The Anti-Prom

Perhaps I was wrong, and being invisible has its advantages too. Because for five whole minutes, I’m left blissfully alone in the alcove by the stairs, unnoticed as the party shrieks and thumps around me in a riot of Victoria’s Secret nightwear and trashy dance music. I watch it all with a curious mix of fascination and fear. I’ve never been to a college party before. To tell the truth, I’ve barely been to high-school parties, either — at least, not the kind where kids drink and flirt and fall against walls making out with each other as if there’s nobody else around. No, back when I still had an approximation of a social life, my experiences were always on the safe, sedate side: juvenile slumber parties, or birthday gatherings where we would all go bowling or to the movies or something, like we did when we were in fifth grade. I suppose I’m all grown-up now, because here, the Jell-O comes in shot glasses, and the only punch I’ve seen is the one being guzzled from red plastic cups by enthusiastic frat boys.

Something tells me it’s not plain old lemonade.

“Hey!” A stocky guy in neon boxers suddenly catches sight of me, lurching closer with a beer in his hand. He must be nineteen or twenty and looms over me. “You’re that chick from my chem lab!”

“No.” I try to edge backward, but I’m already against the wall. I give him a polite smile. “I think you’re confused.”

“No way.” He shakes his head vigorously, sloshing sticky liquid over my bare legs. “You sit in the back, remember? And one time, you lent me your notes. That was cool of you.” He grins, taking in my outfit.

“Really,” I say again, painfully aware of his eyes zeroing in on my chest, barely covered by a tiny pink tank top with SNUGGLY emblazoned across the chest in sparkly gemstones. “It’s not me.”

“How’d you do on the final?” he asks, unconcerned with the fact that we’ve never actually met before. “Killer, right? I studied so hard, but I still blew it.”

“Mmhmm.” I make a noncommittal noise, looking around for an escape. What’s taking Jolene and Bliss so long? “Killer. Sure. Can I just . . . ?” I gesture to get past him, but the boy doesn’t move; he just sort of leans against the wall, blocking me in.

“Peterson is such a dick,” he sneers. “I was ten minutes late handing in this paper one time, and he gave me an F.” He pauses, distracted by a passing group of girls in silky negligees. I take my chance and quickly duck under his arm.

“See you in class!” I back quickly into the crowd.

It’s hot and noisy in the hallway, and I push my way through the riot of bodies, trying to avoid any more spilled drinks or leering guys. There’s a bathroom just ahead, so I duck into the gray-tiled room, jostling for space by the long row of sinks as I do my best to dab the beer off my legs.

“You saw Elliot, right? In the onesie? That guy is totally ridiculous.”

Beside me, two girls are reapplying lip gloss, dressed in matching athletic T-shirts and men’s boxers. Their drinks are perched on the narrow ledge by the mirror, next to tiny purses overflowing with makeup and keys.

Her friend giggles, ruffling her bangs. “Ridiculously cute, you mean.”

“Ewww! Seriously?” The girl snorts. “You’d have to, like, unbutton it, like a baby!”

They fall into hysterics as I finish cleaning myself up. It’s not too bad, at least: if I were wearing normal pajamas, they’d be soaked through by now, but as it is, I’m just left with sticky skin and the waft of beer around me. Score one for the indecent short-shorts, I decide. Not that I’ll be rushing out to buy myself a pair any time soon.

“Excuse me.” There’s a quiet voice behind me, and I turn to find a petite girl clutching a shower bucket waiting patiently for the sinks.

“Oh, sorry.” I back away, letting her through. She sets out her toothbrush and mouthwash on the ledge and begins to cleanse and tone her face in methodical swipes with a cotton ball. Her pajamas are, I realize, real: flannel printed with tiny musical notes, with fuzzy pink slippers.

“Or he could keep it on!” The party girls are still falling over themselves, clutching each other at the idea of Elliot and his hilarious outfit. “And just undo the crotch! It, like, pops open!”

