“Marley looks good.” Bailey complimented Jesse's girl, and Jesse waggled his eyebrows. “Yes, she does, Sheen. Yes, she does.”
Marley's dress was pretty revealing too, but she wasn't as voluptuous as Rita or Lydia, which made it seem less so. She was slight like Fern, but she had long black hair and an exotic slant to her eyes and cheekbones. She and Jesse had been a couple since sophomore year, and they looked good together.
“I'm here with Fern.” Bailey got right to the point, not wanting Fern to come back and see him working the crowd on her behalf. Ambrose immediately rose back to his feet and Bailey sighed inwardly. Ambrose acted like Fern was a Russian spy who had tricked him into spilling the country's secrets instead of a girl who had written him a few love letters and signed someone else's name. His reaction made Bailey wonder if maybe he had feelings for Fern after all. You didn't get that angry over something that didn't matter.
Bailey looked at Paulie and Grant and forged ahead, hoping Ambrose would hear him out. “You guys that don't have dates, would you ask her to dance? Fern's always taking care of me, but it would be nice if she could dance with someone besides her cousin at her Senior Prom.”
Ambrose took a few steps back and then turned and walked away without saying a word. Grant and Paulie watched him go, matching stunned expressions on their faces.
Beans burst into laughter and Jesse whistled low and slow, shaking his head.
“Why does he always act like that whenever anyone says a word about Fern?” Grant wondered, his eyes still on his friend's retreating back.
Bailey felt his face grow hot and his collar felt too tight all of a sudden. It took a lot to embarrass Bailey. Pride was a luxury a kid like him couldn't afford and have any kind of life, but Ambrose's rebuff had embarrassed him.
“What is his problem?” Bailey asked, baffled.
“I think he has a thing for Fern,” Beans said, as if that was the most outrageous thing ever.
Bailey shot Beans a look that made Beans stop short and clear his throat, swallowing his laughter.
“I would really appreciate it if you guys would dance with her. If you think you're too damn good for her then never mind. It's your loss, definitely not hers,” Bailey said, the heat of embarrassment morphing into anger.
“Hey Bailey, no problem, man. I'll ask her to dance.” Grant patted his shoulder, reassuringly.
“Yeah, I'm in. I like Fern. I'd love to dance with her,” Paulie agreed, nodding.
“Me too. I love Fern,” Beans chimed in, his eyes gleaming with mirth. Bailey decided to let it go. It was just Beans. He couldn't seem to help himself.
“You know I got your back, Sheen. But if I dance with her, she's going to know something's up,” Jesse said regretfully. “Marley's my girl, and everyone knows it.”
“That's okay, Jess. You're right. I don't want to make it too obvious.” Bailey heaved a sigh of relief.
“So what you gonna do while we're keeping Fern busy?” Beans teased.
“I'm going to dance with Rita,” Bailey said without pause.
The four wrestlers immediately burst into whoops and laughter as Bailey smirked and pivoted his chair around. Fern had just walked back into the gymnasium and was turning this way and that, looking for him.
“You guys take care of Fern. I'll take care of Rita,” he called over his shoulder.
“We'll take care of her. Don't worry,” Grant reassured, waving him off.
“We'll take care of her,” Paulie repeated. “And I'll take care of Ambrose. He needs someone to look after him too.”
“Can I stay?” Ambrose cleared his throat. It was so hard to ask. But he couldn't leave. Not now. They had all been up most of the night, and dawn was only an hour away. Elliott Young had taken over at the bakery and Joshua and Rachel Taylor had rushed to their daughter's side when they got the call. It had only been two weeks since they were awakened and told to come to the hospital not knowing what had happened to Bailey. It was clear by their panic-stricken faces followed by their grateful tears that they had expected the worst.
Fern and Ambrose were questioned at length by the responding officers, and Becker Garth was taken to the hospital in an ambulance and then remanded into police custody. Fern had refused to go the hospital but had allowed the police to take pictures of her injuries. She was bruised and scraped, and she would be sore in the morning, but now she slept in her own bed, and Ambrose was standing by the front door, his hand on the knob, asking Joshua Taylor if he could stay the night.
“I don't want to leave. Every time I close my eyes, I see that bastard dragging her away . . . sorry, sir.” Ambrose apologized, although he really wasn't sure what other word he could have used to describe Becker Garth.