CHAPTER Thirty-Five
The doorbell rings.
“Vee? Can you get that?”
My dad stands in the living room, fumbling with his video camera. You’d think a pediatric surgeon would be able to master the fundamentals of making a home movie, but he keeps forgetting where the zoom button is.
“Sure.”
I open the door, revealing a tuxedo-clad Russ shuffling his feet and holding a plastic container with a white rose corsage in front of him. He looks adorably nervous.
“Is Mattie ready?”
“Almost. Would you like to come in?”
He tugs at his collar. “Sure.”
My father, Russ, and I wait in the living room for Mattie to come downstairs. “Here she comes, Miss America,” my father booms when she appears.
“Dad,” Mattie says, but she’s smiling. She looks drop-dead gorgeous in her strapless red dress. It’s kind of a shock to see her looking so mature, even though I know she’s grown up a lot this past year. My father must be having the same thoughts because his broad grin falters just a little. He covers it up with his camera and starts filming.
Mattie picks up her skirt so it won’t trip her on the way downstairs. At the bottom, Russ meets her with the rose. He nervously pins it to her dress. “Ow,” Mattie says, and when Russ gives her a mortified glance, she says, “Just kidding.”
They start for the door, but my father stops them. “Wait a second. I promised Lydia she’d get to see you before you left.”
Mattie turns around and tries to look irritated, but it’s obvious she’s loving every minute of the whole production. She guides Russ into my father’s office, and they get my aunt on Skype. I hang back in the doorway, watching.
“Ohmigod, you two look amazing,” Lydia shrieks, clapping her hands together. She stops and cranes her neck, seeming to look for someone. “Where’s Rollins?”
Mattie glances back at me. “They’re too cool for prom,” she says sarcastically. This has been a point of contention between us. Mattie begged me to go, but I just won’t do it. I still have a bad taste in my mouth from wearing that stupid pink tank top and miniskirt to the movie a few weeks ago. I’ve decided never to go against my instincts again, and my intuition is saying that prom sucks.
“We’re going to stay home and watch Carrie tonight.”
Lydia pouts. “You’re no fun.” She turns her attention back to Mattie. “Have fun at the dance, sweetie.”
“We will!” Mattie takes Russ’s arm, and they push past me.
“Be safe!” my father says. “Remember, your curfew is two.”
“Wow,” Lydia comments. “You’ve loosened up on your rules since I was there.”
My father puts his arm around my shoulders. “I’ve got some good girls.”
Lydia cocks her head and smiles. “You sure do.”
“Vee!” Mattie yells from the foyer. “Rollins is here.”
“Have fun,” Lydia tells me.
“Talk to you later, Lydia,” I reply. We’ve been Skyping a couple times a week since she went back to California. She’s planning to visit us again this summer, but this time she’s bringing her fiancé.
By the time I get to the front door, Mattie and Russ have already left. Rollins stands waiting for me, his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. Underneath his vintage Led Zeppelin T-shirt, I can see the outline of his bandage.
“We could still go if you changed your mind,” Rollins says, looking a little concerned. “I know how you love hanging out in a stinky gymnasium and sipping bad punch.”
“I think I’ll survive,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist and looking up into his eyes.
He flinches, and I worry that I squeezed him too tightly.
“Are you okay?”
“Ha, yeah, I was just playing with you. Hey, do you have a radio around here?”
Wondering why he wants a radio, I nod. “Yeah. It’s in the kitchen. Why?”
“Because Anna is on tonight, and she’s going to do something for me.”
I pull away from him. “Uh, okay.” Sinking into one of the chairs, I point toward the radio on top of the counter. “There it is.”
Rollins bends down and fiddles with the knobs until he finds KRNK. There’s an old Alanis Morissette song playing. He looks around. “Do you know what time it is?”
I glance at the clock on the stove. “Two minutes until seven.”
“Great.” He leans against the counter and nods along as Alanis sings about scratching her nails down some dude’s back. I slouch in my chair, frowning.
