The Anti-Prom (24 page)

“Who are you looking for?” Tristan asks as we wander back through the house.

“Oh, nobody.” I take time to glance in every room, but I haven’t seen Jolene all night, and even Bliss has disappeared. She’s probably camped out in Brianna’s suite, back with all her real friends. Not that I can really blame her now — everything worked the way she promised. I turn to Tristan with an encouraging grin. “What were you saying, about Mexico?”

“Oh, yeah.” Tristan brightens. “Everyone always just sticks to the beach, but I want to go trekking, out in the mountains. Maybe stay in one of the villages . . .”

He keeps talking for a while, but I let my attention drift, enjoying the envious looks from people as we pass, and the weight of his arm on my shoulder. This is what Bliss must take for granted every day: the sense of belonging, as if you have a place in the world carved just for you. No worries that nobody will talk to you, or that they’ll turn away and laugh behind your back; this is what it’s like on the inside. To be someone who matters.

“Amit, wait a sec.” Tristan pauses to talk to one of his student government buddies, and I wait, patiently exchanging smiles with the other boy’s girlfriend. Girlfriend. For the first time since he spoke to me, it occurs to me that I could make this last, make it become something
real
.

The thought blossoms in my mind, full of possibility.

Will tonight be my Cinderella story before everything shifts back to normal, or is this the start of a whole new life for me? Dating Tristan, getting invites to their parties and trips, making friends with the other girlfriends, actually showing up to the school events and organizing committees. I can see it now, unfolding ahead of me in a glitter of friendship and activity. Not just one, perfect prom night, but dozens more.

All senior year.

“Right, Meg?”

I realize Tristan is looking at me expectantly, so I give a grin and nod, even though I haven’t followed a word of the conversation. It doesn’t seem to matter; the boys barely pause before continuing, something about planning a fundraiser for next year.

“You’re the other Meg, aren’t you?” The other girl moves closer. It’s the petite redhead I saw outside the country club, the one who rushed to be a part of the group photo. “I’ve seen you around, in school.”

“That’s right.” I smile. “I think we have gym together.”

She makes a face. “Volleyball, ack. I’ve only just figured out how to spike the ball, and we finish next week!”

We both laugh. “Anything’s better than cross-country running,” I confide. “I pretend to get my period so often, they’re going to think I have weird health problems soon.”

“Eww, girl talk.” Her boyfriend catches my last words and grimaces, as if we’re discussing something gross. “You two need some space?”

“Grow up!” The other Meg elbows him lightly, laughing. I watch them joke, wondering if I’ll ever be so comfortable with a boy. Even now, I’m hyper-aware of Tristan’s every move — whether he seems relaxed, if he’s still smiling at me, or if his attention has drifted elsewhere. I see his eyes slip past me, so I tuck my arm through his.

“I could use another soda,” I suggest, nodding toward the kitchen. “Let’s go see who’s still awake.”

He grins, pulls me closer. “You read my mind.”

I exhale with relief.

We find his friend Kellan in the kitchen, surrounded by an avalanche of party debris. He’s stacking empty cups into a tower on the counter top, slowly, as if it’s a serious undertaking.

“What’s up?” The boys exchange fist bumps and backslaps; the rituals of popularity.

Kellan shrugs. “Nothing much. Things are winding down. Oh, wait, did you see what happened with Kaitlin?”

Tristan shakes his head, handing me a beer. I wait until he’s turned away, and then casually switch it for a carton of juice.

“It was crazy.” Kellan laughs. “B flipped out and, like, smashed a bottle over her head. Kaitlin went into total meltdown, ran out in tears.”

I stop. Does he mean Bliss?

“Those girls, it’s always drama, drama.” Tristan rolls his eyes, unconcerned, as one of the other boys — Nico, I think — wanders in. I melt back against the fridge, making room for him to saunter past. Tristan slaps his back. “Hey, man, where you been?”

“Around.” Nico begins shaking the cans of Pringles in turn, trying to find some remnants. He looks up, noticing me for the first time. “Hey, who’s this?”

