“Smart aleck,” Dad says with a chuckle.
“Did she write back?”
“No.”
I peek up and tell him I love him.
“I love you too,” he replies, then disappears out the door.
I snuggle deeper under my covers. Dad respected my decision not to go. I can’t believe it. I still have no idea why Dad continues to go to church. None. But he has a reason, and I should be okay with that, whatever it is. I hope Veena shows today—Dad’s email is kind of a big deal. I bet it took a lot of courage to write to her like that. It kinda reminds me of the times Tate would call, to see why I wasn’t at church. It’s funny—I doubt his parents would care that much if he quit attending services and Sunday school. He must go for his own reasons. Maybe he likes hanging out on the playground and eating stale doughnuts. Maybe he likes organ music. Maybe he likes stained glass windows.
Maybe he likes praying silently.
Or hanging out with me.
“Wait!” I yell, hopping out of bed and yelling down the hall. “Dad, give me two minutes! I’m coming with you!”
Spending time with Tate, who became a real friend when I wasn’t even watching, is a good reason to go. And I need to tell him about the pre-prom dinner reservations I made at Parthenon.
Plus, it’ll make Dad happy, and that makes me smile.
The gym is decorated with fake Corinthian columns and lots of ivy and gold leaves and whatnot. Sam Henry’s wearing a toga that sparkles à la Edward Cullen. His girlfriend, Jordan, is carrying a spear, and a bronzed shield is slung over her shoulder. Her blond hair is pulled up into a high ponytail. I can’t believe she dressed up as a gladiator!
Bunches of dead Romans are probably rolling over in their graves.
“Man, our prom sucked compared to this,” Tate says.
“You just wanted to wear a toga,” I reply.
Tate grins. “Damn straight.”
I smile down at him. “Punch?”
He takes my hand, and we make our way to the refreshments table, not caring a lick about the people staring at us. He’s four inches shorter than me, and he’s wearing gold Converses to match his gold wreath and bracelets. Tate went all out.
He uses a ladle to pour me some frothy red punch, and then we go sit down at a table together. “Thanks for bringing me,” he says, leaning close to my face. I notice him glancing around the gym.
“Are you looking for Drew?” I whisper.
He nods, sucking on his lip. “There’s Will,” Tate says, elbowing me.
He comes into the gym, wearing a ring of ivy on his head, straightening his crisp white toga. His arms are muscular and tan. He nearly trips over the long folds of cloth. I bring my fingers to my lips to cover my giggles.
“He didn’t bring a date?” Tate asks. He puts a hand on my forearm.
“No idea.” I sip my punch, hoping he didn’t bring Kate Kelly. An ache fills my chest. From across the gym, his eyes meet mine. I remember Mom’s words: All that matters is what you want. What you need. But I’m not sure that I deserve him. I hurt him bad.
Bottoms up. I gulp down my punch. “Will you excuse me?”
“Will you excuse me?” he asks, focusing on Drew, who’s dancing with Amy.
“Yeah.” I lift my skirts and edge around couples slow-dancing, keeping my breath steady as I head toward Will. I stop a few feet away and play nervously with my hair.
“Hey,” I say.
He nods once and stares at the band. “Hey.”
“Did you see Sam Henry? His toga is sparkly.”
“Really?” Will gets up on tiptoes and scans the crowd. A look of revulsion crosses his face. “He never ceases to surprise me.”
I rock on my feet. “It’s amazing Jordan puts up with his silliness.”
He lifts a shoulder. “She loves him.”
Sam has his arms wrapped around her from behind. He’s whispering in her ear and she looks so pissed, but it’s a game they play all the time. Whatever he said makes her whip around and threaten him with her spear, then they’re kissing softly and dancing. The way they’re so natural together makes me envious.
I say, “Love makes you stupid sometimes, I guess.”
“Sure does.” Will’s tone is harsh.
I give him a tiny smile. “I just wanted to say hi. Have a great prom, and I’ll see you at graduation, ’kay?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Okay. Bye.”
Pain rocks my chest. I leave him there and look for Tate. I find him talking with Drew. They’re sitting at a table together, alone except for the flickering candles surrounding them. I fold my arms and smile, hoping they’ll figure out if they like each other enough to risk being together. To risk facing all their friends and family and the church and the world. If he and Tate fall for each other, I’ll be happy for Drew, and that’s enough for me.
I pull my cell out of my purse and send Tate a quick text. Have fun. I’ll be outside. Then I send Mom a text. Join me at prom?
She came to town this morning, to help me get ready. We spent the afternoon at a spa in Nashville. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. We both got French manis and pedis, and Mom said she thought I look beautiful. I think I do too.
Outside the gym, I sit on the steps and admire an oak tree, its leaves rustling in the warm wind. I prop my chin on my knees. Watch the fireflies. Listen to the crickets. I never imagined I’d come to senior prom to sit alone outside on hard concrete steps. I think about the whole world and wonder if anyone is out there for me. I shut my eyes and pray.