The other girl’s eyes meet mine in the mirror, and for a moment we share a look of sheer exasperation as the pair collects their things and stumbles out, back to the party. The girl reaches for her floss.

“How will you get any sleep?” I venture, curious.

“Earplugs,” she replies, her voice resigned.

“Oh.”

More girls bustle into the bathroom, brimming over with laughter and gossip, but she ignores them all, curiously detached from the chaos. I watch, my sympathy fading into something else, a new kind of chill. For a moment I wonder if this will be me in two years’ time: still on the outskirts of everything, still alone, while the party whirls on around me. I’ve been thinking of college like it’s my own green light on the horizon, but watching this girl now, it strikes me for the first time that it may never end; that the location may change, but my life could remain exactly the same.

Something I read once pops into my mind like a warning. You never grow out of high school.

I shiver.

When I get back to the lounge, the party is even louder. I perch on the edge of a couch in the common room area to wait. All eyes are fixed on a group of girls grinding in the middle of the room, but I keep a careful watch on the exits, cell phone in my hand, poised to make the call to Jolene and Bliss if I catch sight of Jason or — worse still — security. I can’t even imagine what my dad would say if I was dragged home at midnight from a college party wearing . . . this.

“Meg?”

It takes me a second to realize someone’s saying my name, but still, I don’t look over. Who here would even know who I am?

“Uh, Meg? It’s me, Scott. From the library?”

I whip my head around so quickly, I almost tumble right off the couch.

“Whoa.” Scott laughs, putting out a hand to steady me. “You OK there?”

“Yes, fine,” I say breathlessly. He’s dressed in the same outfit from before: the graphic print T-shirt and a pair of black skinny cords, but in the midst of all the ridiculous costumes, he suddenly looks like a beacon of sanity. “Hi.” I try to recover, hoisting myself back up on the couch arm. “How’s it going?”

“Stressed, hectic.” He gives a rueful grin, straightening his hipster glasses. “Figured I’d take a break from the all-nighter, try to relax for an hour or so.”

“Good plan,” I agree. “Although, I don’t know how relaxing you’ll find it here. . . .” I pause, wondering if I sound like a loser, but he laughs.

“Yeah, maybe not.” Scott glances around, but unlike the other guys in the room, he turns his back on the floor show and looks down at me with what I can almost convince myself is genuine interest. “So, how about you — did you find that guy you were looking for?”

“Jason? Not yet. That’s where the others are. Looking for him, I mean.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to cover the low-cut neckline. I thought I felt self-conscious in my prom dress, but this much, much worse. Does he think these clothes are mine? And that I’m wearing them by choice?

“Cool.” Scott nods slowly. There’s a pause as he studies me. “You know, I was thinking, after you left — it’s weird that I haven’t seen you around. It’s a big campus, but you usually run into everyone at least once. What are you, a freshman?”

I feel a pulse of embarrassment. “I, umm, I don’t actually go here. I’m in high school,” I admit, my voice small.

“Really?” He doesn’t seem fazed by the news, but I’m sure he’s just humoring me. “So what brings you all out here?”

“It’s a long story.” I don’t want to bore him with the immature details, so I give a vague shrug instead. “It’s mainly their thing; I’m just the designated driver for the night.”

Scott chuckles. “I know that one. My sister’s always calling me up, begging for a ride. Last week I wound up with a car full of fourteen-year-olds, driving to the city for some mall tour autograph signing.” He gives a rueful grin. “I’m counting the days until she gets her license.”

I exhale, starting to relax. “So you’re from around here?”

“Over in Adamstown,” he says, naming a town another hour away. I nod. “It’s kind of nice, being so close to home. But that probably sounds lame.” Scott sticks his hands in his pockets, as if he’s the embarrassed one now.