Tristan laughs. “It’s Meg, from school. You know, Meg Zuckerman?”

I give an awkward wave.

Nico blinks. “No way.”

“See, man, I told you she could be cute.” Kellan looks back at me. “You know, if you lost those glasses and some weight. Right, dude?” He tosses one of the cups at Tristan. The tower wobbles.

“Right.” Tristan grins, ruffling my hair affectionately. “Now look at you. The belle of the ball.”

I stare at him, the warm haze of breathlessness parting for just a second as their words sink in.

“You want to head outside for a minute?” Tristan’s breath is warm against my ear. He doesn’t wait for a reply before taking my hand and tugging me gently out of the room. Nico and Kellan let him go without a word, now both deeply fascinated by the ever-growing stack of cups. I follow.

“I’m sorry about the guys. They can be kind of blunt.” Tristan squeezes my hand as we slip out a side door. It’s silent here, shaded from the backyard by trees and a canopy of vines strung up on an elaborate trellis. There’s a winding paved path and even the low bubble of a fountain — the perfect romantic retreat. I look around, my stomach already fluttering with nerves. A cute boy, a secluded spot, moonlight — well, the glow from inside the house — I know what this means. My pulse jumps; my legs feel numb. He’s going to kiss me.

And not just any kiss. My first.

“It’s just kind of a surprise, that’s all.” Tristan is still talking. “You know, one minute you’re just Meg, and the next, you’re . . . wow.” He smiles at me with that charming half grin I’ve been pining over all year.

I catch my breath. This is it.

He knows it, too. Taking both my hands in his, he pulls me closer. Everything is in slow motion now — the scene that’s played over in my mind dozens of times. I’ve felt foolish, being so inexperienced when other girls my age are off doing, well, all kinds of things, but right now it feels worth it. Perfect.

His head dips to mine and I close my eyes, feel the warmth of his face brush mine. Then it happens: Tristan Carmichael kisses me. It’s soft, and gentle, and everything I could ever want.

One minute you’re just Meg . . .

The voice pops out of nowhere. I try to ignore it, to focus on Tristan’s lips instead, and the hand he’s placed against my cheek. I don’t want to get this part wrong, so I press closer against that swim team chest. The kiss deepens.

Now look at you, the belle of the ball.

Tristan’s words from before break my concentration, but this time, I feel myself snap out of the moment, as if I’m separating from my body. The magic dissolves. His lips are just lips; his hands, just hands. We’re not so much kissing as pressing parts of our bodies together, like complete strangers.

The delicious flutter turns to frustration. Here I am, in the middle of a moment I’ll remember for the rest of my life, and all I can think about is a random comment. What’s wrong with me?

Tristan clearly isn’t so distracted: his hands are roaming across my back and hips, tongue exploring my mouth. I pull away, breaking for air.

“It’s, umm, really pretty out here!” I say, feeling like an awkward kid. I’ve ruined it now; I can tell.

But Tristan doesn’t seem to think so. He just gives me that smile again and leans back in. “I know,” he whispers, pushing a tendril of hair from my face. “It’s really pretty right here, too.”

I duck away. “I like the way they’ve done the garden!” I babble. “To make it look natural like this? I hate it when it’s just neat rows of flowers, and —”

A frown flickers across his face. “Is something wrong?”

I blink. “No,” I say quickly, “everything’s . . . great.”

“Good.” Tristan steps toward me, placing me lightly back against the wall. I close my eyes and feel him kiss me again, but my mind won’t stop now; something has been triggered, and now all I can hear is the wave of rebellious thoughts.

Since when should I have to cover myself in makeup and bare half my body just to get noticed by these people?

Tristan is still up against me, but I barely register him. Instead, I finally realize what’s wrong with this perfect picture.

I pull free from his embrace.

“What’s the matter now?” He sighs impatiently but quickly covers it with another encouraging grin. “It’s OK. Nobody’s going to find us. They’re all off asleep now.”