God, I don’t want anything from you. I’m only saying thanks for giving me my mom back. Even though now I know she was never gone. And neither were you. I’m not happy that you had to test my faith this way, but you showed me what I needed most: Mom. Thanks for that.
A couple minutes later, she drives up and parks by the curb, then hops out of the car, sporting slim jeans and a white tank top. Her brown hair hangs long around her shoulders. She looks happy and beautiful. She sits down beside me and hooks her arm in mine.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to see you.” I clutch her arm and check out the stars.
She rests her head against mine. “Where’s Tate?”
“Talking to Drew. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“And there’s no one else you want to hang out with in there?”
“Not really. Well, maybe Will, but I need to move on…It sucks that everything probably would’ve worked out with him, you know, if I’d acted normal after you left.”
“I wish I’d gotten to know him before this happened,” Mom murmurs.
My stomach grumbles.
“Ice cream?” she asks with a smile.
“We should buy a banana split to share.”
Mom stands and puts out a hand. I get to my feet and wipe the dirt off my dress, then lift my head to find Will standing here watching me.
I rush to ask, “How long have you been standing there?”
He cracks his knuckles. “A while.”
I smooth my dress, and Mom slips an arm around my waist, but doesn’t move to introduce herself or speak.
But Will, ever the gentleman, extends a hand to her. “Ma’am, you might not remember me. I’m Will Whitfield.”
Mom shakes his hand, not smiling. “I’m Christy.”
“We’re getting ice cream,” I tell him. “I’ll see you arou—”
“Wait!” he blurts. “I wanted to see if you’ll dance with me…?”
“I couldn’t do that to your date. It’s not right.”
“I didn’t bring a date.”
Mom pats my back and goes to lean against her car. Leaving me alone. With him.
“You brought a date, huh?” he asks, jerking his head toward the gym.
“I brought him more for Drew’s sake than mine.”
Will moves a step closer. His blue eyes focus on mine. “You’re a good friend.”
“Or at least, I tried to be a good friend.” I choke the words out.
“I know you did,” he says softly.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend to you. I was messed up. The whole situation was messed up.”
“Yeah…” He steps so close I can smell the Downy Mrs. Whitfield must’ve used when she washed his toga.
“But you gotta know,” I say, “I started falling for you that night you walked me home from that party.”
“Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I whisper, “Because that night Drew told me he liked you.”
Will drops his head.
I say, “I couldn’t do that to him. Not after what he’d just told me. He’s my best friend.” I’m shaking my head and covering my mouth now. Wishing Mom would come take me by the arm and force feed me ice cream.
“I get why you needed to wait to talk to Drew,” Will says. “About me, I mean.”
“I understand that you were hurt about Brian and me, but I wish you could’ve trusted me and let me have the time to figure that stuff out. I was going to say yes to prom. I wanted to go with you so bad.”
His expression fades to soft. There’s a long pause before he says, “About that dance?” He rubs his palms together.
I glance over my shoulder at Mom. “Just a sec,” I tell him. Gathering my skirts up in my hands, I zip over to her. “He wants to dance. Can we get ice cream tomorrow instead?”
She fluffs my hair. “I’ll be waiting up. I’ll want all the details, understand?” She gives me a mischievous smile and a hug.
“Definitely,” I whisper into her shoulder.
I break away from her to find Will crossing his arms over his stomach and a rush of shame washes through me because I hurt him so much. But all I can do is try to be the best me I can be.
“I’d love to dance,” I say.
We don’t touch each other until we reach center court in the gym, where it feels like hundreds of eyes are focused on us. But I shut them out. This is my dance, and they can’t stop me from enjoying it. A Kenny Chesney song is playing as I stretch my arms around his neck. He sets his hands on my hips, and like in eighth grade, his hands are trembling. We sway back and forth, finding a beat (which is hard ’cause his toga is basically a dress and his legs keep getting tangled). I inch closer and closer to him, to rest my head against his partially-covered chest. His hands shake. I pull my arms from around his neck, and he scrunches his eyebrows at me before I place my hands over his, on my waist, to still them. Our eyes meet. I run my fingers up his arms to his neck.
I catch Drew and Tate checking us out. Drew waves at me, a meek, sincere smile on his face, and goes back to chatting with Tate.
“Hey,” I whisper to Will.
“Hey.” A smile edges on his mouth.
“Can we go outside? I don’t want Drew to have to watch us dancing together.”
He takes my hand and leads me out back into the school parking lot, behind the gym. “You’re a sweet girl. And a good friend.” Under the street lamps, beside the Dumpsters, he pulls me into a clumsy waltz, the best he can do in his silly toga. He gets a grossed out look on his face.