The Anti-Prom (27 page)

“You were right.” My voice almost breaks with effort to get the words out, but then it’s done, and they’re sitting heavy in the air between us. “What you said back at the office. About me, about everything.” I inhale a shaky breath, and then give him the one thing I’ve got left. The only thing I can.

“I’m sorry.”

Pulling some last store of hope, I move my hand until it’s touching his. A breath, and then I curl my fingers around his palm.

He doesn’t respond for the longest time; I can’t even tell if he moves. But staring out into the dark, his hand warm beneath mine, I feel my nerves slips away. Instead, I feel a wash of calm. So he forgives me, or he doesn’t — that part is out of my control. But the rest of my life? That’s stretching ahead of me, warm with a new kind of possibility. College, some attempt at new friendships maybe, try to let that fury ebb away. The world won’t wipe my slate clean so easily, but I can do it, for myself.

I can do this.

And then Dante pulls away.

“No.” He gets to his feet, not looking at me. His shoulders are tense, his body tall and stiff. “It’s too late for this, Jolene. It’s all too late.”

I stop breathing.

“I’ll be in the car. Let me know when the others get back.” With an awkward shrug, he turns to go.

“Wait!” I call, but he keeps walking. “Dante!” I sprint after him, desperate. Suddenly, all that zen resignation falls to nothing. Screw waiting for him to forgive me, screw not forcing anything at all. I can’t let him walk away this time. “Dante, listen to me!”

I grab his arm, pulling him to a stop.

“What?” He snatches away from me. “Don’t you get it? There’s nothing you can say.”

“But . . .”

“I gave you chances. I’ve been waiting all year!” Dante exclaims. “But you didn’t apologize. You didn’t see you had anything to be sorry for!”

I stare at him, paralyzed.

“See?” Dante exhales, the fight suddenly going out of him. He gives me a smile, faint. Sad. “You know I’m right, Jolene. We could have been something, but . . . it’s time we just moved on.” He backs away and then leaves, a silhouette in the dark.

I watch him go, stricken.

“But I love you!”

My voice echoes out across the dark quad.

He stops.

“I love you.” I yell it again, loud and certain. It sounds crazy, a last-ditch fight to make him stay, but every word of it is true. I catch up with Dante, moving so I block his way.

“Jolene —” His face twists, but I don’t wait to let him tell me no again. With my blood pounding in my ears, I take two quick steps toward him and reach up, kissing him with everything I have.

He freezes, motionless against me.

Nothing.

Slowly, my courage fades, and in its place, I just feel a deep flush of embarrassment.

What the hell am I thinking?

“I . . . I’m sorry.” I reel back, looking anywhere but at him. “I get it. You don’t —”

And then his mouth is on mine, arms locked tight around my waist. He kisses me hard, like it’s the end of the world, and there’s nothing left but us: lips and hands and hot breath against my cheek. I feel my whole body relax against him, overcome with relief.

“You mean it?” he says, finally breaking for air. He looks at me with an intensity that sets fire, bright in my chest. “You’re done with this bullshit? Because I swear, Jolene, I can’t watch you do this anymore. I just can’t.”

“I promise. It’s over.” I meet his eyes, trying to make him see that I mean it. “I don’t want to screw this up again. It’s not just you,” I add, hesitant. I don’t want to sound like I’m making any less of what he means to me, but this has never just been about him. “It’s . . . my life. I need to make it different this time.”

But Dante doesn’t take it wrong; he just breaks into a grin. “About time.”

He lifts me suddenly, swinging me around in a circle. I laugh, clutching at him in surprise. “Dante!” I swat his head. “Put me down!”

“OK.” He sets me down with my back hard against the car, and suddenly my laughter fades. I look at him, breathless.

“So we’re doing this?” I ask, still nervous. How is it even going to work? Just the summer before he’s back at college, trying to paste over the raw gaps we both left behind. There’ll be no hiding here: it’s all or nothing.

He leans close, touches his lips gently to my forehead. “Hell yes,” he whispers, and then that grin is back, and he’s kissing me hard enough to make me believe everything’s going to be just fine.

