“Stop saying that. It won’t be the last dance.” Lena was frustrated.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Link punched my shoulder, a little too hard. “It’ll be awesome. Lena’s gonna fix everything.”
“I am?” Lena smiled a little. “Maybe John bit you harder than we thought.”
“Sure. Don’t you have some kinda Don’t-Let-This-Dance-Suck Cast?” Link had been depressed since Ridley took off. “Oh, wait. You don’t. ’Cause it’s gonna suck no matter what kinda Cast you’ve got.”
“Why don’t you try a Stay-Home-and-Shut-Your-Trap Cast? Since you’re the one taking Savannah Snow to the dance.” I wadded up my sandwich wrapper.
“She asked me.”
“She asked you to her party after the game, and look how well that turned out.”
Don’t bring it up, Ethan.
Well, it’s true.
Lena raised her eyebrow.
You’ll only make him feel worse.
Trust me, Savannah’s got that down.
Link sighed. “Where do you think she is right now?”
“Who?” I said, though we both knew exactly who he was talking about.
He ignored me. “Probably makin’ trouble somewhere.”
Lena folded her lunch bag into tinier and tinier squares. “Definitely making trouble somewhere.”
The bell rang.
“It’s probably better this way.” Link stood up.
“It’s definitely better this way,” I agreed.
“Coulda been worse, I guess. It wasn’t like I was that hung up on her. Like I was in love with her or somethin’.” I wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, but he jammed his hands into his pockets and took off across the field before I could say anything.
“Yeah. That really would have sucked.” I squeezed Lena’s hand, letting it drop before I got light-headed.
“I feel so bad for him.” She stopped walking and slipped her hands around my waist. I pulled her close, and she rested her head against my chest. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”
I smiled. “I know you’d go to a stupid dance for me.”
“I would. And I am.”
I kissed her forehead, letting my lips stay on her skin as long as I could.
She looked up at me. “Maybe we can make tomorrow really fun. Help Link forget about my cousin for a little while.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“I have an idea. Something to fix a broken Linkubus heart.”
The tip of her ponytail began to curl, and I walked across the field wishing there was a Cast for that.
12.12
Slush Ball
When Link pulled up in front of my house, Savannah was already in the front seat of the Beater. He got out and met me at the curb, like he had something to tell me. He was wearing a tacky ruffled tux shirt that made him look like he was in a mariachi band, and tux pants with his high-top Vans.
“Nice threads.”
“Thought Savannah would hate it. Thought she wouldn’t get in the car. I swear, I tried everything.” Normally, he would’ve been gloating. Tonight, he sounded miserable.
Rid’s really gotten to him, L.
Just get him up here to the house. I have a plan.
“I thought you were meeting Savannah at the dance. Isn’t she supposed to be there with Emily and the rest of the Dance Committee?” I lowered my voice, but I didn’t have to. I could hear a Holy Rollers demo track blasting from the stereo, as if Link had been trying to drown Savannah out.
“I tried that. She wanted to take pictures.” He shuddered. “Her mom and my mom. It was a nightmare.” He broke into his standard impression of his mother. “Smile! Wesley, your hair is stickin’ up. Stand up straight. Take the picture!”
I could only imagine. Mrs. Lincoln was fierce with a camera, and there was no way she was going to watch her son take Savannah Snow to the winter formal without documenting it for future generations. Mrs. Lincoln and Mrs. Snow were too much to take when you put them together in the same room. Especially when the room was Link’s living room, where there wasn’t a place to sit or look or even lean your hand against that wasn’t shrink-wrapped in plastic.
“Bet you five bucks Savannah doesn’t set foot in Ravenwood.”
Link finally cracked a smile. “That’s what I’m hopin’.”
From the backseat of the Beater, Savannah looked like she was sitting in a big puddle of pink whipped cream. She tried to talk to me a few times, but it was impossible to hear anything over the music. When we turned at the fork in the road that led to Ravenwood, she started to squirm.
Link turned off the radio. “You sure you’re okay with this, Savannah? You know folks say Ravenwood’s been haunted ever since the War.” He said it like he was telling a ghost story.
Savannah lifted her chin. “I’m not afraid. People say lots a things. Doesn’t mean they’re true.”
“Yeah?”
“You should hear what they say about you and your friends.” She turned back to look at me. “No offense.”
Link blasted the radio, trying to drown her out, as Ravenwood’s gates creaked open. “This church picnic ain’t no picnic. / You’re my fried chicken. / Holy finger-lickin’…”