The Anti-Prom

“I’m thinking law, or maybe poli-sci, so that means Harvard — of course — and then Yale, Cornell, Columbia . . .” Tristan ticks them off. “My dad is pushing Duke, so we’ll take a trip out to visit in the fall, but I don’t know . . . I think I can do better.”

“Mmmhmm,” I murmur happily, perched just inches away from him. The party is winding down now — or at least, the music is — and people have split off into groups to laze around, talk, and even sleep; sprawled in piles of blankets in the darker corners of the house. Tristan drapes one arm over the back of the couch, his fingertips brushing my bare shoulder. The touch sends shivers through me, and in my breathless haze, it takes everything I have to even focus on a single word he says.

“It’s the extracurriculars that kill you — you better look out for that,” he’s telling me helpfully, “but I’ve been packing my résumé with all that volunteering stuff since I was, like, in preschool. The only thing I’m not sure about is sports.” He frowns, the light behind him shining through his hair in a perfect blond halo. “I’ve been on the swim team, but do you think that’s enough?”

“I don’t know, it should be.” I lean forward to take a sip of my soda and then sit back, this time close enough for my whole left arm to press against his body. My thoughts scatter at the contact, but I recover. “I, umm, don’t have any sports, and the guidance counselor said —”

“But it’s kind of late to start anything,” Tristan interrupts, still pondering his future applications. “They always can tell if you join stuff senior year. Maybe I should do another internship this summer. I’m already lined up at my dad’s office, but I could throw in some time teaching, like, disadvantaged kids how to play softball. Two hits in one!”

“Right.” I look up at his face: tanned, and perfect, and looking straight at me, as if there’s nobody else around. I smile back at him. “That sounds like a great idea.”

We stay in the den for a while, chatting about college applications and his plans for summer vacation, until a group of seniors arrives armed with pillows and claims the room as a designated sleep area.

“Who are you looking for?” Tristan asks as we wander back through the house.

“Oh, nobody.” I take time to glance in every room, but I haven’t seen Jolene all night, and even Bliss has disappeared. She’s probably camped out in Brianna’s suite, back with all her real friends. Not that I can really blame her now — everything worked the way she promised. I turn to Tristan with an encouraging grin. “What were you saying, about Mexico?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tristan brightens. “Everyone always just sticks to the beach, but I want to go trekking, out in the mountains. Maybe stay in one of the villages . . .”

He keeps talking for a while, but I let my attention drift, enjoying the envious looks from people as we pass, and the weight of his arm on my shoulder. This is what Bliss must take for granted every day: the sense of belonging, as if you have a place in the world carved just for you. No worries that nobody will talk to you, or that they’ll turn away and laugh behind your back; this is what it’s like on the inside. To be someone who matters.

“Amit, wait a sec.” Tristan pauses to talk to one of his student government buddies, and I wait, patiently exchanging smiles with the other boy’s girlfriend. Girlfriend. For the first time since he spoke to me, it occurs to me that I could make this last, make it become something real.

The thought blossoms in my mind, full of possibility.

Will tonight be my Cinderella story before everything shifts back to normal, or is this the start of a whole new life for me? Dating Tristan, getting invites to their parties and trips, making friends with the other girlfriends, actually showing up to the school events and organizing committees. I can see it now, unfolding ahead of me in a glitter of friendship and activity. Not just one, perfect prom night, but dozens more.

All senior year.

“Right, Meg?”

I realize Tristan is looking at me expectantly, so I give a grin and nod, even though I haven’t followed a word of the conversation. It doesn’t seem to matter; the boys barely pause before continuing, something about planning a fundraiser for next year.

“You’re the other Meg, aren’t you?” The other girl moves closer. It’s the petite redhead I saw outside the country club, the one who rushed to be a part of the group photo. “I’ve seen you around, in school.”

“That’s right.” I smile. “I think we have gym together.”

She makes a face. “Volleyball, ack. I’ve only just figured out how to spike the ball, and we finish next week!”

We both laugh. “Anything’s better than cross-country running,” I confide. “I pretend to get my period so often, they’re going to think I have weird health problems soon.”

“Eww, girl talk.” Her boyfriend catches my last words and grimaces, as if we’re discussing something gross. “You two need some space?”

“Grow up!” The other Meg elbows him lightly, laughing. I watch them joke, wondering if I’ll ever be so comfortable with a boy. Even now, I’m hyper-aware of Tristan’s every move — whether he seems relaxed, if he’s still smiling at me, or if his attention has drifted elsewhere. I see his eyes slip past me, so I tuck my arm through his.

“I could use another soda,” I suggest, nodding toward the kitchen. “Let’s go see who’s still awake.”

He grins, pulls me closer. “You read my mind.”

I exhale with relief.

We find his friend Kellan in the kitchen, surrounded by an avalanche of party debris. He’s stacking empty cups into a tower on the counter top, slowly, as if it’s a serious undertaking.

“What’s up?” The boys exchange fist bumps and backslaps; the rituals of popularity.

Kellan shrugs. “Nothing much. Things are winding down. Oh, wait, did you see what happened with Kaitlin?”

Tristan shakes his head, handing me a beer. I wait until he’s turned away, and then casually switch it for a carton of juice.

“It was crazy.” Kellan laughs. “B flipped out and, like, smashed a bottle over her head. Kaitlin went into total meltdown, ran out in tears.”