The library is almost deserted now, and even the security guard just waves me in with a yawn, barely moving from his seat by the front entrance. The building is eerily still: fluorescent lights bright overhead, and not even the usual hushed murmurs to be heard among the tall stacks. I try not to shiver. Quiet is good, especially when you’re about to “obtain” official identification cards, but I can’t help wishing for more than a few sleeping bodies slumped over their books for company. Although . . .

Slipping silently past the empty tables, I creep up behind one of the students — facedown in a large textbook, unmoving. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I carefully scope his desk: highlighters, note cards, and — yes! — the pale edge of his student ID card, peeking out from under his right elbow. I hover there for a moment, just to be sure, but he lets out a snuffle and then settles again, his breathing steady and slow. Perfect.

Leaning in, I reach for the card, easing it out from under him with the very tips of my fingers. Slowly, slowly . . . I hold my breath, tugging it closer until —

“Meg!”

I startle at the noise, knocking into the sleeping boy. He jerks awake under me, making a grunt of confusion. I leap back.

“Hey, I thought it was you!”

I whirl around. The boy from before, Scott, is hurrying down the stairs toward me. He looks tired but happy, his T-shirt wrinkled and his sandy hair all messed up. He comes to a stop in front of me, breathless. “You switched outfits again; I nearly didn’t recognize you. What are you?” He grins. “Some kind of secret agent?”

I gulp, glancing back at my target. He’s frowning, still sleepy, but beginning to register the noise.

“Whas goin’ on?” The boy yawns, looking around. I panic.

“Nothing!” I squeak, backing away. Scott opens his mouth, so I pull him after me, dashing into the library stacks until we’re out of sight, surrounded by tall rows of books and abandoned stepladders.

I catch my breath, leaning against a section of ancient philosophy. “Sorry,” I manage to say. “I was, umm, in the middle of something.”

“Should I even ask, or is this top secret too?” Scott raises his eyebrows. He peers around a shelf and scans the floor, hand above his eyes in an exaggerated gesture. He ducks back. “All clear. He’s napping again.”

“Thanks.” I relax. Then I think of the last time I saw him — and my less than polite exit. “Did it go all right, with those sorority girls?” I bite my lip, remembering their wrath. “Sorry I had to bail like that, but . . .”

“But they were pretty mad,” he agrees. “It’s OK. I threw down gossip magazines to distract them, and eventually they went looking for easier prey.”

I blink, but then the edge of his lip tugs in a grin, and I realize that he’s joking.

“Oh.” I laugh. “Good move. Although, maybe you should keep a spare
US Weekly
on you, just in case they come back. Or some diet snack bars.”

“Not that, you know, we’re making shallow assumptions about those fine members of the college community,” he adds, mock-serious.

“Of course not.” I grin.

There’s a pause. Scott tilts his head to look at me. I shift slightly under his gaze, but I’m surprised to find I don’t feel self-conscious in this dress anymore. I stand a little straighter. “There was this party,” I say, waving my hand vaguely. “I was . . . trying to impress someone.”

He nods. “So, what’s this latest mission you’re on?”

“I’m not sure I’m at liberty to tell you. . . .” I reply, but my voice comes out more teasing than I meant.

He laughs. “Well, if you need any help, I just finished up here for the night.”

“This late? Ouch.”

“Finals,” he agrees, looking briefly woeful. “So if you can give me any distraction at all . . .”

“Well.” I pause, but it doesn’t just seem like an empty offer; Scott hoists up his book bag and waits expectantly. “I need to borrow an ID to break into Westville dorm.” I tell him matter-of-factly. “In the next ten minutes or so.”

He stops. “Wait, you’re serious?” He laughs. “You really are a little criminal, aren’t you?”

I give a private smile, well aware of the irony. “That’s me,” I quip lightly. “Woman of mystery. So”— I stick my hands in my hoodie pockets and give him a cautious look —“can you help?”

“Sure,” he says immediately. “Use mine.”