“Oh, no.” I shake my head vigorously. “I understand. I’m trying to figure out where to apply now, but the schools I want are all so far away. Part of me likes the idea,” I add shyly, “of just starting over somewhere on the other side of the country. But, then reality sets in . . .” I remember the girl from the bathroom, and her careful isolation.

“I know what you mean.” Scott grins. “Even starting here was overwhelming, at first, but I think you adapt to it. Like you grow to fit the space.”

“I hope so.” It’s a nice thought, but I’ve been drifting around in a school of hundreds for years now, with no sign that I’ll blossom to meet the environment. Perhaps my evolutionary instincts are faulty, despite the fact that I score perfect As in all my science classes.

“Hey, can I get you a drink?” Scott asks suddenly, and I remember that we’re in the middle of a party, surrounded by other people. For a moment, I’d forgotten.

“Sure.” I hop down from the couch and follow him into the crowd.

“There’s beer, if you want. . . .” He falls back, resting a hand lightly on my back as he guides me through the mess of people and noise.

“Oh. No, I’m driving. And even if I wasn’t . . . I mean, I don’t ever drink . . .” I trail off, feeling like a child all over again. I can’t help it; most of the kids here are clearly underage, but I’ve had my dad quoting statistics about alcohol poisoning and drunk drivers ever since I was in junior high.

“Then I guess we’ll give the punch a miss.” He nods at where two jock guys are ladling peach liquid from a huge plastic bowl. Empty bottles of juice and vodka are abandoned nearby, and the whole corner is giving off a potent smell.

I laugh. “Yeah, maybe not.”

We keep going, meandering past open bedroom doors and clusters of partygoers. “So what are you, like, straight-edge?” Scott asks, ducking to avoid a giant inflatable crocodile being tossed around the hall.

“No, just sensible,” I joke, but it comes out flat. I cough. “Are you?”

He shakes his head. “I tried it out for a while; some of my friends were into that scene, back in high school, but — I don’t know, I wasn’t really into the rules side of it. Having such a fixed ideology, you know? I prefer just to do my own thing.” We come to a split in the corridor and he stops, deciding between the two hallways in front of us. “What do you think?” He grins, teasing. “Should we leave some string to find our way back?”

I smile. “I saw a girl with some floss back there. . . . It’s your call.”

“Hmmm . . . eeeny, meeny, miny, go.” He points to the left, and we set off, deeper into the complex. I wonder if Jolene and Bliss are around here somewhere. They can’t have bailed altogether yet; I’m the one with the keys.

“Ah, here we go.” Scott finds a vending machine and digs in his pocket for change.

“Here.” I begin to unzip my purse, but he’s already feeding the coins in.

“No, I’ve got this.” He grins. “So, are you a Coke girl, or a Sprite?”

“Dr Pepper, actually,” I decide.

“Really?” He draws the word out, still almost teasing. “See, you never can tell from a first impression.”

The machine hums and rattles for a moment, but with no result. Scott fakes looking around, furtive, before thumping the side with his fist. A can rolls into the dispenser; he presents it to me with a little bow.

“Thanks.” I’m overcome with a moment of déjà vu, remembering Tristan making his own little bow to the girls back at prom. The prom I’m missing completely.

“So what happened with the dress?” Scott asks, as if reading my mind. He takes his own drink and pops the cap, leaning against the vending machine as he waits for my reply.

“It’s a costume party.” I shrug, as if that’s explanation enough, but — painfully aware of the pink sparkles adorning my body — I can’t help adding, “Bliss insisted.”

“The bossy one?”

I nod, even though to me, she and Jolene are equally determined.

“Shame.” Scott gives me a slow sort of grin. “I thought it looked great. I mean, you did.”

I freeze, feeling a low blush begin to spread across my face. “Umm, thanks,” I manage, staring at the floor. “It’s . . . prom. At least, it was.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Scott nods, still utterly at ease. “My sister doesn’t shut up about it. She can’t wait for hers — she’s only fourteen,” he explains with an affectionate kind of grin.