I stop. Does he mean Bliss?

“Those girls, it’s always drama, drama.” Tristan rolls his eyes, unconcerned, as one of the other boys — Nico, I think — wanders in. I melt back against the fridge, making room for him to saunter past. Tristan slaps his back. “Hey, man, where you been?”

“Around.” Nico begins shaking the cans of Pringles in turn, trying to find some remnants. He looks up, noticing me for the first time. “Hey, who’s this?”

Tristan laughs. “It’s Meg, from school. You know, Meg Zuckerman?”

I give an awkward wave.

Nico blinks. “No way.”

“See, man, I told you she could be cute.” Kellan looks back at me. “You know, if you lost those glasses and some weight. Right, dude?” He tosses one of the cups at Tristan. The tower wobbles.

“Right.” Tristan grins, ruffling my hair affectionately. “Now look at you. The belle of the ball.”

I stare at him, the warm haze of breathlessness parting for just a second as their words sink in.

“You want to head outside for a minute?” Tristan’s breath is warm against my ear. He doesn’t wait for a reply before taking my hand and tugging me gently out of the room. Nico and Kellan let him go without a word, now both deeply fascinated by the ever-growing stack of cups. I follow.

“I’m sorry about the guys. They can be kind of blunt.” Tristan squeezes my hand as we slip out a side door. It’s silent here, shaded from the backyard by trees and a canopy of vines strung up on an elaborate trellis. There’s a winding paved path and even the low bubble of a fountain — the perfect romantic retreat. I look around, my stomach already fluttering with nerves. A cute boy, a secluded spot, moonlight — well, the glow from inside the house — I know what this means. My pulse jumps; my legs feel numb. He’s going to kiss me.

And not just any kiss. My first.

“It’s just kind of a surprise, that’s all.” Tristan is still talking. “You know, one minute you’re just Meg, and the next, you’re . . . wow.” He smiles at me with that charming half grin I’ve been pining over all year.

I catch my breath. This is it.

He knows it, too. Taking both my hands in his, he pulls me closer. Everything is in slow motion now — the scene that’s played over in my mind dozens of times. I’ve felt foolish, being so inexperienced when other girls my age are off doing, well, all kinds of things, but right now it feels worth it. Perfect.

His head dips to mine and I close my eyes, feel the warmth of his face brush mine. Then it happens: Tristan Carmichael kisses me. It’s soft, and gentle, and everything I could ever want.

One minute you’re just Meg . . .

The voice pops out of nowhere. I try to ignore it, to focus on Tristan’s lips instead, and the hand he’s placed against my cheek. I don’t want to get this part wrong, so I press closer against that swim team chest. The kiss deepens.

Now look at you, the belle of the ball.

Tristan’s words from before break my concentration, but this time, I feel myself snap out of the moment, as if I’m separating from my body. The magic dissolves. His lips are just lips; his hands, just hands. We’re not so much kissing as pressing parts of our bodies together, like complete strangers.

The delicious flutter turns to frustration. Here I am, in the middle of a moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life, and all I can think about is a random comment. What’s wrong with me?

Tristan clearly isn’t so distracted: his hands are roaming across my back and hips, tongue exploring my mouth. I pull away, breaking for air.

“It’s, umm, really pretty out here!” I say, feeling like an awkward kid. I’ve ruined it now; I can tell.

But Tristan doesn’t seem to think so. He just gives me that smile again and leans back in. “I know,” he whispers, pushing a tendril of hair from my face. “It’s really pretty right here, too.”

I duck away. “I like the way they’ve done the garden!” I babble. “To make it look natural like this? I hate it when it’s just neat rows of flowers, and —”

A frown flickers across his face. “Is something wrong?”

I blink. “No,” I say quickly, “everything’s . . . great.”

“Good.” Tristan steps toward me, placing me lightly back against the wall. I close my eyes and feel him kiss me again, but my mind won’t stop now; something has been triggered, and now all I can hear is the wave of rebellious thoughts.

Since when should I have to cover myself in makeup and bare half my body just to get noticed by these people?

Tristan is still up against me, but I barely register him. Instead, I finally realize what’s wrong with this perfect picture.

I pull free from his embrace.

“What’s the matter now?” He sighs impatiently but quickly covers it with another encouraging grin. “It’s OK. Nobody’s going to find us. They’re all off asleep now.”

But that’s not the point. I take another step away from him, away from everything I thought I wanted. I can’t believe I’m doing this. After all this time, all those math classes spent daydreaming about his arms around me, and here I am turning him down? I swallow, wondering how on earth I can explain. “I’m sorry,” I manage to say. “This was a mistake.”

Tristan blinks. “But I thought . . . I mean, you like me.”

He says it with such certainty that any last doubt I have disappears.

“I did,” I admit, blushing. “So much. But you didn’t like me. Not at all, not until all this.”

I gesture at the hair, the dress, the shiny, sexy costume that somehow caught his attention in a way that “just Meg” never did. Because the fact is, he’s looked right past me all year. Even in my old gown, I didn’t register — like I don’t exist unless I fit their weird category of hotness. I suppose that’s what they don’t tell you about makeovers in the movies — that maybe the people who gasp with grand double takes aren’t worth the effort. Because if I don’t deserve his attention when I’m myself, then what good is he?

“Thanks for tonight,” I tell him quietly. “I had fun.”

