Leah on the Offbeat
Page 45
“I heard it was a dealbreaker,” Nick says loudly, and everyone falls silent. It’s the first time he’s spoken all night. I glance back at Abby, who’s smiling brightly, but blinking fast.
Nick shrugs. “But maybe that’s just a thing people say when they’re dumping you right before prom.”
Abby pushes her chair out and stands. “Excuse me.”
Simon sighs. “Nick.” The boys all shift in their seats, and Morgan and Anna exchange wide-eyed glances. A millennium passes, and no one says a word.
Finally, I stand and grip the back of my chair. “I’ll talk to her.”
Then I take a deep breath, and follow her into the bathroom.
Abby’s sitting on the ledge by the sinks, toes turned out like a ballerina, jelly flats peeking out from under her dress. She looks up at me, startled. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” I rub the back of my neck. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
She shrugs. “I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
For a moment, neither of us speak.
“Why are you in the bathroom?” I ask finally.
“Did you know they have doll holders in the stalls?” she asks.
I blink. “What?”
“Like, there’s a little hook in there where you can set your doll. I’m serious. Go look.”
“But why?”
“So the doll can experience this bathroom with you,” Abby says.
“That’s . . . strange.”
“Right?” She laughs, but then it’s swallowed by a sigh.
I peer into her face. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“You should probably be asking Nick that.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m asking you.”
She gives me a curious look—all eyebrows. I can’t entirely decipher it. I feel my cheeks and my chest and the back of my neck go warm.
“Well,” she says finally, cupping her chin. “I’m officially the worst.”
“No you’re not.”
“I’ve made everything awkward.”
“Trust me—the boys make themselves awkward.”
She laughs. “It’s not just the boys, though.”
My heart pounds when she says that. I don’t even know why. But I have this urge to hoist myself onto the ledge, into the tiny space beside her. I’d sit in the sink if I had to. I want to look into the mirror and see our reflections, side by side.
But I’m frozen in place. “I don’t like this.”
“Me neither.” She tilts her head back and sighs. “Prom sucks.”
“It sucks balls.”
As soon as I say it, I think of Mom and her determination to have a suck-free prom night. But I think it must have been different for her. Because maybe she was the only pregnant girl at her prom, but at least she got to kiss whomever she wanted to kiss. If I kiss Abby Suso, I burn my friendships to the ground. If she kisses me back, we bring down the apocalypse.
So I just stand there and look at her until the edges of her lips tug upward. Which makes it even worse. Because every time Abby smiles at me, it feels like getting stabbed.
32
AS SOON WE’RE BACK IN the limo, Nick whips a flask out of some secret jacket pocket. I couldn’t be less surprised.
He swigs it and passes it to Anna, and I just sit there, stiff-shouldered, thinking: here’s why I don’t do school dances. I know exactly how tonight will play out. Everyone will get sloppy drunk, and then they’ll talk about how drunk they are, and then they’ll beg me to drink, too. Because it’s proooom night. Because I should just try it, just a sip. Drunk people are basically zombies. Once they’re infected, they want to take you down with them. Seriously, even my friends are like that, and we’re supposed to be the nerds. Fuck that.
“Leah?” Garrett nudges the flask toward me.
I pass it straight to Bram, who then passes it straight to Simon, who passes it to Abby, and then Morgan, and I notice with a start that no one’s actually drinking it. So maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is just a Nick thing.
As soon as the flask returns to Nick, he tilts his head back and chugs it. Then he makes a huge scene out of smiling at everyone except Abby. Simon catches my eye and raises his eyebrows, and I shake my head slightly. I love Nick to pieces, but this is cringe central. And prom hasn’t even started yet.
The sun’s just starting to set as we pull into the Chattahoochee Nature Center, but people are already streaming across the parking lot in groups of two and three and ten. There’s a whole line of limos parked at the curb, and it’s just so Shady Creek. My side-eye is so intense, I should be walking sideways to compensate.
Of course, the first person I see is Martin Addison—in a powder blue tux, hair gelled like a helmet. He’s walking next to Maddie, formerly of student council and currently known as the Nutcracker—ever since she punched David Silvera in the balls for beating her in the school election. I couldn’t have picked a better date for Martin if I’d tried. I’m about to snark about it to Simon, but then I spot the pavilion—and my heart catches in my throat.
Okay, yes: prom is stupid.
But everything’s lit with twinkle lights, and the hanging white curtains seem to glow against the sunset. There are giant rented speakers blasting a song I don’t recognize, but it has the most perfect thudding bass, like a heartbeat. The effect is somehow otherworldly. It doesn’t feel like this space could have anything to do with Creekwood High School, but Creekwood people are everywhere—on the paths, by the aviary, seated at picnic tables on the grass.