“Oh,” I murmur, not wanting to admit that I’m only sixteen. No wonder he’s being so sweet — I clearly bring out the big brother in him.

Suddenly, a shrill voice ricochets down the hallway: “Where did you get that shirt?”

A girl with long, dark hair is approaching, wearing one of those almost-indecent black negligee outfits. Her expression is grim, and I take a step back in fear as she gets closer.

“You heard me,” she demands, raking her eyes over me. “Where did you get that shirt? And those socks!”

“Umm,” I stutter, thrown by the fearsome combination of gleaming hair and tiny, tanned thighs. “I don’t, I mean . . .”

She lunges forward and snatches at the tank top, inspecting the label sewn by the lower hem. “It’s mine!” The girl’s glossed lips drop open. “What the hell?” Whipping around, she yells down the hall to a cluster of gleaming-haired, golden-skinned doppelgängers. “I was right; it’s mine!”

They begin to advance.

“Wait a second.” Scott moves in front of me, forcing the girl to back off, just a little. “How can you even tell? You probably both just bought it from the same store. Look at all your friends!”

She crosses her arms and glares at us. “Sure, you can get the shirt anywhere, but Cory had it custom designed for my birthday!”

On some level I register disbelief that anyone could choose to have snuggly emblazoned across her chest, let alone as a special gift. But that thought is quickly dwarfed by fear as her friends line up behind her in solidarity. A silk-clad firing squad, armed with bare skin and kohl-lined stares.

I gulp.

“Look, I’m sure we can sort this out.” Scott is still trying to reason with them, his tall body and soothing voice the only thing standing between me and . . . what, I’m not exactly sure. Death by mascara?

“Meg!” Someone yanks my arm from behind me, and I turn to find Bliss and Jolene coming from the other direction. “Where have you been? You were supposed to stay out front!”

“I know, but . . .” I swivel back and forth between them and the ranks of angry college girls. “I ran into Scott, and then —”

“She’s wearing my jersey! The one Eric gave me!” A blond backup girl suddenly gasps, pointing at Bliss, who is, sure enough, wearing the jersey with E LAWTON on the front.

“And those are so my giraffe shorts,” another adds. “I just put them in the laundry tonight.”

“See, I told you!” the original accuser crows triumphantly. “Who are they, anyway?” She narrows her eyes at us. “Do you even go here?”

“What do we do?” I ask Jolene, who is surveying the area with a practiced eye. Scott is still blocking their way, but I’m not sure how long the girls will stay back — especially now that there is even more evidence against us.

“Plan B,” Jolene announces.

“Which is?” I barely have time to ask before she grabs my hand and takes off, racing back toward the stairwell with Bliss following us close behind.

“But —” My protest is lost as we dash through the crowd. As I look back, I catch a glimpse of six very angry party girls in hot pursuit; behind them, Scott is left by the vending machine, clutching the can of Dr Pepper with a confused look on his face. I want to tell him I’m sorry, but there isn’t time.

Then the door slams shut behind us, and we’re gone.





I can’t believe I told her that.

By the time we stop for gas about ten miles out of town, I’ve thought up at least a dozen ways Jolene could ruin my life — starting with a casual comment to anyone at school, and ending with anonymous blog entries all over the East Midlands network sites, telling the world that, yes, I slept with Cameron, but it wasn’t good enough to stop him from cheating. I climb out of the backseat, shaken. What was I thinking? Like it’s not already dangerous enough with her knowing about Kaitlin and Cameron and this whole diary thing, now I have to go and spill the biggest secret I have.

Double standards, right? Everyone assumes you’re doing it, but the moment anyone says so, it’s the biggest scandal. Gossip like this — my mom always reminds me — you don’t live down.

Jolene is already smoking a cigarette, mooching a safe distance from the gas pumps while Meg fills up the car. I remember her awkward sympathy back in the dorm room and feel a fresh wave of embarrassment. She must think I’m pathetic, breaking down like that, but I can’t help it. She was talking like Cameron had only been a shiny new accessory to me, as if I hadn’t cared at all. But I did.