“I don’t understand.” Tristan can’t seem to process the fact of me turning him down. He pushes his hair back, staring at me in frustration. “I thought this was what you wanted!”

I give him a faint smile, turning to go.

“I changed my mind.”

I slip back through the house, retrieving my purse from where I hid it under a pile of coats in the hallway. I feel a pang, just leaving like this, but I suppose if Bliss and Jolene wanted to say good-bye, they would have by now. Perhaps they’ve already gone. I take one last look at the party — my prom night over, at last — and then hurry out of the front door.

It’s not until I’m halfway down the steps that I remember: Bliss switched purses with me to match the dress; there’s nothing in her bag but lip gloss, tape, and a wedge of photocopies, folded over to fit. My car keys are nowhere to be found.

Perfect.

Collapsing on the steps, I stare blankly at the dark lawn. I’m worn out, my contacts itch, and all I want is to curl up in bed at home, but now I have to search the house for her — and that’s if she hasn’t left already. So much for an airtight alibi; arriving home in a cab or calling to get picked up here might be the smallest hint to my dad that I haven’t spent the night at an innocent all-girl slumber party. My gaze falls on the papers, the reason all of this even began. It seems like a lifetime ago that Bliss was so determined to make Kaitlin and Cameron pay. Well, was it worth it?

Skimming the first pages, I begin to read. Page after page of Kaitlin’s immature whining, about Bliss and Brianna and Cameron, and then —

I stop, horrified.

Oh, God, what have we done?

Leaping up, I sprint back into the house and search every room in turn. There’s no sign of Bliss anywhere, so I head out to the back patio, scanning the yard. People are grouped around, laughing at something down by the pool, so I trip down the steps, jostling in the crowd until I see them. Jolene and Bliss hauling are themselves out of the water, completely soaked.

“Hey, guys, I need to talk to you.” Finally, I break through the onlookers.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” Another girl — Kaitlin, I think — is still splashing around in the water, but I don’t have time to figure this out. “Bliss, Jolene, come on!”

They ignore me. “Couldn’t you keep me out of it?” Jolene shakes water from her hair. The ruffles are hanging in damp clumps from her chest, the fabric almost transparent.

“You were the one who got in the way!” Bliss wipes water from her eyes. “You should have just stayed back.”

“Listen!” I grab an arm from each of them and drag them a safe distance away from the crowd. “We’ve got a serious problem!”

“You mean besides Bliss’s unresolved anger issues?” Jolene smirks.

“I’m the angry one? You —”

“Shut up!” I interrupt. “We don’t have time for this.” I pick a page and begin to read. “‘I can’t believe anyone would have sex with her, and now the sad bitch is pregnant!’”

Bliss looks confused. “What is that?”

“Kaitlin’s diary,” I tell them grimly. “Miranda Jones had an abortion. Uma Pearson cheated on her SATs. Kenji Anede spent a month in rehab last summer for an eating disorder — it goes on and on.” I look between them, trying to make them understand just how bad it is. “This isn’t just about Kaitlin’s secrets; don’t you see? She found out all kinds of dirt on everyone else. And we gave it away.”





Oh, crap.

Right away, I forget about the pool and the fight and the cold water dripping down my body. I snatch the Xeroxed pages from Meg, frantically scanning through the scrawled print. But she’s right; the secrets are all there, laid out in Kaitlin’s stupid curly writing for anyone to see.

Jolene sighs at me. “God, did you even read it?”

“Not everything!” I protest. “I was just finding parts about Kaitlin and the boys she was hooking up with.” But now that I’m looking for it, I can see the names of the other girls buried in sections about Kaitlin’s fat thighs and how much she hates Nikki. I groan. “She must have been keeping this stuff as blackmail, or some weird power trip. How was I supposed to know?”

“Right,” Jolene snipes, sarcastic. “Because why would you pay attention to anything that isn’t all about you?”

“It doesn’t matter how it happened,” Meg tells her before I can answer. “What matters is what we do now.”

Jolene shrugs, scrunching water from her dress. “Why do we have to do anything at all?”

“Are you serious?” Meg glares at her. “Can you just imagine what will happen to them if that information gets spread around? All it would take is one mention on the school network, or for Jason to pass the diary on to someone else . . .”

I shiver at the thought. Those girls don’t deserve it. God, even Kaitlin wasn’t cruel enough for that. No, this was all my doing. I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t make a difference when it comes to gossip and rumors. All their darkest secrets, and now I’ve let them loose. How could I miss this stuff?

“Meg, let it go.” Jolene shrugs. “We left the diary in his room hours ago.”

“Exactly.” Meg stands firm. “And now we’ve got to get it back.”

“Back?” Jolene looks up. “It’s four thirty in the morning!”

“So what?” Meg is riled up now, her face totally serious. “We don’t have a choice. Right, Bliss?” She appeals to me, but I don’t need convincing.

“She’s right,” I say, already sick with guilt. “Kenji, Miranda — they’re good people. We’ve got to make this right. All of us,” I add, before she can pull a tantrum and bail again.

Meg and I stare at her, determined: two against one. Jolene shifts and sighs, but finally she rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever. But this is it. Nothing else.”

“Good.”

We squelch along behind her as Meg leads us back through the house. Nearly everyone’s crashed out now, but I don’t even want to think about how I look. The pajama outfit that was sweet and adorable is now clinging to my skin like I’m an extra in some X-rated rap video.