“The movie’s going to start any minute now,” I say.
“Shhhhh,” he says. “The song’s over. Listen.”
Anna’s voice comes on. “Well, folks, it looks like it’s seven o’clock, which means it’s time for me to honor a very special request. This one goes out from Rollins to Vee. He says, ‘Even though we’re not at prom, can I have this dance?’ Go for it, Rollins.”
Astonished, I look at Rollins. He planned this? For me?
The song starts off soft, then gets louder. I recognize it from his first night on the radio. The one that, to him, screams true romance—“Everlong” by Foo Fighters.
Rollins pushes away from the counter. “Well, can I? Have this dance?”
He holds out his hand, and I let him pull me to my feet.
“This is kind of a hard song to dance to,” I say, laughing.
“Then just hold me,” he says dramatically, pulling me close. I hug him, careful not to put too much pressure on his wound. We sway back and forth, listening to the music. Rollins buries his face in my hair. I can feel his lips moving as he mouths along with the lyrics. He moves one hand under my hair, to the base of my neck.
“What’s this?” he asks.
Not sure what he’s talking about, I look down. He’s holding the necklace made out of my mother’s wedding diamond. I struggled with the idea of wearing it because I still don’t want to slide into Lydia, but I switched the chain and am careful to keep the stone from touching my skin. It makes me feel closer to my mother, wherever she is.
“It reminds me of her,” I say simply.
I don’t have to say who. That’s the great thing about me and Rollins: We never have to explain ourselves. It’s funny—after Zane, I wasn’t sure I could trust anyone again. Zane made me doubt my own feelings. Was it really love? Did that even exist? But then I realized that the problem was that Zane and I didn’t even really know each other. It was insta-love, totally fleeting. We bonded over our losses, and we experienced something intense, but it wasn’t real.
Rollins and I, on the other hand, have built our relationship on something solid—the truth. He knows everything there is to know about me, and I’m learning more about him every day.
We are best friends, but we are so much more.
Rollins lowers his face to mine. Our lips meet.
And I know this is for real.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to:
Donna Bray, for helping me piece together the puzzle (so much fun!).
Sarah Davies, whose support I am beyond lucky to have and who is always there when I freak out about something dumb.
Julia Churchill, for sending me a YouTube video of tiny baby gerbils taking a bath when I was having a bad day.
Noukka Signe, for a stunning photograph, and Alison Klapthor, for designing another beauty. Yay, pink!
Brenna Franzitta, Emilie Polster, Caroline Sun, Viana Siniscalchi, and everyone at Balzer + Bray and HarperCollins, I kiss you!
Megan Miranda, with whom I can easily exchange fifty emails a day, debating important topics like whether we should have mac ’n’ cheese for lunch or just some Fritos. Oh, and sometimes we critique each other’s work. *fist bump*
My husband, for boosting me up and never letting me down. I love you like our son loves Lil’ Crunchies.
My daughter, whose chest puffs up every time she spots “Mommy’s books” at a store or on a shelf. Maybe someday she’ll be old enough to read one of those books.
My son, who forced me to consume half a zillion Oreos while I simultaneously grew him in my belly and wrote this book.
My mother, for hating all the people I wanted her to hate (in my books, I swear). And, ya know, for being awesome in general.
My father, who says my books rock.
My sister, for being my biggest fan.
My brothers, for going into a career that will forever provide me with new story ideas.
My in-laws, for being pretty much amazing in every way. Thanks for all the help you’ve given us over the years.
My students, for inspiring me to write stories that teens will want to read.
My former teachers, who taught me that it’s improper to call them my old teachers. I’m sure I’ll appreciate that in a couple of years.
Officer Teahen, for letting me again borrow his name. I hope you enjoy this one.
My Secret Sliders, who tweeted and Facebooked and blogged about Slide until their fingers probably almost fell off. And especially those who were so enthusiastic about my Slide Day shenanigans (you know who you are).
Diet Pepsi. You are the devil, but I still love you.