I do.

“You need to get anything?” Jolene wanders over, already toying with another cigarette. “When I have a bad breakup, I reach for the ice cream. And candy.” She gives a wry grin. “Once you eat yourself into a sugar coma, things don’t seem so bad.”

I shake my head slowly. “No. Thanks.”

She gives me a sympathetic kind of smile. “C’mon, what’s a few calories when your a*shole ex-boyfriend is fooling around?”

I stiffen. “I said no. But can I get my dress back? I can’t show up back at prom wearing this.”

“Forgive me,” she drawls, sarcastic. “I forgot about your dress codes.” Jolene pulls a handful of dry-clean-only silk out of her bag and tosses it over to me like it’s some kind of rag.

“Careful!” I yelp, snatching it before it can touch the ground. “Jesus. Do you know what would happen if this got ruined?”

“You’d have to charge another?” Jolene seems amused, but there’s nothing funny about my mom and her “my family came to this country with only the clothes on their backs so show some respect for your possessions” speech, even if she does deliver it in a designer outfit with our maid on the other line.

“I’ll be inside,” I tell Jolene instead, stalking away.

“Don’t be long!” Meg calls after me. “I’m going to miss my curfew.”

Of course she is.

The place is empty when I get inside, just long aisles of junk food and auto supplies waiting under harsh neon strip lights. A teenage boy slouches behind the register, flipping through a car magazine while he chews on a strip of packaged jerky.

“Hey.” I manage a grin. “Do you have a bathroom?”

“Customers only.” He sighs. Then he looks up. “Uh, s-sure,” he stutters, blinking at my bare legs. “Out back, just over —”

“Thanks!” I’m already scooting to the back of the store when my cell rings. It’s Nikki.

“Where are you?” she demands as soon as I pick up. “I’ve called, like, a hundred times.”

I can hear chatter and laughter in the background, and the fierce thump of music. The fun they’re having without me.

“Sorry,” I exclaim brightly, pushing into the stall. It’s scattered with wet toilet paper, grafitti scrawled on every wall, and a foul smell coming from the corner. Awesome. “Fashion emergency,” I say, trying not to touch anything. Or breathe. “My, uh, bra snapped.”

“No way! You poor thing.” There’s a pause, and then I hear the echo of her retelling the others. “No, she had to go home. Uh-huh, I know!”

“I’m on my way back now,” I say loudly, starting to peel off the football jersey. “I’ll be, like, five minutes.”

“No, that’s why I called — we’re on our way to Brianna’s.”

“Already?” I stop. “But it’s not even midnight.” My heart sinks.

“Uh-huh.” Nikki is still distracted. “See you there!”

I hang up, suddenly feeling very alone. While we’ve been running around playing dress-up and sneaking Kaitlin’s diary, I’ve missed everything. My whole prom, over. They’re partying in a limo, while I’m stuck in a dirty gas station bathroom far away from all the action.

Was it even worth it?

I was expecting it to be a victory. All night, ever since I found them together, I’ve been focused so hard on making Kaitlin and Cameron pay, like that will make everything OK somehow. If I can prove it, if I expose her for the lying, cheating, backstabbing bitch she really is, if we do it without any blame touching me — then I’ll be fine. I’ll win. But standing there in Jason’s room, delivering the evidence that would see them crash and burn, I felt nothing.

No, not nothing. I felt the same as when I saw him kissing her. Lost, like everything has slipped out of order and I don’t know how to get it all back again. Best friend, boyfriend, the whole social scene — I worked so hard to get everything perfect, the way high school is supposed to be. And now I’m left with this ache in my chest, knowing that it was all a lie, and I was dumb enough to believe them.

“Bliss, get a move on!” Jolene hammers on the door.