“If we’re lucky, he drank so much he’s still passed out somewhere,” I tell them, trying to focus on a plan. “We can snatch the diary back, and it’ll be like we were never even there.”

“Aren’t you going to say good-bye to all your friends?” Jolene can’t resist digging at me as I find Meg’s purse and pass her the car keys. “Or you can go out a different exit, so they don’t see us together.”

“It’s kind of late for that,” I mutter. And it’s true. As we head to the hall, I see Kaitlin come through the side door, wrapped in a bathrobe, with her damp hair scraped back. She catches sight of me and glares, then Courtney and Brianna appear behind her, all stopping dead the moment they see me. My friends. Or, at least they used to be, but now they’re lined up like some kind of firing squad, ready to throw me out for crimes against the social order. Any chance at all I could smooth things over with them dies with the ice-queen looks they all shoot my way. Never mind the scene with Kaitlin; leaving with Jolene and Meg is definitely going to get me exiled from their group forever.

It’s too late to take it back, even if I wanted to. I keep walking.

Nobody says much as we pile into the car and take the exit out of town — again. Meg hums softly along with the radio, while Jolene kicks her bare feet up on the dashboard. At least now I’ve got her in a confined space, without any water nearby. Or weapons. All the same, I check that her backpack is stashed out of her reach before leaning forward.

“Jolene,” I try. “Jolene, would you just listen to me? You heard me back there. I told them all where to go! You can’t still be mad.”

Jolene messes with her hair, ignoring me.

“I know I should have said something before, in the living room. I just wimped out, OK? But I made it right in the end.”

She looks out the window.

“OK.” I sink back onto the damp seat. “Be like that.” I turn to Meg instead. “How did it go with Tristan? Did he mind your leaving?”

She meets my eyes in the mirror. “No, he was fine with it.”

I begin to get a bad feeling. Another one. “But it all worked out, right?” I ask, anxious. After everything, I wanted Meg to get the night of her dreams. “I saw you together. You looked like you were having a great time.”

“Yes.” She gives this quiet grin. “It was all perfect. For a while, anyway.”

“So what happened? I don’t understand.”

Meg shrugs, her hair falling in a dark wave. “I’m not that girl. And I don’t want to be.”

She doesn’t seem sad about it, just calm — content, even — so I give up trying to make conversation and just let the dark highway speed by. None of us got what we wanted tonight, I realize. Jolene wound up burning that painting to ash, Meg isn’t snuggling happily-ever-after with Tristan, and as for my grand secret revenge . . . not so secret anymore.

It was worth it, though, all of it. I pull the blanket around my damp clothes, surprised to feel relief wash through my whole body as I think of their icy stares. I’m done with them now. Kaitlin’s backstabbing, Brianna’s power plays. The gossip, the drama, all that effort to stay part of the loop and on top of things. I can stay in bed all weekend if I want instead of trekking to the mall with the girls. I can roll out of bed without spending twenty minutes blow-drying my hair in the morning. I can eat carbs.

I’m done with them.

But almost as soon as it comes, the relief slips into panic. What am I supposed to do now? I think of telling Mom that the spa days are off, that all her friends’ daughters hate my guts. And summer’s coming now — months without a single party invite or girl to hang out with. The worst-case scenario I’ve been fighting all night to avoid is looming ahead of me; only it turns out, I chose it for myself.

Way to go, Bliss.

I’m still running through ways to avoid total social leper status (go emo, join band, become one of those drama kids) when I realize the car is making a weird clunking noise. “Uh, Meg?” I sit up. “What’s that noise?”

“I don’t know!” She slows down as we all listen to the splutter.

“And why is the warning light flashing?” Jolene looks over. “Are we out of gas?”

“We can’t be.” Meg checks the dashboard, worried. “I filled up on our way back, remember?”

The car lurches suddenly. Meg swears under her breath and then yanks the wheel, pulling off onto the side of the road just as the engine cuts out entirely and we roll to a stop.

For a second, there’s silence. It’s still pretty dark outside, with no light from houses or anything along the highway. And, I realize with a sinking heart, no other cars around either.

“I’ll go see what’s wrong.” Meg unbuckles her seat belt and gets out of the car. I watch through the windshield as she yanks up the hood. A hiss of steam billows up, and she jumps back.

“That can’t be good,” I mutter, scrambling to follow. Jolene doesn’t reply, but she pulls her shoes back on and soon, all three of us are staring into the mess of cables and metal.

“I don’t suppose either of you took auto shop?” I say hopefully. They don’t reply. I was tempted for a while — I mean, a whole class of guys — but Kaitlin convinced me that getting engine grease under our manicures was going too far in pursuit of hot guys. Right now, I wish I’d held out: bad nails seem like a way better option than getting stranded on the side of the highway in the middle of the night.

“I better go call triple A,” Meg says at last, heading back to the passenger side. She retrieves some papers from the glove compartment and begins to dial. Jolene wanders away from the car, wrapping her arms around herself, her wet dress still sticking to her skin.

“Are you cold?” I ask, offering the blanket. She turns away. “Aw, come on.” I sigh. This whole martyr act is getting old. She’s stalking around like I committed the worst crimes ever, but even if I did let her down — for five whole minutes — I’m trying to make up for it now. Not that she’ll let me. “Can you just give it up already? I’ve said I’m sorry. Let’s just go back to being”— I pause —“well, whatever we were before.”

