Getting Caught (18 page)

Dave stands at the foot of the staircase so we’re eye to eye. He grins at me and takes my hand, then presents me with a white corsage. As I hold it in my trembling fingers, he leans over and whispers, “If you make me put it on, I’ll probably end up stabbing out your heart.”

I look at his forehead, and that’s when I notice a bit of sweat glistening there. He’s nervous. I also see something else glistening there, something new. “You pierced your eyebrow?” I ask incredulously.

He bites his lip. “I wanted to get a tattoo. The Chinese symbol for peace. But a buddy of mine told me he went to get the Chinese symbol for Love and ended up with one that said ‘big ass.’ So I chickened out. This may get infected, but at least I won’t go around bragging to everybody how large my rear end is.”

Just then, I’m blinded by a flash. And another one. I turn and see my mother there, with the same super-duper camera she uses to film homes for her website. “Stand still.”

I’m trying to pull him toward the front door, but he won’t budge. Instead, he wraps his arms around my back, pulls me close to his chest, and we smile, cheek-to-cheek, for the camera.

And for once, I don’t feel the need to flip it off.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Peyton

Winning the prank war is a really crappy consolation prize for not getting into Harvard. But it’s still a prize. I can still win at something.

Hugh, my prom date, comes behind me and pinches my side. He’s in AP classes with me and has always been the brotherly type. Plus, I think he might be a closeted gay, which is fine with me. I don’t feel like fending off advances from anyone tonight. The last thing I need is a date that will distract me. Tonight, Dave will be dumping Jess, and I get to see her heart shatter into a million pieces. In three days we’ll be graduating, and even though Jess could
try
to get revenge, she won’t be able to pull together something this big.
I’ll
get the last word, and I’ll win.

It’s not Harvard, but it’s all I have. All I have, in my bleak, meaningless existence, to look forward to.

We’re standing in my living room, and my father has been huddled over his digital camera for a full fifteen minutes. Tina’s floating around, totally in her element, offering refreshments and calling Hugh my “beau.” As if. They’re so excited I’m doing something that isn’t related to academics, for once, that they’re literally glowing.

Bryn looks amazing in her blue and silver dress. She over-accessorized, of course, but she still looks great. And those fake lashes don’t look out of place.

“You look so cute,” she says, giving me a hug.

“Do you like my hair?” Thanks to a battle with hot curlers, my crazy curls look more like salon-made ringlets than bed hair. I have to fight to keep from reaching up and touching it because I’m afraid it’ll revert back to a mop of tangles. Instead I twirl in place, my slinky crimson gown brushing my ankles.

“It’s perfect,” she says, her voice genuine.

“Not as perfect as yours,” I say, trying to be as cheerful as possible. Even with the knowledge that I’ll be claiming prank war victory tonight, I am so not in the mood for a party.

In another week, I’ll be leaving high school without
ever
having a real date. And for what? A Harvard acceptance that doesn’t exist? It was pretty obvious now how stupid I’d been to put all my eggs in one basket.

But at least Hugh bought me a nice corsage, bought the prom tickets, and showed up at my house early to pose for pictures. He’s a good sport. I didn’t think he would take it personally if I never danced with him and scowled the entire night.

Because this is it. The end of the line. Monday marks the second week of June. And Harvard has completely and utterly ignored me. Come September, I’ll be studying at Willow Valley Community College. My dreams of walking pathways lined with oak trees and ivy-covered brick buildings, my arms loaded down with expensive textbooks, are over.

If I even
think
about it, I’ll burst into tears. So instead I give Bryn another hug and compliment her on her pretty strappy silver heels. She says something about how the scooped neckline on my glittery dress makes me look like I actually have cleavage. For someone with a B-cup, this is a nice thing to hear. It almost makes me smile.

Almost.

Bryn’s date, Tim, shows us a flask of vodka he swiped from his parents, causing Bryn to giggle like crazy and say “Cool” as if she’s ten. I roll my eyes, but I’m already thinking about it, thinking about how it’ll make me forget about Harvard for more than a second.

For now, I take another sip of soda and my father finally gets his act together and starts snapping some more pictures. He keeps telling me to smile, smile, smile. And then Tina gets into it and starts asking Hugh to get closer to me, and even closer, and then suggests, “Why don’t you guys kiss?” and that’s when I realize I’m doomed to another four years with these people, and I feel my eyes getting wet. I don’t cry,
losers
cry, but that’s what I’m feeling like now without Harvard. A great big loser.

I mumble something about needing air and hurry out to the kitchen. Either I must be a great actress, or my parents must be on Mars, or both, because Tina tells me to bring out the salsa and chips when I come back. They have no clue that anything’s wrong.

I think maybe I can just hang out forever in the kitchen, eating what’s left of the chips until my dress bursts at the seams, when my father comes in. By that time, most of my eye make-up is probably liquefied and slid down my face. I don’t bother to wipe my cheeks.

“Tina asked you to bring those out,” he says, pointing at the serving tray, which is now half-empty.

I sigh. Okay, I might be able to transfer to another school, in another year. But even still, if I have to spend the next fourteen months living in this house staring at the walls and thinking of Harvard, I’m going to go insane.

That’s when I start to sob. Big snot-filled sobs. My father can’t ignore that. He’d have to be deaf, blind, and on crack.

He comes around the center island and wraps an arm around me. “Now, now, now, what’s this all about?”