But that’s not the point. I take another step away from him, away from everything I thought I wanted. I can’t believe I’m doing this. After all this time, all those math classes spent daydreaming about his arms around me, and here I am turning him down? I swallow, wondering how on earth I can explain. “I’m sorry,” I manage to say. “This was a mistake.”

Tristan blinks. “But I thought . . . I mean, you like me.”

He says it with such certainty that any last doubt I have disappears.

“I did,” I admit, blushing. “So much. But you didn’t like me. Not at all, not until all this.”

I gesture at the hair, the dress, the shiny, sexy costume that somehow caught his attention in a way that “just Meg” never did. Because the fact is, he’s looked right past me all year. Even in my old gown, I didn’t register — like I don’t exist unless I fit their weird category of hotness. I suppose that’s what they don’t tell you about makeovers in the movies — that maybe the people who gasp with grand double takes aren’t worth the effort. Because if I don’t deserve his attention when I’m myself, then what good is he?

“Thanks for tonight,” I tell him quietly. “I had fun.”

“I don’t understand.” Tristan can’t seem to process the fact of me turning him down. He pushes his hair back, staring at me in frustration. “I thought this was what you wanted!”

I give him a faint smile, turning to go.

“I changed my mind.”

I slip back through the house, retrieving my purse from where I hid it under a pile of coats in the hallway. I feel a pang, just leaving like this, but I suppose if Bliss and Jolene wanted to say good-bye, they would have by now. Perhaps they’ve already gone. I take one last look at the party — my prom night over, at last — and then hurry out of the front door.

It’s not until I’m halfway down the steps that I remember: Bliss switched purses with me to match the dress; there’s nothing in her bag but lip gloss, tape, and a wedge of photocopies, folded over to fit. My car keys are nowhere to be found.

Perfect.

Collapsing on the steps, I stare blankly at the dark lawn. I’m worn out, my contacts itch, and all I want is to curl up in bed at home, but now I have to search the house for her — and that’s if she hasn’t left already. So much for an airtight alibi; arriving home in a cab or calling to get picked up here might be the smallest hint to my dad that I haven’t spent the night at an innocent all-girl slumber party. My gaze falls on the papers, the reason all of this even began. It seems like a lifetime ago that Bliss was so determined to make Kaitlin and Cameron pay. Well, was it worth it?

Skimming the first pages, I begin to read. Page after page of Kaitlin’s immature whining, about Bliss and Brianna and Cameron, and then —

I stop, horrified.

Oh, God, what have we done?

Leaping up, I sprint back into the house and search every room in turn. There’s no sign of Bliss anywhere, so I head out to the back patio, scanning the yard. People are grouped around, laughing at something down by the pool, so I trip down the steps, jostling in the crowd until I see them. Jolene and Bliss hauling are themselves out of the water, completely soaked.

“Hey, guys, I need to talk to you.” Finally, I break through the onlookers.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” Another girl — Kaitlin, I think — is still splashing around in the water, but I don’t have time to figure this out. “Bliss, Jolene, come on!”

They ignore me. “Couldn’t you keep me out of it?” Jolene shakes water from her hair. The ruffles are hanging in damp clumps from her chest, the fabric almost transparent.

“You were the one who got in the way!” Bliss wipes water from her eyes. “You should have just stayed back.”

“Listen!” I grab an arm from each of them and drag them a safe distance away from the crowd. “We’ve got a serious problem!”

“You mean besides Bliss’s unresolved anger issues?” Jolene smirks.

“
I’m
the angry one? You —”

“Shut up!” I interrupt. “We don’t have time for this.” I pick a page and begin to read. “‘I can’t believe anyone would have sex with her, and now the sad bitch is pregnant!’”

Bliss looks confused. “What is that?”

“Kaitlin’s diary,” I tell them grimly. “Miranda Jones had an abortion. Uma Pearson cheated on her SATs. Kenji Anede spent a month in rehab last summer for an eating disorder — it goes on and on.” I look between them, trying to make them understand just how bad it is. “This isn’t just about Kaitlin’s secrets; don’t you see? She found out all kinds of dirt on everyone else. And we gave it away.”