Lilith nudged Cam and pointed at the dance floor. “Check out Luis.”
Cam followed her finger to find their drummer, wearing a white tuxedo and strutting like a chicken around Karen Walker, who was burying her face in her hands.
“Work it, Luis!” Lilith called out.
“What?” Luis shouted at her over the music. “This is my jam. I need to move my feet.”
Just then, Dean Miller walked up to Lilith and Cam. He wore a dark tux with a thin black tie that ran like a stripe down his chest. “Tarkenton’s been looking for you all night.” He handed Cam a folded blue cloth. “Prom court. You have to wear it. You’d know that if you’d bothered to show up to our last meeting.”
Lilith buried a laugh in the crook of her elbow as Cam held up a pastel-blue satin sash with his name printed across it in white block letters. Dean wore a matching sash over his tux that read Dean Miller.
“Great.” Cam raised the sash. “Good luck tonight, man.”
“Thanks, but unlike you, I don’t need it,” Dean said with a smirk as Chloe King came up and slipped her arm through his.
“Dean, I need you for a photo—”
“Chloe,” Lilith said. “Hi.”
Chloe looked at Lilith’s dress, clearly impressed. “Did you hire a stylist or something? Because you actually look nice.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Lilith said. “You look nice, too.”
Chloe turned to Cam and narrowed her eyes. “You’d better treat her right,” she said before leading Dean away.
“Since when are you and Chloe King friends?” Cam asked.
“I don’t know if I’d say friends,” Lilith said, “but we hashed some stuff out the other day. She’s not so bad. And she’s right.” Lilith raised an eyebrow. “You’d better treat me right.”
“I know,” Cam said. It was the thing he felt most committed to in the universe.
Lilith took his blue prom-court sash and pitched it into a nearby trash can. “Now that that’s settled, let’s make a plan.” She glanced at her watch. “The battle starts in twenty minutes. I think we have time for a dance before we have to get ready.”
“You’re the boss,” Cam said, drawing Lilith close and moving toward the dance floor.
Luckily the next song was a slow one, the kind that seemed to make everyone want to wrap their arms around someone. Soon, Lilith and Cam were surrounded by couples, the dance floor bright with jewel-colored dresses and elegantly contrasting tuxedos. Kids Cam had passed a dozen times in the forgettable halls of Trumbull now looked extraordinary under the starlight, smiling as they swayed to the music. It tormented Cam that everyone here felt like they were on the brink of everything, when in fact they were only on the brink of the end.
He drew Lilith close. He focused on her only. He loved the light touch of her fingers on his shoulders. He loved the way her iris corsage smelled against her skin and the heat of her against him. He closed his eyes and let the rest of Crossroads disappear, imagining they were alone together.
They had only danced together once before last night at Rattlesnake Creek, in Canaan, by the river, right after Cam had proposed. He remembered how Lilith had seemed featherlight that first time they had danced, rising off the ground with the slightest sway of Cam’s body.
She felt the same right now. Her feet skimmed the dance floor, and she looked up at Cam with pure delight in her eyes. She was happy. He could feel it. He was, too. He closed his eyes and let his memory take them back to Canaan, where they’d once been so open and free.
“I love you,” he whispered before he could stop himself.
“What’d you say?” Lilith shouted, her voice barely louder than the music. “You’re looking for the bathroom?” She pulled away and glanced around, looking for signs for the men’s room.
“No, no,” Cam said, drawing her back into his arms, wishing he hadn’t spoiled the mood. “I said”—but he couldn’t, not now, not yet—“I said nice moves.”
“Enjoy ’em while they last,” she shouted. “We gotta get backstage.”
The song ended, and everyone turned toward the stage as Tarkenton strode up the steps. He wore a navy tuxedo with a red rose pinned to his lapel. He tweaked his mustache and nervously cleared his throat as he approached the microphone.
“All contestants in tonight’s Battle of the Bands should now have reported backstage,” he said, casting his gaze around the prom. “This is the last call for all contestants in the Battle of the Bands. Please use the door at stage left.”
“We’re cutting it close,” Lilith said, grabbing Cam’s hand and pulling him through the throng of students, closer to the stage.
“Don’t I know it,” Cam muttered to himself.
They cut left, scooting around a girl and boy who were kissing as if they were the only ones in the room, then finding the black door at stage left where the contestants were supposed to check in.