“I think I’ll mingle over here.” I don’t know most of the faces in the cluster of people closest by, but I’d rather face them than my sister.
Connor left last week for his Scottish adventure, and even though he offered to skip it, I encouraged him not to miss out just because I was back. Truthfully, I was relieved he was gone because it meant one less family member to have to pretend around. One last person to try to convince that I was okay.
Mom examines the group I’m moving toward. “Okay. Find me if you need anything. I’ll stay close by.”
She pats my arm and watches me as I keep going. She looks at me the same way as she did the day I started preschool—like she wanted to cry but was staying brave for me so I didn’t.
When I’m a couple feet away from the group, the circle of people notices me coming and start to open up.
“Hey, Jade,” one of the girls about my age says first. She’s the only one not staring at my neck so obviously I can almost feel it burn. “I’m Paige Arlington. We were in choir together in high school.”
I relax when I recognize her. The name, the association, it makes everything so much easier.
“Hey, Paige. Thanks for coming.” I can’t figure out where to put my arms. They feel strange at my sides. Weird behind my back. Wrong clasped in front of me. “Hey, everyone.” I make eye contact with the others, not looking away until they stop gawking at my neck.
A variety of greetings come back at me. Everyone seems to shift at the same time. This is going so, so badly. I’m not just socially awkward now—I’m socially inept.
Someone wanders up to join the group, but this face I remember. Just not the name that goes with it. “Jade Childs. You look just as great as ever.”
He holds out his hand—I guess for me to shake. When I put my hand in his, he grasps it too firmly and shakes it too hard. He’s probably using a perfectly acceptable touch, but it’s crushing to me. I rub my hand when he releases it.
“Trent Covington. We were bio partners our sophomore year.”
When he smiles at me, I remember. “You were on Torrin’s soccer team.” I snap my fingers. “You played goalie.”
His smile falters but doesn’t totally disappear. “Yeah, I played on the high school team, and actually, I played striker.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to remember. I can’t. I wasn’t exactly watching the other players on the field when I went to cheer at Torrin’s games. “Yeah.”
I glance over my shoulder, looking for an escape. I know these are my friends from school, and they seem like nice enough people, but I don’t fit in. No one knows what to say to me—I don’t know what to say to anyone.
I notice Torrin talking to another group of people we probably went to school with. He’s smiling, and they’re all laughing, and at least five conversations seem to be happening in that circle. No one’s uncomfortable around him. And he’s the priest.
His head turns, and he sees me watching him. His smile stretches. Just when he’s about to get back to the conversation, he seems to notice something. His eyes slide away from me but land on someone close by. His smile vanishes.
“So, Jade . . .” Someone nudges me.
I flinch from the unexpected contact. It’s Trent.
He’s moved closer, and his smile’s back. “It’s been forever. How have you been?”
I don’t really think much of his question, but the mouths of the people around me drop. Paige hisses something at Trent.
What he’s said hits him. From the look on his face, it hits him like a hatchet to the back. “Oh my god. Sorry.” He blows out a breath and brushes my arm. “Such a stupid question. Just ignore the idiot in the room.”
I step back because I still haven’t gotten used to people touching me.
“You want to hear a stupid question, Covington?” Torrin’s voice breaks the silence. He’s beside me like he’s been here the whole time. Trent tips his head, but Torrin turns toward me. He lifts his elbow. “Wanna dance?”
“What?” I ask, able to fill my lungs again. “Really?”
Torrin’s eyes lighten. “Really.”
“There isn’t any music.” I wave around the room because not only is there no music, there’s not really even a dance floor.
“Already taken care of.” Torrin tips his head toward the front of the room where I see someone hooking up something that looks like it could play music. “The guy even has the song I requested.”
“No one else is dancing.”
“So? That doesn’t mean we can’t.”
The guy with the machines up front flashes Torrin a thumbs-up. Torrin returns the gesture.
“Costigan, dude”—Trent shifts closer—“you’ve got balls.”
This time a couple others join Paige in hissing a warning at him.
Recognition flashes across Trent’s face. “I mean, Father Costigan, dude. You’ve got . . . testicles.”