“All right,” my mom said, though I knew she was hesitant to leave me sitting by myself without first bestowing hippie wisdom about how we all need space to uncover our true emotions or something. “Just let me know if you need anything, OK?”
What I needed was someone to shake me and tell me I should have expected this. Enzo was unreliable. Enzo didn’t care about a high school dance. Enzo didn’t really care about me, not the way he cared about Lizzie. What did I think was going to happen? He was going to wander off the bus, still smelling like diesel fumes, and whisk me away to a magical homecoming event? Enzo, with his cigarettes and messy hair and ratty sweaters, was going to suddenly turn into some 1950s superjock stereotype, and I would be pretty in pink, and we’d go to the dance, and all the other kids there would somehow forget that they’d spent the last four years hating me? More likely, I would have ended up covered in pig’s blood.
I watched the neighborhood get dark. Crickets chirped. Lightning bugs came out. A few miles away, there was a dance just getting into full swing. It would be just like the movies, with kids laughing and dancing and judging what other kids were wearing and who they’d shown up with. Chaperones would pretend not to see alcohol being passed around. There would be talk about who was having the best after-party and who would be getting laid that night and, of course, who the homecoming queen and king would be. No one would notice that I wasn’t there.
The next time the front door opened, it was Rush. He ventured out and sat next to me on the swing.
“Did Mom tell you to check on me?”
“No. I just thought you could use some company while you waited.”
“I’m not waiting,” I said.
“What are you doing then?”
“Nothing. Just sitting. He’s not going to show.” I tried to play it off like it didn’t matter, like I hadn’t spent half the day preparing for the dance.
“Maybe he’s just running really late. He could have fallen asleep or something. You should call,” Rush said.
“I appreciate the optimism, but he’s not coming.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
It would have been easier if he mocked me or said, “I told you so.” Rush’s concern made me feel like crying, which would be especially unfortunate, considering the mascara I’d put on.
“Just give me some space?” I asked. “And let Mom know I’m OK so she stops peeking out the window every two minutes?”
“Sure thing.” Rush squeezed my shoulder as he stood up, just a simple gesture to let me know he loved me, and my eyes stung, and my lips trembled. I took a deep breath. I was not going to cry.
I rocked on the porch swing and thought about Enzo until I was shivering in the cool October night. I considered going in and getting a sweater or just climbing into bed in my dress and heels and bobby pins. I also thought about walking to the back of the house to get warm around Sundog’s fire. But I didn’t do any of those things. It would have taken too much energy. So instead, I just sat and felt sorry for myself.
When the headlights swept across my front lawn, my heart leaped. Enzo. Maybe something happened with the bus and he’d had to find a ride to my house? I held up my hand, trying to shield my eyes, but couldn’t see anything in the glare. Then the headlights were turned off, and the yard plunged into darkness. Before my eyes could readjust, I heard a car door slam and an incredulous voice.
“Thorny? What the hell are you wearing?”
Not Enzo.
Connor plodded up the porch steps, grinning. He stopped when he saw my glowering face.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m supposed to be at the homecoming dance,” I said. “Clearly, that didn’t work out.”
“Was the dance taking place in 1985?”
I gathered a handful of my pink skirt and examined it. “I thought it would be a funny thing to wear. It’s not.”
“So why are you sitting here like the rest of The Breakfast Club went out partying and forgot to take you along?”
I kept looking at my dress, because I couldn’t bear to meet Connor’s gaze. “That’s not so far off, I guess. Enzo was supposed to take me to the dance. He must have found a better party.”
“He’s a dick,” Connor said.
I expected for us to exchange small talk for a few more minutes, then for Connor to excuse himself to see Rush. A little while later, they’d come out of the house together and leave for some college party, passing by me, sitting there in my pathetic pink dress with only the slightest acknowledgment.
What actually happened next was Connor held out his hand and said, “Come on.”
I stared at him. “What? Are you going to, like, take me to the dance as a pity date or something? This really is an eighties teen movie.”
Connor laughed. “I’m not exactly dressed for a formal dance. But I can get you off the front porch at least.”
He was still holding out his hand. It’s not like I had anything better going on, so I reached out and took it.
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