It wasn’t friends, exactly, but it wasn’t this either.

“No.” Jolene folds her arms. She looks at me with disdain — not the snooty looks Kaitlin and co. were shooting at me, but something colder, like I’m just dead to her. It’s so blank, I have to take a step back, but I won’t let her just block me out like this.

“What’s your problem?” I break. “Do you have any idea what I gave up back there? My friends are never going to speak to me again!”

Jolene snorts, kicking gravel along the road. “Great friends.”

“Because you’d know all about that,” I shoot back. “Seeing as you don’t have any!”

“Better that than putting up with those dumb bitches all day. Ooh, Brianna, what do you think of this lip gloss? I don’t know; does it match my bra? For God’s sake, get a freaking brain!”

“And you sit around debating politics or whatever?” I yell. “At least I won’t end up in jail before the end of summer!”

“Only because your rich-bitch parents will pull enough strings to get you out!”

“That’s enough!” Meg suddenly steps between us. She glares. “Both of you, over there.”

“What?” Jolene stares.

“Line up, against the car.”

I blink, but there’s something kind of terrifying in her voice, so I shuffle over to where she’s pointing. Jolene doesn’t budge.

“NOW!”

She moves.

“What’s going on?” I ask when we’re both up against the side of the car like this is a police raid. The highway is empty and dark, nothing but our headlights for miles around. “Did you get through to triple A?”

“Yes, but they won’t be able to come pick us up for hours. And I’m not going to stand here, listening to you two bitch at each other.” Meg folds her arms, glaring at us. “So, Bliss, apologize.”

“I already did,” I complain, “like, a hundred times.” I’m surprised by how bossy she’s being. I’m beginning to understand how Frankenstein must have felt: I’ve created a monster here.

Meg stands her ground. “Yes, but the point of an apology is to make the other person feel better. And since Jolene clearly doesn’t, you need to do it again.” She waits, standing tall, a lifetime away from that girl who used to flinch when I looked her in the eyes. But now, she means business, so I sigh.

“I’m sorry I blew you off at the party,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time. I shoot Jolene a sideways look. “I . . . I was a bitch. And wrong. But I made up for it!”

She shrugs, still avoiding my eyes. “Too little, too late. Just because you made a scene with Kaitlin, it doesn’t undo being a bitch to me.”

“See?” I appeal to Meg, since she’s apparently the one in charge here. “I tried!”

Meg sighs. “Jolene, let it go. She’s not your father.”

“Uh, what?” We both look up.

“Well, obviously she’s not your father,” Meg tells Jolene. “But you’re acting like she is. You’re so angry at him, you’re putting all that pain on everyone else. Bliss and Dante, too. Classic transference.”

Jolene clenches her fists beside me, and for a second I wonder if she’s going to lunge right at Meg. We’re stranded way out in the middle of nowhere here, and it would be a while before the ambulance could get to us. . . . “What makes you the psychological expert?” she growls.

Meg shrugs, like she doesn’t realize just how close she is to a full-body cast. “Nothing but a couple years of therapy. I get it, Jolene; I do. They both messed up, and you’ve got a right to be mad at them.”

“Thanks for validating my feelings,” Jolene mutters, sarcastic.

“But in case you haven’t noticed, they’re trying to make it right. Bliss apologized, Dante showed up.” Meg sighs. “So are you really going to keep punishing them, just because your dad is the one who’s still letting you down?”

There’s silence.

I wait, expecting some kind of carnage — literally. I can’t believe Meg has the nerve to say all of this, and more than that, I can’t believe Jolene is even letting her.

Then Jolene exhales, and it’s like all the fight goes out of her body. “Fine,” she murmurs, sagging back against the car. “You’re sorry. I get it. We’re cool.”

I blink. Is she serious? “Umm, OK.” I look carefully, but she doesn’t seem angry anymore, just worn out. I guess carrying all that anger around can really take it out of you.

Meg claps her hands together in triumph. “There you go. Now, hug.”

“What?” I blink. “Come on, what is this, a Lifetime movie?”

But she insists. “Hug!”

Jolene and I look at each other, rolling our eyes, but Meg is waiting, so I awkwardly reach out and pat her shoulder. Her body is stiff, like she’s not used to the contact. “Well, come on.” Jolene sighs, holding an arm out to Meg. “Since we’re doing this whole girly bonding thing.”

She bounces over to us, and for a moment, we hug. Then Jolene detaches herself, brushing her body down like she might have caught something from the brief show of intimacy. “So, what’s the plan? We hang out here until the tow truck comes?”

“But what about the diary?” I panic. “We can’t leave it until tomorrow — he might read it before then!”

“We can’t call our parents,” Meg adds. “They think we’re all tucked safe asleep somewhere. If my dad knows I lied about staying over with Bliss . . .”

I think fast. And then the answer arrives — a way to solve two problems in one. “I know who we can call,” I say, smiling.

“Who?” Meg asks, but I don’t reply. My phone is nestled by the front seat where I left it, so I scan throughto find that number he gave me when we were at the Loft. Just in case, he told me. I edge a safe distance away from the others and dial. It takes a few rings, but finally someone picks up.

“Hey,” I say, crossing my fingers. “This is Bliss. Remember, we met earlier?”

There’s a pause, and then, “What’s happened? Is Jolene OK?”

