey, what do you think?” Megan asked. “Fake third prom in two weeks?”

He smiled at her, but his eyes were tinged with sadness as he brushed a tendril of red hair off her cheek. “It’s a date.”

“Yay.” She cuddled against his shoulder and couldn’t see how quickly his smile faded as he stared over her head at the limo’s dark carpet.

I wanted to tell Mickey that Dylan and I had seen Logan tonight, but knew it would upset him. Yet it seemed wrong not to talk about the person we were all thinking of.

Mickey reached for the stereo controls above his head and cranked up the radio, cutting off all cross-limo conversation.

I eased back in my seat next to Dylan. His shoulders were pulled in as he held the Coke can in his lap with both hands.

“You okay?” I asked him.

“He should be here,” Dylan said. “Not me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“He should be in this tux. He should be with this girl. Not me.”

I scrambled for comforting words. But what he said was true. We’d planned this seven months ago—Siobhan and Connor, Mickey and Megan, Logan and me. Dylan was the replacement part, one that looked and felt enough like the original that he almost fit. The “almost” was worse than “not at all.”

And yet, when I thought only of the here and now, I realized … I liked being with Dylan. Simple as that.

“I’m glad I asked you,” I told him, and it was the truth. “I’m glad you said yes.”

He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“I shit you not.” I held up my free hand to swear, then tugged on his shirtsleeve. “And just because someone else picked out this tux doesn’t mean you didn’t make it your own.”

“Thanks.” He glanced down. “Your flowers are dying.”

I flourished my right wrist. “But my tie corsage is fresh as ever.”

He laughed. “I need that back, or they’ll charge me.”

“No, I’m keeping it.” I extended my arm away from him. “As a souvenir, since my flowers are dead.”

“Gimme.” He reached around me, snatching at my hand as I waved it high, then low.

“Come and get it,” I teased.

Dylan lunged forward and seized my wrist, planted behind me on the seat. The motion pressed our bodies together and brought our faces inches apart. He loosened his hold a fraction, running his thumb along my pulse in a motion that made me shiver.

Though no one around us said anything, I could feel them watching.

“This can’t happen,” I said, though of course it could.

Dylan sighed and let go of me. “I know.”

We spent the next ten minutes in silence, angling ourselves to look out through the tinted glass behind our seat. On the other side of University Parkway, spots of violet winked on and off like fireflies as we passed ghost after ghost. They blended with the reflection of the limo’s multicolored interior lights.

“Aura, I know this is just about prom,” Dylan said finally. “Fun for one night. I don’t expect anything else.”

I took another sip, trying to decode his meaning. Was he saying, “I get that we’re just here as friends”? Or was he saying, “If we hook up tonight, don’t worry. No strings”?

Major danger zone. The fact that I was even considering it meant the beer was affecting me. But maybe for once I should stop thinking so much.

My phone rang. Megan grabbed my purse on the seat next to her. “I’ll get it!”

“Don’t answer if it’s Gina. You sound drunk.”

She pulled out my phone. “It’s Zachary.”

“Great,” Dylan muttered.

My hand shot out. “Give it to me.”

Instead she answered. “Zach-jack! What’s up? Zach? Are you there?” She shook the phone, as if that would help. “Zach? Aura, I think he pocket-dialed you.”

The curse of having a name that starts with A. “Just give it to me.”

She plugged her other ear with her finger. “Someone’s talking in the background. Mickey, turn the music off.” The car went silent. “Zaaaaaaach! Why can’t he hear me? Does he have the earpiece turned all the way—” Her face froze suddenly, then her mouth formed an O.

I lunged across the limo and snatched the phone from her hand.

“Aura, don’t!” she said.

“Shut up. Everyone.” I put the phone to my ear and turned up the volume. And knew in a moment why Megan had freaked.

Becca’s voice sounded a few feet away from the phone. “Mmm, Zach. That feels amazing.”

“I’ve hardly done anything.” His low laugh rumbled. “Yet.”

Every cell in my body turned to ice water.

Becca moaned again. “I love it when you use your teeth.”

My stomach tied itself in a knot. I regretted having even one beer, much less two.

“Too hot for this,” Becca said. I heard the sound of heavy cloth hitting the floor. His tuxedo jacket, or maybe his kilt.

“What’s wrong?” Dylan whispered behind me. I shook my head, and he reached around to grab the phone. I knocked his hand away. “Ow!” He rubbed his wrist.

I heard whispers that weren’t coming from the phone. The other four were staring at me, eyes filled with pity.

Could I ever have a private heartbreak? Or would I always be the president of the public humiliation club?

Yet I couldn’t stop listening. I waited to hear Zachary reject Becca and proclaim his feelings for me, or at least for him to realize what she’d done: turned down his earpiece volume and dialed my number so I could hear them but he couldn’t hear me. My fists clenched with the need to knock out her perfect teeth.

Soon there were no more words between Becca and Zachary. Just noises.

“Should I?” Megan said. I looked over to see her showing her own phone screen to Mickey.

His brows lowered. “Do it. Boy deserves it for being an idiot.” He
gave me a look of brotherly affection that I hadn’t seen on his face since before Logan died.

Do what?
I mouthed.

A harsh rattle jarred my ear. I yanked the phone away. “What the hell?”

“He just got a text.” Megan smirked. “A little coitus interruptus, courtesy of
moi
.” She enunciated the syllables with relish. “Or hopefully pre-coitus interruptus.”

Something creaked on the other end of the phone, maybe a mattress.

“Where are you going?” Becca said. “Don’t answer that.”

“I’m not.” Zachary was out of breath. “I’m turning it off.”

“No!” Becca shouted, and I knew she’d set me up.

“What the bloody hell?” Zachary spoke into the phone. “Aura, are you there?”

Panicking, I hung up, then dropped the phone like a hot coal. It bounced on the limo carpet at my feet, where I stared at it.

Dylan put a hand on my back. “You okay?”

I was too stunned to shake my head. Not only had I heard Zachary and Becca almost have sex—and I couldn’t be sure the “almost” applied—but he knew I was listening. He could check the time count on the call and see
how long
I’d been listening. And know what I’d heard.

I shouldn’t have hung up. If I’d stayed quiet, he might’ve thought I’d pocket-answered his pocket dial and never heard a thing. What kind of pathetic pervert did he think I was?

“I want to die.”

Dylan’s hand tensed. “You don’t really mean that.”

“Not literally. I’m not going to throw myself out of the car or anything.”

“Good. But if you change your mind, wait till it stops, okay? So I can catch you.”

I couldn’t help laughing. And then, I couldn’t help kissing him.

Dylan jolted in surprise, but didn’t pull away. He kissed me back, his lips new and foreign—in a good way, like an exotic food I never knew I wanted to taste.

“Aura—,” Megan started to whine, but Mickey cut her off.

“Leave them alone. It’s none of our business.”

“Yuh-huh, because we’ll have to pick up the pieces.”

My phone rang. I ignored it. Dylan didn’t.

He leaned forward, and if I weren’t holding on to him I would’ve spilled off the seat. He scooped up my phone and answered it.

“What the fuck do you want?” After a pause, he said in a firm voice, “This is Dylan Keeley, the guy who would’ve killed to trade places with you until five minutes ago.” He met my eyes. “She doesn’t want to talk to you. Now why don’t you go back to screwing your prom date and let me do the same?”

Dylan hung up the phone and pressed it into my palm. The limo erupted into applause.

“Dylan, you rock!” Megan said as Siobhan let loose a piercing whistle. Connor and Mickey shared a “Yeah!” and a high five, like after a Ravens touchdown.