“Hope Callahan.” Mr. St. Clair reaches out a hand, and I shake it, fighting the urge to wipe my palm off on my dress afterward. “I hope this doesn’t sound rude,” he continues, and I prepare myself for the rude comment that’s sure to follow, “but I’ve never seen you around any of the usual haunts, and Tucker hasn’t mentioned he’s seeing anyone. Tell me, how did you two meet?”
“At school,” I say. “We’re doing a history project together.”
“Is that right?”
“Dad, I’m sure you must have a million people who want to talk to you,” Tucker says curtly. “Don’t let us keep you.”
Mr. St. Clair stands up straighter as he adjusts his tie. “Well, it was great to meet you, Hope.” With a nod to Tucker, he takes his leave.
“Sorry about that,” Tucker says once his father’s out of earshot.
I shrug limply. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not, though.”
He looks out at the ballroom, his gaze following his dad as he shakes hands with a woman in a bedazzled skirt suit. The place is loud with voices and laughter and china tinkling, but Tucker’s silence feels deafening.
“He hates that we’re not close. But it’s not like he’s earned that, you know?” His gaze swings back to me. “He thinks giving your kids everything is what makes you a good parent. Like, ‘Here’s an Xbox, and by the way, I won’t be able to make it to your birthday again.’ You can’t buy your kid’s love.” He shakes his head, a sad, hollow laugh escaping him. “But you wanna know the craziest part? I still want his approval.”
I don’t say anything, because I don’t know what to say to something so big. My mom might not have been able to give us a lot, but the one thing we needed most was always there in abundance.
Tucker brushes a hand down my cheek. Then, without warning, he drags me against him and kisses me. I’m so surprised he’s doing this in front of everyone—in front of his parents—that I freeze. But he doesn’t seem to care, so I close my eyes and kiss him back, matching his intensity. Someone cheers, and I feel a clap on my shoulder. Just when I think it’s going to end, he goes in for more. Finally he pulls back, and I blink at him, out of breath, lips raw and bruised. He chuckles.
“What was that for?” I pant.
“I owed you a kiss.”
The note he passed me in history class comes rushing back.
Someone taps on a microphone and asks for everyone to take their seats. Tucker’s hand drops from my face, and he links arms with me, leading me to our table. As we pass by a crowd moving in the other direction, I spot a familiar face.
Everything else fades to gray.
Ethan.
He didn’t say he’d be here. Of course, I didn’t say I’d be here either. We haven’t said anything at all.
He’s wearing the fitted black suit he wore to his uncle Tom’s funeral last year, and his hair is slicked with gel. He keeps fidgeting with his tie, as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and when he moves, I can see the tops of his socks peeking out from his slightly-too-short pants. Ethan hates dressing up. He’s worn the same suit to every function for the last four years, and I suspect he will for the next four too. I’d be disappointed if he didn’t.
Ethan looks up suddenly, and our eyes lock. His mouth parts in shock, but when he takes in my appearance, a smile curls his lips. A flush passes over me.
But then a girl loops an arm through his, and his smile falters.
Savannah is wearing a buttercup-yellow gown with an empire waist and long, flowing fabric, and her blond hair is piled into a messy bun adorned with a simple flower crown, tendrils of hair pulled loose around her face. She looks incredible. Elegant. Ethereal.
Ethan gives me a small, uncomfortable wave. Before I can return it, Tucker tows me in the other direction. I crane my neck to see Ethan, but he’s already lost in the crowd.
My heart races. Why is Ethan here?
Savannah, I realize. Her dad is some hotshot doctor.
It all makes sense. Ethan has a girlfriend. He goes on dates with her. I knew it would happen. Still, I can’t shake the greasy feeling in my stomach at seeing him on a date.
Tucker leads me to our table, where I’m relieved to discover I’m seated next to Farrah.
“You came!” Amber squeals from down the table. “Too bad you’re so far away!”
“I’m heartbroken,” Sadie mutters into her wineglass.
Farrah sighs loudly and says, “Anyway…,” until Sadie flushes as bright as her red dress.
After a few minutes of introductions and greetings, the speeches begin. I’ve had naps more interesting, but with Ethan here, my stomach roils with nerves and I fight the urge to keep looking at him to see if he’s looking back. I suddenly wish I hadn’t shot down Farrah’s offer of booze earlier.
After the speeches the waiters bring out the food, and all I can say is it’s definitely not spaghetti with jar sauce. When no one is looking, I heap loads of salt onto my plate and pop back the enzymes I need for my broken body to digest food properly. I turn and catch Farrah watching me.