I knew it. His voice is anxious, and nobody gets that worked up over just a friend. I can’t help but smile. Despite all her ice-queen bitching at him, Dante is still totally hung up on Jolene.

“Yes, she’s fine,” I reassure him, sneaking a look at where she’s lighting up another cigarette. She doesn’t know it, but I’m doing her a major favor here. “The thing is, we’re kind of stuck. Can you come give us a ride?”





I sit on the trunk of Meg’s car, idly swinging my legs as we wait for Bliss’s mystery friend to come pick us up. It’s a warm night, but my dress is still wet through, and every breeze sends a shiver right through me.

“Will you take the blanket?” Bliss sighs, leaning against the car. “Catching a chill isn’t, like, some moral victory.”

I finally take it. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She beams. “It was worth it though, right? I can still picture Kaitlin’s face, when she came up for air . . .”

“It was a treat,” I agree. There’s a pause. “So, you really won’t be going back to them?”

“Who? Brianna and that group? No.” Bliss lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s pretty much done. You’re looking at the latest outcast of East Midlands High.” She strikes a pose, but I can tell from the flicker in her expression that this is no joke. That was her life back there she just destroyed, I realize. It may have been shallow and false, and built on a foundation of bitching and unstable footwear, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t matter.

“You’ll be OK,” I tell her quietly. “I mean, sure, it’s not going to be easy, but you’ll do fine without them.”

“I know, but . . .” Bliss exhales, giving me a rueful smile as she admits, “I’ve never been that good on my own.”

“So, you won’t be,” I tell her, gazing out at the black highway. “You’ve got Meg for next year — she’s going to need someone to stop her from slipping back into wallflower mode.” We both grin. “And,” I add cautiously, “I’m going to be stuck around town. For the summer, at least. We could, I don’t know, hang out. Maybe.”

“Really?” She looks up at me, hopeful. With all that makeup and the fancy hairstyle washed away, she looks like a real person for a change; not that overdone, synthetic girl she used to be. Who knows? She might just be a good influence on me — all that normal teenage fun. My mom would be so proud.

“Yeah, well, you can be OK, if you try.” I remember that look of hers just before she began hurling people into the pool. That Bliss, I can deal with.

“You’re not too bad, either.” Bliss grins.

Meg comes around, depositing our purses and clothes in a heap on the asphalt. She’s taken her contacts out and pulled a gray zip-up hoodie over that white flouncy dress. “I’ve locked everything up and left a note for the tow truck,” she says, twisting some hair around her finger in thought. “What am I forgetting?”

“Nothing,” Bliss says. She straightens as a pair of headlights approaches on the horizon, drawing closer. “And here’s our ride.”

I pause, watching as the beat-up Camaro slows and pulls up alongside. My heart skips, but it’s not until the driver climbs out and saunters toward us that I realize why.

Dante.

“You know that nice stuff I was just saying about you?” I tell Bliss through gritted teeth. “I take it all back.”

“Come on,” she says. “Don’t tell me you’re not happy to see him.”

Not happy so much as sick with sudden nerves. But before I can reply, she dances over and throws her arms around him, gushing thanks for helping us out. He’s still wearing that leather jacket, his eyes dark in the shadows of the headlights. But I don’t need to see: I know that boy by heart.

“We only need a ride to the campus and back,” she promises. “It’s an emergency, I swear.”

“Sure, no problem.” He steps into the light, giving a lazy grin. It widens as he looks her up and down. “Do I, uh, need to ask what happened to you guys?”

I fold my arms defensively, but Bliss just laughs. “Just a thing with my ex and a pool. Hope you don’t mind damp spots!”

“In this old thing?” Dante grins good-naturedly. “She’s seen worse, I promise.”

The other girls climb in the car, already telling him about the dorm we need, and where would be best to park, but I hang back, reluctant. He hasn’t said a word to me yet. He hasn’t so much as looked in my direction. After that fight we had back at the warehouse, I can’t say I’m surprised, but his indifference stings more than any angry glare ever could.

“Jolene, come on!” Meg instructs, hanging out the front passenger door. I brace myself. Means to an end, I tell myself; he’s just the means to a necessary end. Clambering in the backseat, I slam the door, and we go.

Meg and Bliss chat the whole way, giving him an edited version of our diary quest. They laugh and joke, happy about our rescue, but I curl up, silent as the dark streets speed by. After everything that’s happened, my defenses are down and Dante’s presence is overwhelming. He hasn’t looked my way since that glance, but I can feel him all the same — every smile and nod of his head, every idle finger-drum on the steering wheel. I watch his profile, lit up in the glare of passing cars, eyes fixed on the road. It would be a comfort to be near him again, if it wasn’t for the ugly things we said just a few hours ago. The yelling, the frustration in his eyes.

He’s out of reach now.

“I’ll go,” Bliss says when we arrive on campus. The quad is empty, the earlier partiers all safe asleep — or passed out somewhere. “Shouldn’t be long. Third floor, right?”

“Yup.” Meg nods. “Good luck!”

We watch her hurry over to the front entrance. It’s locked tight, but, after a moment, a security guard comes to the door.

“I am going to sleep sooo late tomorrow.” Meg yawns. “I mean, today.”

Dante laughs. “Not a natural party animal, huh?”

“Um, no,” she admits.

