Devon stands in the doorway, sporting the black tuxedo with a powder-blue vest and navy bow tie that we picked out because it both matches my gown and makes his eyes look impossibly blue. I could stand less gel in his hair, but that’s just me being picky—he looks great. And I feel nothing. Despite all my reassurances to Paige and Penny that I didn’t care about Devon, I will admit now that I did worry our date would somehow rekindle my desire for him, and then I’d end up being one of those lame-o girls who takes back her cheating boyfriend. I couldn’t be happier to find that the Devon-fire is safely dead.
Devon’s eyes go from my hair, linger around my on-display bust, and then move down to my legs.
“You look amazing,” he says. And even though I’m his date because there’s no one else left to ask, he actually looks sincere when he says it. “I have this.” He holds up a little plastic box with a corsage made of white orchids.
“Oh!” I turn to retrieve the box with Devon’s matching boutonniere from the coffee table, but Paige is already on it.
Aunt Penny snaps pictures while Devon slips the corsage around my wrist and I fumble to pin the boutonniere to his lapel. It feels silly to be doing all these things with him, and not just because the point of the evening is to lure the Priory out and not to make lasting high school memories. Though, if everything goes to plan, I’m sure that’ll happen too.
After hundreds of horribly posed pictures at various locales around the living room, Devon and I head for the door.
“Wait!” Aunt Penny calls to my back.
I spin around. Aunt Penny chews the inside of her cheek, her index finger pressed to her lips.
“What is it?” I ask.
Her eyes flit to Paige and then to Devon before settling on me again. “Just be careful, okay?”
Ew. It’s one thing for Aunt Penny to help out with my hair and makeup but another thing entirely when she gives me sex advice. Cool aunt or no.
“Careful. Yeah, sure.” I snag Devon’s arm to get out of here fast.
“Wait!”
Ugh. I spin around in the doorway. “Yes?”
Aunt Penny opens and closes her mouth as if trying to find the right words. I’m about to blurt out that she needn’t worry, because I’m not having sex tonight, when she finally speaks. “If … if you find yourself in a tough position”—she bites her bottom lip—“you can always call on Alica Frangere.”
Alica Frangere? I’ve never heard of the woman. I exchange confused glances with Paige. “Who’s that?” I ask.
Aunt Penny presses a hand to her temple, a pained look crossing her face.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She waves me away. “Just a headache. Forget about it. You’ll be fine, and have a great time tonight.” When I don’t move, she shoos me to the door. “Seriously, go, have fun.” She smiles so widely I’m forced to believe she’s okay.
Devon links arms with me and leads me outside. I crane my neck to look back inside the house until Aunt Penny closes the front door. He leads me down the three steps as though I’m a fragile doll that might break just because I’m wearing a dress. It’s ridiculous, but then I remember that Bishop and Jezebel are watching somewhere in the falling twilight, and I cling to Devon’s arm like the leading lady in some black-and-white movie all the way down the drive to Devon’s car.
Take that, jerkwad.
All I can say about the drive to Elysian Park, where we’re meeting up for photos with the group who went to Bianca’s party, is thank God for Jay-Z. I don’t know how I ever thought Devon and I were a good match, but in the many instances of awkward silence and stilted conversation that occur in the short drive, it has become very clear that we’re not. We’re so not.
Devon circles the parking lot and finds a spot at the rear. He opens my door for me, and that’s where the chivalry ends. He spots his friends climbing out of Jarrod’s car a few rows over and practically sprints over to join.
Right away I see one of the Amy/Ashley twins and Julia with their respective football-player dates, but it’s only as I get closer that I spot Bianca. It’s kind of hard not to spot her, with her white-blond hair, tanned skin, and hot-pink, painted-on dress that scoops low at the neck to show off her ta-tas.
Something like anxiety grips me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around her after her sort-of apology. It was much easier when my feelings weren’t so unclear (read: when I hated her guts).
Bianca smiles as I approach, a proprietary arm linked around a disinterested-looking college-age guy with an acne problem who I instantly recognize as Sebastian. He gives me a not-so-subtle up-and-down appraisal that Bianca catches the tail end of, and I can practically see the friendliness drain out of her, like it’s my fault her date is a douche.
She passes a critical eye over my dress. “Nice, did Sears have a sale?” Amy/Ashley laughs, and I shoot her a hard look that shuts her up.
So it’s like that now? Bianca knows my family has a hard time with money, knows just what buttons to press.
“That’s funny, Bianca. And I assume you found your dress in the children’s section at Barneys?” I say, bringing to light her little secret. “Because there’s no way that thing”—I circle a finger around her tiny dress—“was made for anyone over ten.”
“Oh, come on, girls,” Jarrod says. He produces a twenty-sixer of Jack Daniel’s from the backseat. “It’s homecoming. Have a shot.”