“Great.” I let out a breath, relieved at the plan — and the fact that he doesn’t seem outraged by my proposal of minor fraud and deception. “You’re the best.”

“Can you put that on a sticker, maybe? Or a cap.” He grins, eyes crinkling behind those square, retro glasses. “Or just keep repeating it for the rest of my life.”

Oh.

I glance away, thrown by the sudden twist in my stomach and the bright look in his eyes. But that’s ridiculous; he’s a college student. He can’t . . .

I peek back. He’s lounged against the book case, and even with mussed-up hair and a faded old T-shirt, he’s still older and cute and a hundred times cooler than I’ll ever be.

That’s enough of that.

This time, it’s my own voice drowning out those insecurities, stern enough to make me giggle.

Scott raises an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” I tell him, trying not to blush. “So, let’s see this ID of yours.”

Once I explain everything, Scott insists on coming with me, even though I could just take the ID and return it later. “It’s fine,” he promises, strolling beside me. “I was planning to have some coffee and study straight through. Besides”— he gives me a look —“I kind of want to see if you pull this off.”

“We’d better.” I walk quicker. “That diary is too dangerous to leave laying around.”

“And then what, you’ll destroy it?”

“Somehow. Although, we used up all the lighter fluid already. . . .” I giggle.

“Uh-oh.” Scott elbows me lightly, just a nudge. “You’re going to be trouble; I can tell.”

The idea that I, Meg Rose Zuckerman, could ever be trouble — let alone a woman of mystery and intrigue — would have been laughable even a day ago. But now I smile to myself, hugging my arms around me as we walk.

We round the last corner. “Is your exam first thing, or —?” The words fade from my lips as I look up and see Jolene and Dante making out against the car. Seriously making out. He’s pressed her right up against the driver’s side, and his hands are slipped so high inside her jacket that I blush, just looking at them.

“Ummm, guys?” I start, hesitant. There’s no change. “Jolene?”

He brings his hands down to her thighs and then lifts her up; she wraps her legs around his waist, but before things can get R-rated, there’s a piercing whistle. We all look over. Scott lowers two fingers from his mouth. “Hey.” He gives them a casual wave. “We, uh, got the card.”

Jolene slips to the ground again, untangling herself from Dante’s arms. “Great,” she says, breathless. “That’s awesome!”

“Good work.” Dante gives me a sheepish grin.

“OK.” I’m trying not to laugh, but they look so dizzy it’s hard to keep a straight face. “How about we go ahead and break in, while you . . . umm, keep watch here.”

“It’s a plan,” Dante says immediately. He wraps his arms around Jolene’s waist, leaning his chin down on her shoulder; she relaxes back against his chest. “We’ll be, uh, vigilant.”

“I’m sure you will.” I smirk. Jolene looks happy, if such a thing were possible. Dante whispers something in her ear, and she swats him good-naturedly.

“I’ll turn the jammer on.” Jolene looks over as an afterthought. “So you — and Scott?— can take your time.” She holds up the remote control as evidence.

“I guess we’re up.” Scott grins, turning back to me. “You ready?”

I nod, determined.

There’s a wide walkway leading up to the dorm, but we approach from the side, skirting along the front wall to stay out of sight. I peer around, through the walled glass entrance. The old security guard is at his desk inside, watching something on the computer screen as he munches on a slice of pizza. Bliss is watching from her perch on a file cabinet behind him, slurping at a soda. I risk a wave. She glances up and catches my eye; I gesture. She nods.

“Let’s go,” I whisper to Scott, even though there’s nobody around to hear us. Taking a breath, we stroll around and approach the door in full view. Scott swipes his card. Nothing. He swipes again, miming in a big gesture. I step up beside him and knock loudly on the door.

The guard looks up. Scott waves his card and points to the scanner. Reluctantly, the guard puts down his pizza and comes to let us in.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” I say, heart beating quicker. “It won’t even beep.”

He frowns, swiping his own card through the machine, but there’s no response. “Come on,” he says with a sigh, waving us inside. I make it halfway to the elevator before he adds, “I’ll still need to see —”