I swallow. “OK, OK,” I yell back, quickly shimmying back into my dress. Unlocking the door, I take a gasp of almost-fresh air. “There, I’m done.”

Jolene pushes past me, not even waiting for me to close the door before she strips off her pajama set and pulls the pink ruffles back on.

“I thought you hated that thing,” I say quietly, checking my reflection in the soap-smeared glass.

“I do,” she says, “but it’ll cause way more questions if I go home without it.”

There’s a timid knock, and then Meg pokes her head in too. “Is there room for me?”

“Can’t you wait —” I start to say, but Jolene waves her in.

“Zip me up. Please.”

We shift over, crammed in the tiny room while Meg complains about the smell and fusses with the catch on the back of Jolene’s dress. I ignore them, trying to pull myself back together. That dorm-room confessional was just a mistake, I tell myself, some kind of hormonal glitch in sanity. The sooner I’m back with Courtney and the crew, the sooner I’ll stop feeling so strange.

“You can drop me at Brianna’s, up in Cedar Heights,” I instruct Meg, fluffing out my hair. I still look flawless, at least. And I’ve learned by now, that’s all that matters.

“The after-party,” she says, wistful.

“Yup. They’re on their way already, and I can’t miss anything else, not after bailing on the main event. So, can you guys get a move on?” I look over to find Jolene mussing up her hair and Meg twisting uselessly under the weight of her dress. “I’ll be outside.”

I’ve read all the tabloids on the magazine stand, so I wander the aisles, idly poking at the packs of Doritos and sugar-rush snacks that I can never in a million years eat. Not unless I want Brianna offering to lend me a workout DVD. Again. I sigh, wondering what they’ll all say when I get to the party. Will Cameron and Kaitlin act guilty and ashamed, or will they be sneaking off every half hour to dry hump behind the pool house? I don’t know which would be worse.

“Hey, señorita. Can I get that ass to go?”

I look up. A couple of men dressed in dirty jeans and trucker hats are unloading six-packs from the cooler nearby. They’ve got goatees and tattoos and look like the kind of guys who blast heavy metal from their truck and holler dumb-ass racist comments at you on the sidewalk.

I turn away.

“Aww, don’t be like that.” The one with his gut bulging against his shirt saunters closer. “We’re not so scary, are we, Chuck?”

His friend chuckles. “Nah, we’re regular gentlemen.”

I take a couple of steps back, but I’m boxed in the corner by the refrigerator cabinets. Gut Guy gives me a leer.

“You’re pretty dressed up tonight, huh? Heading to a fiesta?”

I look around, but the boy at the register is still slouched over his magazines, and there’s nobody else in the store. I shiver.

“Uh-huh.” I give a vague murmur, trying to look enthralled by the row of processed potato products, but the men don’t shift; they just loiter behind me, filling the space.

“I could do with some fun.” The man laughs. “We should come along.”

I finally turn, giving an icy look as I move to pass them. I’ve been around guys like them before — guys who think it’s some kind of compliment to rake their eyes all over you. Usually, I can handle them, but tonight, something’s not working because they block my path.

“Don’t go running off so soon. We were just gettin’ to know each other.”

“No, thanks.” I take a step to the side. He mirrors me. I fold my arms. “Prom,” I offer, hoping they’ll back off once they know my age. “I’m going to junior prom.”

He’s undeterred. “Oh, yeah?” He grins. “So, you want a dance?”

Before I can move, he grabs me around my waist.

“I’ve got to go.” I try to pull away, but he’s laughing, stepping in a clumsy slow dance while I’m crushed against him close enough to smell the cheap deodorant and tobacco. “Get off me!” I protest, pushing uselessly against him. His friend is whooping, and for a terrible minute I’m trapped.

“Stop flirting, and get your ass out here!” I hear Jolene’s yell and manage to twist around, sending her a desperate look. Right away, her face changes, getting harder and full of steel.

