I could see Lena’s hair starting to curl in the nonexistent wind. She blinked and half the string of twinkling white lights went dark. I had to act fast. I pulled Link over to the punch bowl. “What are you doing with her?”
“Dude, can you believe it? She’s the hottest chick in Gatlin, no offense. Third Degree Burns. And she was just hangin’ out at the Stop & Steal when I went in to buy Slim Jims on the way here. She even had a dress on.”
“Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”
“Do you think I care?”
“What if she’s some kind of psycho?”
“You think she’ll tie me up or somethin’?” He grinned, already picturing it.
“I’m not joking.”
“You’re always jokin’. What’s up? Oh, I get it, you’re jealous. ’Cause I seem to remember you gettin’
in her car pretty fast yourself. Don’t tell me you tried to get with her or somethin’—”
“No way. She’s Lena’s cousin.”
“Whatever. All I know is, I’m here at the formal with the hottest hotness in three counties. It’s like, what are the odds of a meteor hittin’ this town? This’ll never happen again. Be cool, okay? Don’t ruin it for me.” He was under her spell already, not that she had needed much of one with Link. It didn’t matter what I said.
I gave it another half-hearted try. “She’s bad news, man. She’s messing with your head. She’ll suck you in and spit you out when she’s done.”
He grabbed my shoulders with both hands. “Suck away.”
Link put his arm around Ridley’s waist and went out onto the dance floor. He didn’t so much as look at Coach Cross as they walked by.
I pulled Lena away in the other direction, toward the corner where the photographer was taking pictures of the couples in front of a fake snowdrift with a fake snowman, while members of Student Council took turns shaking fake snow down onto the scene. I bumped right into Emily.
She looked at Lena. “Lena. You look… shiny.”
Lena just looked at her. “Emily. You look… puffy.”
It was true. Ethan-Hating Southern Belle Emily looked like a silver and peach-filled cream puff, plucked and primped and puckered into taffeta. Her hair, in scary little piggy ringlets, looked like it was made out of yellow curling ribbon. Her face looked like it had been stretched a little too tightly while she was getting her hair done at the Snip ’n’ Curl, stabbed in the head one too many times with a bobby pin.
What had I ever seen in any of them?
“I didn’t know your kind danced.”
“We do.” Lena stared at her.
“Around a bonfire?” Emily’s face twisted into a nasty smile.
Lena’s hair began to curl again. “Why? Looking for a bonfire so you can burn that dress?” The other half of the twinkle lights shorted out. I could see Student Council scrambling to check the cord connections.
Don’t let her win. She’s the only witch here.
She’s not the only one, Ethan.
Savannah appeared next to Emily, dragging Earl behind her. She looked exactly like Emily, only she was silver and pink, rather than silver and peach. Her skirt was just as fluffy. If you squinted, you could visualize both of their weddings now. It was horrifying.
Earl looked at the ground, trying to avoid making eye contact with me.
“Come on, Em, they’re announcin’ the Royal Court.” Savannah looked at Emily meaningfully.
“Don’t let me hold ya up.” Savannah gestured to the line for pictures. “I mean, will you even show up on film, Lena?” She flounced off, massive cream puff dress and all.
“Next!”
Lena’s hair was still curling.
They’re idiots. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.
I heard the photographer’s voice again. “Next!”
I grabbed Lena’s hand and pulled her into the fake snowdrift. She looked up at me, her eyes clouded.
And then, the clouds passed, and she was back. I could feel the storm settle.
“Cue the snow,” I heard in the background.
You’re right. It doesn’t matter.
I leaned in to kiss her.
You’re what matters.
We kissed, and the flash from the camera went off. For one second, one perfect second, it seemed like there was nobody else in the world, and nothing else mattered.
The blinding light of a flashbulb and then, sticky white goop was pouring everywhere, all over the two of us.
What the— ?
Lena gasped. I tried to clear the glop out of my eyes, but it was everywhere. When I saw Lena, it was even worse, her hair, her face, her beautiful dress. Her first dance. Ruined.
It was foaming up, the consistency of pancake mix, dripping down from a bucket over our heads, the one that was supposed to release the flakes of fake snow so it could drift down gently for the photo. I looked up, only to get another face full of the stuff. The bucket rattled to the floor.
“Who put water in the snow?” The photographer was furious. No one said a word, and I was willing to bet the Jackson Angels hadn’t seen a thing.