It was the second time in the past month I’d been in Connor’s car, which was pretty weird.
I leaned over and scanned the radio stations, finally settling for an oldies channel. Boys and girls from another lifetime sang about how breaking up was hard to do and how words of love weren’t enough to win a girl’s heart.
“I feel like I’m in a horror movie,” I told Connor.
“You what?”
“You know, it’s dark, and we’re driving through the woods, and there are scratchy-sounding old songs on the radio, and I’m in this stupid dress.”
“I’m still not getting the horror movie part.”
“Like, any moment now, a shadowy figure is going to dart in front of the car, and you’ll slam on the brakes, and there will be a girl standing on the side of the road, wearing some white 1950s dress.”
Connor laughed, getting what I meant. “And she’ll ask us for a ride home, right?”
“Yep. And then somehow, we’ll find out she died sixty years ago in a car accident on this very stretch of road.”
I sighed and rested my head on the back of the passenger seat, imagining a situation like that actually happening. I liked the idea that Enzo standing me up could be a good thing because I would end up doing something way more fascinating than going to a stupid dance.
Connor glanced at me and reached into his backseat, fumbling for a moment before pulling out a sweater.
“Here. You must be freezing.”
Being cold was the last thing on my mind, but I pulled the sweater over my head anyway. What did it matter if I was wearing a poofy dress and a men’s pullover? It’s not like I was going to homecoming.
The sweater smelled like boy, that earthy, almost dirty smell, like trees and beer. If it was Enzo’s sweater, it would have smelled like cigarettes too. I’d put his leather jacket on once when I was cold, and even after I took it off, the scent of tobacco clung to my skin.
For a while, we drove and listened to music and didn’t say much to each other. Then Connor asked if I was hungry. I hadn’t realized I was it until he asked. He pulled into the parking lot of DiCarlo’s, where you ordered pizza by the slice, and it came topped with a layer of unmelted cheese.
There wasn’t a dining room, so we took our food outside and sat on the hood of Connor’s car, eating quickly and shivering. The air felt heavy, like a storm was coming.
“So,” Connor said eventually. “What happened tonight?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. We were supposed to go to the dance. Enzo didn’t show. There’s not, like, a big story or anything.”
“So are you and Enzo together now?”
“No,” I said, focusing on my pizza.
“But you like him?”
“I don’t know.”
I pulled the sweater around me more tightly, wishing I had jeans covering my legs and tennis shoes on my feet instead of my embarrassingly optimistic high heels.
“It wasn’t like that,” I said. “Before, anyway. We were just trying to find his girlfriend. But then we were spending all this time together, and I started wondering if it meant something, you know?”
“Maybe you just feel like you’re supposed to like him,” Connor said nonchalantly. “Or you like him because he’s around. It happens.”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe you like him just because he belonged to Lizzie.”
I scowled. “You think I’m that shallow? Like, I’ve spent all this time wanting to be Lizzie or something, so I end up taking her boyfriend?”
“Stranger things have happened. I’d think a girl who believes in werewolves would be open to any possibility.”
He had a point.
“I just kind of wanted to go to homecoming.”
“Why? Since when do you care?”
“I guess I just wanted to feel normal for once.”
Connor laughed. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know. There’re all these things happening, all this life happening around me. And I’m always on the outside, watching. For once, I wanted to experience it.”
“I went to all the high school dances,” Connor said after a moment.
“You don’t need to rub it in.”
“I’m not, believe me. I always felt out of place at them. Like it was some ritual we all needed to go through but no one really enjoyed, and I never knew how to pretend as well as everyone else.”
Connor finished a slice of pizza and wiped his greasy fingers on his jeans. We’d forgotten to ask for napkins, which was fine, because the thought of getting sauce on my dress and ruining it forever appealed to me.
“I went to senior prom with this girl Alyssa,” Connor said. “Do you remember her? Tall, dark hair, had a different designer purse for every season?”