“Jolene should give you some tips,” he says casually, still not looking back at me. “She’s gone days straight on nothing but caffeine and bagels.”

The memory is sharp: me and Dante in this car, with nothing but open roads and Lyle Lovett on the radio. “My seventeenth birthday,” I answer, my voice sounding like it belongs to someone else. “We drove to Philly for that Thermals show, and then just kept going to make the date in New York.”

Meg twists around to look at me. “You went cross-country?”

I shrug. “Sure, it was fun.” We planned to go abroad, too, one of those days. Europe. South America. Dante had an itch; he used to want to see it all. Maybe he still does.

“My dad won’t even let me leave the state. Not without him and Stella,” Meg says wistfully.

“We’ll work on that,” I tell her, managing a smile. “Who knows; maybe by the end of summer, we’ll get you as far as DC.”

She looks at me, and then her face breaks out into a brilliant grin. “Maybe we will.”

“Here’s your girl.” Dante nods. Bliss is hurrying back from the dorm. She climbs into the backseat next to me, already shaking her head.

“No go. It’s a different guard now — he won’t let me up. They shut the party down hours ago, and now he’s only letting in residents with ID.”

We all exhale.

“Didn’t you try to make an excuse or something?” I ask, frustrated.

Bliss looks insulted. “What do you think? I said I was his sister, visiting from out of town. But he didn’t budge. He’s kind of an ass,” she adds, frowning. “I mean, imagine if it was true — where does he think I’m going to sleep?”

I slump back. “So, what now?”

“We can’t just give up,” Meg insists. “Remember what’s in that diary — we’ve got to get it back. Tonight.”

“But how?” Bliss asks. “I mean, I tried everything in there. I even cried!”

We’re silent. Then Dante speaks. “What’s the setup in there? Do you sign in, or what?”

Bliss thinks, “Umm, there’s a card swipe on the main door. But even if we get someone to let us in, they’re not allowed to sign in guests after midnight. And this guy doesn’t leave his desk.”

“Huh . . .” Dante pauses, and I just know his mind is ticking over something. Give him long enough, and he could steal the Declaration of Independence. “Jolene, you still got that hack from Eli?”

He’s speaking to me.

“Uh, yeah.” I manage to recover. My heart pounds as I finally meet his eyes. “It’s in my bag.”

“OK.” He nods, beginning to curl his lips in a smile. “And do you think you guys could find an ID? It doesn’t have to be from this dorm, just a college one.”

“You mean we jam the entry system and then bluff our way in?” Meg brightens, way ahead of me. “That could work. The library should be open all night, and I could try and borrow someone’s card. . . .”

“Perfect.” Bliss bounces out of the car. “You go take care of that, and I’ll go back and work on the guard, in case he breaks.”

They slam the doors. It’s just me and Dante now. Silent.

“Wait a minute.” I scramble out and hurry after them. “What do I do? I should go with you, Meg, to help out.”

“Nope.” Bliss stops and gives me that grin again, the devious one. “She’s the one with the access there, and we don’t want to draw attention to ourselves, do we?”

“But —” I look back at the car. At Dante. “You can’t leave me alone with him,” I whisper.

“You’ll be fine.” Meg looks amused. “He won’t bite.”

“Unless you’re lucky,” Bliss adds, giggling.

“Guys!” I cry. They don’t understand; this isn’t a joke. “Please . . .”

“Try starting with an apology,” Meg advises, already backing away. Then she pauses and gives me a curious smile. “He came, you know. To prom. I saw him outside, all dressed up. I’m guessing that was for you.”

And then they split off in different directions and leave me here to my fate.

He showed up.

I don’t go back to the car. The thought of sitting there in icy silence with Dante is worse than the night chill, so I wander down the sidewalk a ways until I reach one of the benches overlooking the quad. Not that there’s much to overlook: a dark patch of grass and the looming ugly concrete buildings all around. Ivy League, this isn’t. A lone neon lamp washes me in a thin pool of light. Hugging my knees to my chest, I wait.

He showed up to prom. After all this time, he remembered too — found a tux, came back down from college. That has to mean something. And even though I screwed everything up with my stupid, blind quest to even the score with my dad, Meg’s revelation still fills me with the smallest bit of hope.

If he gets out of the car, there’s still a chance for me.

I repeat it like a mantra, watching groups of drunken stragglers stumble back to the dorms. The minutes stretch out, but still I hope. If he gets out of the car, maybe this can be mended, somehow. If he comes to talk to me, then he still cares. Part of me wants to march right up to him and demand forgiveness — I’m not the kind of girl to ever wait around for a guy to make his move — but some instinct tells me that I can’t force this.

Five minutes turn into ten, and soon my butt is numb from the hard seat and I’ve got goose bumps all over my body. And he hasn’t gotten out of the car.

I’m surprised to feel a sob well, stinging in the back of my throat. I’ve been fooling myself all year into thinking I’m better off without him — better without a friend who could just bail like that. But it’s a lie. He went because I pushed him. I pushed them all. Hell, I’ve been sabotaging any chance I have of being happy — too angry to see past my dad, and the sneers around town, and all the ways this world is stacked against people like me. But what can that anger change, in the end?

Not one damn thing, except to prove them right.

I sink back, miserable. It’s ironic, I know. Now, when I finally understand what he’s been trying to tell me all this time, I can’t do anything to change it.

“Are you trying to catch your death?”