There are stairs that lead straight down to the pavilion, but I veer off onto the side path instead. It’s still strange, walking in a gown. It swishes around my feet with every step I take. But at least I don’t trip. Thank God for combat boots.
“Hey.” I feel a nudge.
Of course, it’s Abby, sidling up to me so closely, our arms almost touch. I feel a two-punch in my gut: flutter and yoink. I could easily grab her hand. I could lace my fingers through hers, and no one would think anything of it, because straight girls hold hands all the time. Especially at dances. They hold hands and take cheek-kissing selfies and sit sideways on benches with their feet in each other’s laps. I could honestly just—
“This is really cool,” Abby says, jolting me back to earth. She’s peering around, wide-eyed, taking everything in. All along the path, there are screened-in enclosures—habitats for birds of prey, mostly. She pauses in front of one. “Is this an owl? Is there an owl at our prom?”
And yup. It’s an actual owl, staring unblinking and motionless as we cut down the path. As if this wasn’t already the weirdest prom ever.
“Insert Harry Potter reference here,” I say.
She grins. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
We end up reaching the end of the path just as Simon and Bram step off the staircase. “Fancy meeting you here,” Abby says.
I realize with a start that they’re holding hands. Like the real kind of hand-holding, not the ready-to-spring-apart-at-any-moment kind. And they both look so sweetly self-conscious about it, even though you can tell they’re trying to be super casual.
“So, do we just walk in?” Bram asks.
Abby shrugs. “I think so.”
Already, there’s a crowd of people milling around the dance floor, even though no one’s really dancing yet. But there’s an emcee working the crowd, pumping his fist up and bellowing, “ARE THERE ANY SENIORS IN THE HOUSE?”
“This is literally junior and senior prom,” says Simon.
“I can’t hear you. ARE THERE ANY SEEEEEEEEEEEENIORS IN THA HOUUUUSE?”
“Does he realize he’s white?” Abby asks.
But everyone screams and howls in response, and it’s completely surreal. Under the pavilion, the lights are dim and tinted orange in a way that makes people’s skin seem to glow. I catch a glimpse of white in my periphery, which turns out to be Taylor in a full-on glide. Evidently, she’s decided to wear Kate Middleton’s wedding dress to prom.
“Is she . . . ?” Abby asks.
Nick shrugs. “But maybe that’s just a thing people say when they’re dumping you right before prom.”
Abby pushes her chair out and stands. “Excuse me.”
Simon sighs. “Nick.” The boys all shift in their seats, and Morgan and Anna exchange wide-eyed glances. A millennium passes, and no one says a word.
Finally, I stand and grip the back of my chair. “I’ll talk to her.”
Then I take a deep breath, and follow her into the bathroom.
Abby’s sitting on the ledge by the sinks, toes turned out like a ballerina, jelly flats peeking out from under her dress. She looks up at me, startled. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” I rub the back of my neck. “Just making sure you’re okay.”
She shrugs. “I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
For a moment, neither of us speak.
“Why are you in the bathroom?” I ask finally.
“Did you know they have doll holders in the stalls?” she asks.
I blink. “What?”
“Like, there’s a little hook in there where you can set your doll. I’m serious. Go look.”
“But why?”
“So the doll can experience this bathroom with you,” Abby says.
“That’s . . . strange.”
“Right?” She laughs, but then it’s swallowed by a sigh.
I peer into her face. “Seriously, are you okay?”
“You should probably be asking Nick that.”
“Well, I’m not. I’m asking you.”
She gives me a curious look—all eyebrows. I can’t entirely decipher it. I feel my cheeks and my chest and the back of my neck go warm.
“Well,” she says finally, cupping her chin. “I’m officially the worst.”
“No you’re not.”
“I’ve made everything awkward.”
“Trust me—the boys make themselves awkward.”
She laughs. “It’s not just the boys, though.”
My heart pounds when she says that. I don’t even know why. But I have this urge to hoist myself onto the ledge, into the tiny space beside her. I’d sit in the sink if I had to. I want to look into the mirror and see our reflections, side by side.
But I’m frozen in place. “I don’t like this.”
“Me neither.” She tilts her head back and sighs. “Prom sucks.”
“It sucks balls.”
As soon as I say it, I think of Mom and her determination to have a suck-free prom night. But I think it must have been different for her. Because maybe she was the only pregnant girl at her prom, but at least she got to kiss whomever she wanted to kiss. If I kiss Abby Suso, I burn my friendships to the ground. If she kisses me back, we bring down the apocalypse.
