“You okay, Princess?”
I wrenched my gaze from Ash and the girls, swallowing hard. “A little hot,” I confessed, smiling as we edged our way off the dance floor, back to the tables. “And maybe a little dizzy.” Puck chuckled, his old self again, and pulled out a chair for me.
“Sorry. I just have that effect on people.” I smacked his stomach with the back of my hand as I sat down, and he grinned. “Hang on. I’ll get you something to drink.” He vanished into the crowd, making his way toward the refreshment table at the far wall. I hoped he wouldn’t spike the punch with something that would turn everyone into frogs. Sighing at the thought, I let my gaze wander around the gym, deliberately keeping it from straying to the far corner.
“Hey.” A body moved across my vision, blocking my view. A wide-shouldered body, in a perfectly tailored black tux. I glanced up past the vest and lapels and bow tie, and met Scott Waldron’s smiling gaze.
“Hi,” he greeted cheerfully, as my stomach did a backflip. Was I seeing this right? Was Scott Waldron, football jock extraordinaire, talking to me? Or was this another of his tricks, meant to embarrass and humiliate me, just like last time? I had to admit, he was still really cute—wide shoulders, wavy blond hair, adorable smile—but the memory of the entire cafeteria, roaring with laughter at my expense dampened my enthusiasm a bit. He wouldn’t play me like that, ever again.
“Uh, hi,” I returned cautiously.
“I’m Scott,” he went on in the confident, self-assured way of someone who was used to being admired. “I haven’t seen you around school before. You must go somewhere else, right? I’m the varsity quarterback for Albany High.”
He didn’t even recognize me. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed. Would he be talking to me now if he knew who I was? Would he remember the shy, geeky Swamp Girl who’d crushed on him for two years and waited by his locker every day just to watch him pass her in the hall? Did he ever regret the horrible prank he’d pulled all those months ago?
“You wanna dance?” he asked, holding out his big, football-callused hand.
I glanced toward the drinks table to see that Puck had been cornered by the nurse, who, from his half annoyed, half contrite expression, appeared to have caught him doing some kind of mischief. Probably spiking the punch, exactly as I’d feared.
A high-pitched giggle came from the corner I wasn’t looking at, and my stomach turned.
“Sure,” I answered, putting my hand in his. If he heard the bitterness in my voice, he didn’t let on as we swept out to the dance floor.
Scott put his hands very low on my waist as we swayed to the music, standing closer than I was really comfortable with, but I didn’t protest. Here I was, me, Meghan Chase, dancing with the esteemed Golden Boy of Albany High. I tried to be excited; a year ago, I would’ve given anything for Scott to look at me and smile. Had he asked me to dance, I probably would have fainted. But now, feeling his hands on my hips, seeing his face not six inches from mine, I thought only that Scott seemed very young. Still handsome and charming, there was no mistaking that, but the intense fluttery feeling I used to get whenever I looked at him was gone.
“So,” Scott murmured, running his hands up my back. I shifted uncomfortably, but at least they didn’t slide in the opposite direction. “Did I mention I’m the varsity quarterback already?”
“You did.” I smiled at him.
“Oh, right.” He grinned back, wrapping a curl of my hair around his finger. “Well, have you ever been to any of my games?”
“A few.”
“Yeah? Pretty impressive, huh? Think we have a chance to make Nationals this year?”
“I really don’t know much about football,” I admitted, hoping he would drop the subject. Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. He immediately launched into a full explanation of the sport, citing all the games he’d won, his teammate’s flaws and shortcomings, and all the years he’d carried the team to victory. That led to his plans for college, how he’d gotten a scholarship to Louisiana State, how he’d been voted Most Likely to Succeed, and the brand-new Mustang his dad bought him just because he was so proud. I plastered a smile to my face, made appropriate noises of appreciation, and tried not to let my eyes glaze over.
“Hey,” he said at last, as I secretly hoped he was wrapping up, “you wanna get out of here? I’m meeting a bunch of people at Brody’s house later—his old man is out of town, and there’s gonna be a party after the dance. Wanna come?”
Another shock. Scott was inviting me to a cool kids’ party, where there would be drinking, drugs and other activities parents frowned upon. For just a moment, I felt a twinge of regret. The one night I got invited to a party would be the one night I couldn’t go.