I sob some more, into his sleeve. It’s a relief, really, that for once he’s finally paying attention to me. I mean, I’ve always known he cared, or would care, if his head were screwed on straight. He’s not mean, he’s just never
thinking
. But now, there’s a clarity in his voice. Now I can tell him everything and maybe he’ll understand.

Just then, Tina comes in, a confused look on her face. “Did you fall into the salsa?” she asks, giving me a hard look. My face must be all blotchy, because she says, “What’s going on here?”

My father moves toward Tina and puts an arm around her. “Peyton’s just sad because school is coming to an end and she won’t see any of her friends.”

Tina tilts her head at me and makes a little clicking noise with her tongue. “Aw, hon.”

My mouth drops open. I can’t help but stare at the two of them. Did I say any of that? Did they actually think I was getting all emotional over
school coming to an end?
Had they even thought to ask about how my college search was going, maybe they wouldn’t be so damn clueless! That was the problem with them. They never thought about me, not at all. They never cared, even just a little bit, about anything that interested me.

I clench my fists and hold them close to my body, to keep them from lashing out at them. Because at this point, I can’t trust myself to behave like the cool, calm Peyton Brentwood. My top has just blown. I stand up and say, as evenly as I can, “I. Was. Talking. About. Harvard.”

It’s almost comical, the way the two of them turn and look at each other in unison, with identical confused faces. My dad speaks first. “You’ll have plenty of time to hang out with your friends before college.”

“I didn’t get in!” I scream at them. “Are you happy? Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to relax and take it easy? Well, now I’ll be loafing around for the next four years with you guys because I’m not going anywhere!”

“The
vodka
,” I mouth.

He reaches into his pocket and hands it to me. Making sure my parents aren’t coming out to see, I take a big swig.

Tim and Hugh hoot at me. Bryn just stares, mouth open. So what if I’m not a big drinker? She doesn’t realize I’m one-quarter Irish, and I’ve been known to hold my liquor just fine in the past, even though my past has really only consisted of two-point-five house parties.

I toss my head back and smile. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” I say as calmly as possible. “I’m ready for the main event.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jess

Dave and I walk into the gymnasium, and it’s only then I realize I’m holding his hand in a white-knuckled death grip. I guess my combat boots and ratty clothing were actually a sort of disguise, something to shield me from the criticism of the rest of the school. Without them, I feel strangely vulnerable.

I had no clue the prom’s theme was a Winter Wonderland, but I figure it’s good because if I stand up against an iceberg in my crystal blue dress, maybe I can melt into the scenery. But as soon as we walk through the gym doors, I know that’s impossible. About three dozen heads swing to look at me, in unison. The music seems to stop.

I glance at Dave and he gives my ear a reassuring nuzzle, then whispers, “Take it easy” in my ear. Then he squeezes my hand a couple of times. He sits me down at a table and says, “Do you want something? Something to drink?”

Thousands of pictures with my mom and hours of anticipation have made my throat dry. “I’d love a Coke.”

“Will you be okay here?”

Ordinarily I would have played tough, but Dave has brought out my softer side. I can let my guard down, be myself with him, and know he’ll take care of me. I take a full breath of air for the first time and grin. “As long as they don’t start the Electric Slide.”

He gives my shoulder a comforting rub and heads off into the crowd. I try to pretend like I’m admiring the scenery, the snowflake centerpieces, anything, but I’m all too aware that there are many, many eyes on me. I make the mistake of looking up to meet them and see both Peyton and Bryn standing in the picture line and glaring at me, their mouths in identical O’s. Peyton whispers something in Bryn’s ear and rushes toward the exit, like a shot of lightning.

I groan inwardly. I don’t want to have to worry about a prank being pulled tonight. I don’t want to worry about pig’s blood ruining my dress, or my dirty laundry being aired from the DJ’s booth, or whatever it is Peyton might be cooking up. Because from her face, it’s obvious she’s up to
something
. But I don’t want to have to deal with it. Not when Dave and I are together and everything is so perfect.

I straighten as I realize something. If she had Harvard, if everything was perfect for her, maybe she wouldn’t feel the need to retaliate. I can just tell her I have her acceptance. That it was a low blow and I’m sorry. After all, it really
was
a low blow. All she has ever wanted is in that envelope, and I’m keeping it from her. And why? To win some stupid prank war that means nothing to me when that acceptance to her means everything? At this point, whatever Peyton has done to me in the past…it all seems so insignificant. Somehow, now that I’m actually happy, I realize how stupid all of this is. I should let bygones be bygones. I can surrender and tell her that she has won the war, that I forfeit, and maybe she’ll just
stop
.

Maybe.

And then I can enjoy this night, my first ever prom, with a guy I’m falling for. Really, really falling for.

Standing, I swallow, my mouth feeling dry and rough. I check around for Dave and my Coke, but neither is in sight, so I head in the direction I’d seen Peyton run off, avoiding the eye-daggers surrounding me.

I pass the refreshment stand and don’t see Dave, so I figure he’s found one of his buddies and gotten swept up in a conversation. Peyton, in her slinky red dress, is nowhere to be found. I stop at an iceberg in the corner of the gymnasium, trying to scan the crowd, when I see a tuft of Dave’s sandy blond hair sticking out from behind it. What’s he doing, hiding back there in a dark corner? I get a prickling sensation because something is going on. I can hear him speaking in a hush, and I know he’s having a private conversation with someone. From the way the tone of his voice rises and falls, it’s a very heated conversation.

As I move closer, hoping to figure out what he’s saying, I freeze. There, in the strobe light, is the shimmering red of Peyton’s dress.