His voice jolts me back with a lurch. Dante is standing a few paces away, hands in his pockets and hair in his eyes. He’s casual and irritated, sure, but he’s here.

I stop breathing.

“You sound like my mom,” I tell him, trying to stay cool.

“Your mom’s got the right idea.” He sighs, peeling off his jacket. “Here, you’re turning blue.”

“Better than the pink,” I quip softly.

Dante drapes it over my shoulders, still warm from his body. I snuggle down, breathing in leather and tobacco and the unmistakable scent of him. He hovers for a moment, tapping a cigarette against his thigh.

“You haven’t quit yet?”

He gives me a twisted smile and then sits. “Clearly, my willpower needs some work.”

“I should give it up too,” I say quietly. “All my bad habits.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dante laughs, dubious.

“Really.”

There’s silence. I try to find the words to say anything at all, but my tongue is thick with panic. I can’t even look at him.

“Those two have come around.” Dante relaxes back, stretching. “Bliss, and that Meg girl. You whipped them into shape, huh?”

I swallow. “More like the other way around, I think.”

“Oh?”

I run my fingers over the jagged edge of the zipper, more nervous than I think I’ve ever been in my life. Even opening those college letters, I had my defenses up — expecting the worst. Now it feels like my chest is cranked wide open, and my heart is beating and bloody for him to see.

“You were right.” My voice almost breaks with effort to get the words out, but then it’s done, and they’re sitting heavy in the air between us. “What you said back at the office. About me, about everything.” I inhale a shaky breath, and then give him the one thing I’ve got left. The only thing I can.

“I’m sorry.”

Pulling some last store of hope, I move my hand until it’s touching his. A breath, and then I curl my fingers around his palm.

He doesn’t respond for the longest time; I can’t even tell if he moves. But staring out into the dark, his hand warm beneath mine, I feel my nerves slips away. Instead, I feel a wash of calm. So he forgives me, or he doesn’t — that part is out of my control. But the rest of my life? That’s stretching ahead of me, warm with a new kind of possibility. College, some attempt at new friendships maybe, try to let that fury ebb away. The world won’t wipe my slate clean so easily, but I can do it, for myself.

I can do this.

And then Dante pulls away.

“No.” He gets to his feet, not looking at me. His shoulders are tense, his body tall and stiff. “It’s too late for this, Jolene. It’s all too late.”

I stop breathing.

“I’ll be in the car. Let me know when the others get back.” With an awkward shrug, he turns to go.

“Wait!” I call, but he keeps walking. “Dante!” I sprint after him, desperate. Suddenly, all that zen resignation falls to nothing. Screw waiting for him to forgive me, screw not forcing anything at all. I can’t let him walk away this time. “Dante, listen to me!”

I grab his arm, pulling him to a stop.

“What?” He snatches away from me. “Don’t you get it? There’s nothing you can say.”

“But . . .”

“I gave you chances. I’ve been waiting all year!” Dante exclaims. “But you didn’t apologize. You didn’t see you had anything to be sorry for!”

I stare at him, paralyzed.

“See?” Dante exhales, the fight suddenly going out of him. He gives me a smile, faint. Sad. “You know I’m right, Jolene. We could have been something, but . . . it’s time we just moved on.” He backs away and then leaves, a silhouette in the dark.

I watch him go, stricken.

“But I love you!”

My voice echoes out across the dark quad.

He stops.

“I love you.” I yell it again, loud and certain. It sounds crazy, a last-ditch fight to make him stay, but every word of it is true. I catch up with Dante, moving so I block his way.

“Jolene —” His face twists, but I don’t wait to let him tell me no again. With my blood pounding in my ears, I take two quick steps toward him and reach up, kissing him with everything I have.

He freezes, motionless against me.

Nothing.

Slowly, my courage fades, and in its place, I just feel a deep flush of embarrassment.

What the hell am I thinking?

“I . . . I’m sorry.” I reel back, looking anywhere but at him. “I get it. You don’t —”

And then his mouth is on mine, arms locked tight around my waist. He kisses me hard, like it’s the end of the world, and there’s nothing left but us: lips and hands and hot breath against my cheek. I feel my whole body relax against him, overcome with relief.

“You mean it?” he says, finally breaking for air. He looks at me with an intensity that sets fire, bright in my chest. “You’re done with this bullshit? Because I swear, Jolene, I can’t watch you do this anymore. I just can’t.”

“I promise. It’s over.” I meet his eyes, trying to make him see that I mean it. “I don’t want to screw this up again. It’s not just you,” I add, hesitant. I don’t want to sound like I’m making any less of what he means to me, but this has never just been about him. “It’s . . . my life. I need to make it different this time.”

But Dante doesn’t take it wrong; he just breaks into a grin. “About time.”

He lifts me suddenly, swinging me around in a circle. I laugh, clutching at him in surprise. “Dante!” I swat his head. “Put me down!”

“OK.” He sets me down with my back hard against the car, and suddenly my laughter fades. I look at him, breathless.

“So we’re doing this?” I ask, still nervous. How is it even going to work? Just the summer before he’s back at college, trying to paste over the raw gaps we both left behind. There’ll be no hiding here: it’s all or nothing.

He leans close, touches his lips gently to my forehead. “Hell yes,” he whispers, and then that grin is back, and he’s kissing me hard enough to make me believe everything’s going to be just fine.