“C’mon, we’re going.” She doesn’t hesitate, just sends the guys a deadly glare as she elbows into our corner and takes firm hold of my wrist. “Say good-bye to the nice men, Bliss.”

But Gut Guy doesn’t loosen his grip on me.

“Hey! Here’s your partner.” He laughs to his friend. “Double date. That’s more like it.”

The other man reaches for Jolene, but she makes some kind of movement with her leg and suddenly he’s bent double, cursing loudly.

“You bitch!”

“Like I said, time to go.” Jolene glares at Gut Guy with such ferocity, he backs off, hands up in surrender.

“Hey, we were just playing.”

“Yeah, well, play with yourself in the future.” Jolene shoves me backward into the open aisle, planting herself between me and his meaty hands. “You should be used to that.”

My heart is racing. Any minute now, they’re going to fight back, I just know it, and Jolene’s angry stare will be no match for their weight and height and willingness to, you know, hurt us.

“Jolene,” I whisper, tugging at the back of her ruffles, “let’s just go.”

“Not until you get an apology.” She folds her arms.

“I don’t need one,” I protest. The guy she kicked is still rubbing his shin, looking at us with a murderous glint in his eyes. “It was just . . . a mistake, OK? We were just hanging out. No need for anyone to apologize. Right?”

To my intense relief, Jolene seems to reassess. “Fine,” she spits reluctantly. “We’re done. But you guys better keep your f*cking hands to yourselves.”

I yank her away, still full of fear, but Jolene doesn’t hurry at all — she just saunters slowly outside as if we’ve been chatting about the weather or whatever, not facing down two full-grown sleazy men.

“Thanks,” I breathe, glancing back toward the store. What has to be the guys’ truck is parked right out front, a Confederate flag draped in the back window. I shudder. “They were drunk, I think. They wouldn’t back off.”

Jolene just gives me another of those looks. She pauses in the middle of the parking lot, halfway to where Meg is waiting patiently in the car. “You shouldn’t let men put their hands on you like that.”

“I didn’t really have a choice!” I protest.

She rolls her eyes. “Here.” Unzipping a side pocket in her backpack, she brings out a tiny canister and a round thing that looks like a key fob. “Pepper spray, rape alarm.” She holds up each in turn and then offers them to me. I shake my head.

“I’m fine, I just —”

“Think you can get your way just by asking nice?” Jolene rolls her eyes. “The real world doesn’t work that way, Bambi. Take them.”

It’s an order, so I do.

“Thanks.” I stuff them into my purse next to the photocopies, thrown by how nice she’s being. I mean sure, the excuse to inflict physical pain on some random dude was probably a big motivator, but still, she just saved my ass.

Jolene smiles. “Now you owe me two favors.”

“I do?”

“Yup.” She grins wider. “So you’re not going straight to that after-party. You’re going to help me out with something first.”

I look at her, wary. “What kind of something?”

“Just a thing.” Jolene presses her lips tightly together, and I realize with a sinking feeling that the smiles are just sugar-coating. Whatever this thing is, it’s trouble. “You probably won’t even have to get out of the car,” she adds, still acting casual. “Just keep Meg from bolting, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“It’s late.” I try to argue, worn out. “Can’t we do this some other time? Meg’s already past her curfew.” I could care less about Meg’s overprotective parents, but I’ve still got the party ahead of me, and all the fake smiles and gossip I’ll have to throw around to make it look like nothing’s wrong.

“Meg called her parents already.” Jolene interrupts my plans. “She said she was having so much fun, they let her stay out longer. So, that’s no problem.”

I sigh. “Jolene . . .”

Her face shifts. “I need to do this,” she says, quiet but forceful. “You’re not the only one who wants payback.”

We face off under the bright neon signs, and for a second, she looks the way I felt. Angry. Determined. Heartbroken.

“OK.” I agree at last, not even wanting to imagine who would dare cross her. “But you’d better not get me arrested. I’m armed now, remember?”