They found a table in the corner where Chris and his date, Caroline, were already seated. Chris and Caroline wasted no time getting out on the dance floor, and Evan tried to get Clara to do the same.
“I’m really uncomfortable dancing,” Clara said, reluctant to leave her seat.
Evan was relentless and pulled her to her feet.
“We don’t have to dance to any of the fast songs. I have the worst rhythm anyway,” he said.
“How can someone who has no rhythm play an instrument?” Clara asked.
“Oh, it’s just with dancing,” Evan said, pulling her close to his chest. “But we will dance to the slow ones,” he cooed. “Because I want to feel you close to me.”
“I can’t dance, though,” Clara said into his shoulder.
“Just follow my horrible lead,” he whispered into her ear, and she giggled.
He pulled away from her and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor.
“Are you seeing this?” a girl asked as Clara walked by.
She heard giggles coming from some of the popular girls and tried hard to ignore them. She let Evan pull her close again and moved her body when he did, swaying ever so gently to the music. She wondered if making love to him would be like this, soft, slow and sensual. She was ready to do it tonight, knowing it would purge the memory of that dark January night from her mind forever. She wanted another memory, a good one, in place of it.
She concentrated on his arms around her, holding her firmly, hands splayed on her lower back pressing her into him. She relaxed in his embrace, nuzzled his neck and listened to him hum the melody of the song in his own tune. She chuckled, and he knew why.
“You don’t want me to hum?” he asked.
“You can hum,” she replied, and felt him kiss the top of her head.
“Excuse me,” she heard from behind her.
She broke away from Evan and turned around to see Rebecca standing in front of her, flanked by the same girls who assaulted her in the bathroom. Amy was a little distance away looking on.
“What the hell do you think you’re wearing?” Rebecca asked.
“Go away, Rebecca,” Evan demanded.
“Evan, I thought you had more class than this,” Rebecca sneered.
Clara’s heartbeat sped up. The girls were looking for a fight, it seemed, and she was the target.
“What the hell are you doing in that dress?” Rebecca repeated.
“Leave, Becky! Now!” Evan hissed. He grabbed Clara’s hand.
“‘Becky’? I don’t fucking think so. That was last year, Evan, when you were a friend. You sure as hell aren’t anymore. How the hell could you choose this poor white trash over Amy? And then you bring her to prom wearing Amy’s old dress from last year? Can we say, ‘Super tacky’?” Rebecca said.
Clara felt her skin burn. She couldn’t comprehend the words. She thought she heard them, but she didn’t understand what they meant. She looked down at her dress, and Rebecca saw.
“Amy donated that thing to a consignment shop for poor people,” Rebecca smirked. “The poor people shop where you bought your secondhand dress. The one your boyfriend didn’t bother to tell you about.” Her face lit up with a new realization. “Well, now, hold up,” she said. “Maybe Evan did know about the dress and wanted to humiliate you in front of everyone tonight.”
A small group was gathering around Evan and Clara to listen to the exchange. Clara looked over at Amy whose arms were folded neatly over her chest. She smiled sweetly at Clara.
“You must feel really super awkward right now, huh?” Rebecca asked. “I mean, thinking Evan really liked you and all.”
“Come on, Clara,” Evan said, shooting Rebecca a hateful look and yanking Clara’s hand. She stood frozen like a statue.
“The same exact dress,” Rebecca said laughing. She wouldn’t let it go. “You know how we all know? It’s a custom dress. No other one like it. So I know you didn’t pick it up at some bullshit store like Sears or something. I can’t even believe that Evan would bring you here in his ex-girlfriend’s dress. Didn’t I tell you a really nasty joke was coming your way? You should have listened to me, you little cunt!”
“Shut the fuck up, Rebecca!” Evan yelled. He turned to Clara. “Let’s go, Clara,” but Clara couldn’t move. She felt the floor spinning out of control, the leering faces of mean girls bearing down on her, bared teeth ready to sink into her. She heard their voices, a chorus of vicious words coming at her from all directions. They jabbed their fingers at her.
“Amy looked so much prettier in that dress!”
“What a complete idiot!”
“Who do you think you are? You’ll never be Amy!”
“You’re so desperate to be popular. It’s pathetic!”
“Loser!”
“He meant to embarrass you!”
Clara winced at the words, closing her eyes to them as her only shield. But her heart lay wide open, unprotected, absorbing the blows, bleeding out her humiliation and hurt.
Rebecca was addressing the growing crowd. “Do you see what she’s wearing, people? Amy’s old dress! How tacky!”
The boys shrugged and walked off. They didn’t really understand. But the girls did, and they were ready to torture Clara for it. They continued their verbal assault, laughing at her cowering form as she finally let Evan lead her out of the dance hall, head hanging low and shamefully, and into his car.
She shook in the passenger seat, her right hand clutching the door handle for some form of control. Evan drove in silence, seething with rage at Rebecca, terrified that Clara actually believed her. He was desperate to put distance between them and the prom, and pressed harder on the gas.
“Stop the car,” Clara said suddenly.
He didn’t.
“Stop the car!”
Evan pulled on to a deserted stretch of road. There were street lamps but it was still terribly dark. Clara exited the car, and he followed. She walked a few yards ahead and then stopped. She didn’t turn around.
“How could you do this to me?” she whispered. She choked back the tears.