So I just stand there and look at her until the edges of her lips tug upward. Which makes it even worse. Because every time Abby smiles at me, it feels like getting stabbed.
32
AS SOON WE’RE BACK IN the limo, Nick whips a flask out of some secret jacket pocket. I couldn’t be less surprised.
He swigs it and passes it to Anna, and I just sit there, stiff-shouldered, thinking: here’s why I don’t do school dances. I know exactly how tonight will play out. Everyone will get sloppy drunk, and then they’ll talk about how drunk they are, and then they’ll beg me to drink, too. Because it’s proooom night. Because I should just try it, just a sip. Drunk people are basically zombies. Once they’re infected, they want to take you down with them. Seriously, even my friends are like that, and we’re supposed to be the nerds. Fuck that.
“Leah?” Garrett nudges the flask toward me.
I pass it straight to Bram, who then passes it straight to Simon, who passes it to Abby, and then Morgan, and I notice with a start that no one’s actually drinking it. So maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is just a Nick thing.
As soon as the flask returns to Nick, he tilts his head back and chugs it. Then he makes a huge scene out of smiling at everyone except Abby. Simon catches my eye and raises his eyebrows, and I shake my head slightly. I love Nick to pieces, but this is cringe central. And prom hasn’t even started yet.
The sun’s just starting to set as we pull into the Chattahoochee Nature Center, but people are already streaming across the parking lot in groups of two and three and ten. There’s a whole line of limos parked at the curb, and it’s just so Shady Creek. My side-eye is so intense, I should be walking sideways to compensate.
Of course, the first person I see is Martin Addison—in a powder blue tux, hair gelled like a helmet. He’s walking next to Maddie, formerly of student council and currently known as the Nutcracker—ever since she punched David Silvera in the balls for beating her in the school election. I couldn’t have picked a better date for Martin if I’d tried. I’m about to snark about it to Simon, but then I spot the pavilion—and my heart catches in my throat.
Okay, yes: prom is stupid.
But everything’s lit with twinkle lights, and the hanging white curtains seem to glow against the sunset. There are giant rented speakers blasting a song I don’t recognize, but it has the most perfect thudding bass, like a heartbeat. The effect is somehow otherworldly. It doesn’t feel like this space could have anything to do with Creekwood High School, but Creekwood people are everywhere—on the paths, by the aviary, seated at picnic tables on the grass.
There are stairs that lead straight down to the pavilion, but I veer off onto the side path instead. It’s still strange, walking in a gown. It swishes around my feet with every step I take. But at least I don’t trip. Thank God for combat boots.
“Hey.” I feel a nudge.
Of course, it’s Abby, sidling up to me so closely, our arms almost touch. I feel a two-punch in my gut: flutter and yoink. I could easily grab her hand. I could lace my fingers through hers, and no one would think anything of it, because straight girls hold hands all the time. Especially at dances. They hold hands and take cheek-kissing selfies and sit sideways on benches with their feet in each other’s laps. I could honestly just—
“This is really cool,” Abby says, jolting me back to earth. She’s peering around, wide-eyed, taking everything in. All along the path, there are screened-in enclosures—habitats for birds of prey, mostly. She pauses in front of one. “Is this an owl? Is there an owl at our prom?”
And yup. It’s an actual owl, staring unblinking and motionless as we cut down the path. As if this wasn’t already the weirdest prom ever.
“Insert Harry Potter reference here,” I say.
She grins. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
We end up reaching the end of the path just as Simon and Bram step off the staircase. “Fancy meeting you here,” Abby says.
I realize with a start that they’re holding hands. Like the real kind of hand-holding, not the ready-to-spring-apart-at-any-moment kind. And they both look so sweetly self-conscious about it, even though you can tell they’re trying to be super casual.
“So, do we just walk in?” Bram asks.
Abby shrugs. “I think so.”
Already, there’s a crowd of people milling around the dance floor, even though no one’s really dancing yet. But there’s an emcee working the crowd, pumping his fist up and bellowing, “ARE THERE ANY SENIORS IN THE HOUSE?”
“This is literally junior and senior prom,” says Simon.
“I can’t hear you. ARE THERE ANY SEEEEEEEEEEEENIORS IN THA HOUUUUSE?”
“Does he realize he’s white?” Abby asks.
But everyone screams and howls in response, and it’s completely surreal. Under the pavilion, the lights are dim and tinted orange in a way that makes people’s skin seem to glow. I catch a glimpse of white in my periphery, which turns out to be Taylor in a full-on glide. Evidently, she’s decided to wear Kate Middleton’s wedding dress to prom.
“Is she . . . ?” Abby asks.
