The Anti-Prom (28 page)

“Quick, Brazil is about to score!” Bliss cries. From this angle, I can see that he’s streaming a soccer match on one of the computer screens. The guard glances back, torn.

“Here!” Scott takes the opportunity to wave his card in the guard’s face. He glances at it for a split second.

“Oooh!” Bliss cries out with excitement. “That was so a foul!”

With a quick nod at us, the guard hurries back to his station. “What did I miss?” he demands, as Scott hustles me into the elevator. I hit the button, and finally the doors slide shut.

“Oh my God.” I cling to him, breathless. “That was close!”

“He barely looked at it!” Scott exclaims. He looks down at me, laughing, and I suddenly realize I’m still holding on to him, pressed warm against his chest.

“Right.” I quickly let go, blushing. “I, umm . . .”

The doors open.

I step out into the hallway ahead of him, forcing myself to take a deep breath.
You’re not clear yet,
I remind myself. There’s still the matter of Jason to navigate — who could be poring over the diary at this very minute.

“Which way now?” Scott gets his bearings. There’s mess from the party still scattered all around: garbage bags littering the lobby, and bottles stacked in recycling boxes outside every door.

I check the map on the wall. “Room 318, that-a-way.”

“Lead on.”

With the dorm so quiet now, there’s nobody to stop us from making our way quickly through the hallways to Jason’s room. I stop outside and assess: the door is shut, no light coming from inside.

“Do we knock?” I wonder.

“And ask politely for it back?” Scott asks, pressing his ear against the door to check for noise.

“Good point.”

Besides, aren’t I past the point of asking politely — standing back and waiting for something to be given to me? Isn’t it time I reach out and take what I want myself?

Putting my hand to the doorknob, I carefully turn. It’s open. “Shh,” I tell Scott softly, easing the door wide enough to slip into the room.

It’s pitch-black inside, with the drapes pulled shut and nothing but dark shadows all around. I feel Scott edge in behind me, closing the door behind him to block the hall light. We stand silently in the black for a moment, until my heartbeat slows again and my eyes adjust to the dim.

The sound of light snores is coming from the corner.

“Here.” Scott’s voice is quiet in my ear, and then there’s a pale flicker as he takes out his cell phone. “Do you know where it is?”

I nod, before realizing he can’t see it. “They said they left it on the bedside table,” I whisper back. His arm brushes mine, and I shiver.

Scott takes his phone and sweeps the room, casting a bluish glow over objects in turn until he lands on Jason’s body, slumped unconscious over his bed with a paper party crown crumpled on his head.

“I don’t think we need to worry about him waking up anytime soon.” Scott laughs, his voice returning to normal, but then there’s a sound from the far corner. We freeze.

“Jase?” a male voice slurs from the floor. A head pops up on the other side of the room, adorned with his own crown. “Isthatyou?”

I gulp, lunging for the dark, squarish shape beside Jason’s bed. My hands grope in the dark, feeling my way for something hard and booklike.

“Yup,” Scott says behind me, trying not to laugh. “Just go back to sleep, buddy.”

“Mneughh.” The body slumps back down, just as my fingers close around pages and a leathery cover.

“I think, maybe . . . ?” I hold the book out to Scott, anxious. He shines his phone over the pages, and in the faint light, I can just about decipher a girlish scrawl. “Yes!” I breathe, full of relief.

“Come on!” he whispers, grabbing my free hand and pulling me out of the room. I barely have time to shut the door behind us before he pushes me down the hallway, sprinting toward the elevator. We collapse laughing against the back wall, and then I realize. He’s holding my hand.

This time, I don’t let go.

“The outfit . . .” Scott begins, when we’ve both caught our breath. “You said you were trying to impress someone.” He looks straight ahead as the elevator slowly descends. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” I say quietly.

“Oh.” His hand loosens in mine.

“But it turns out he wasn’t worth impressing,” I add.

“Oh.” The grip tightens again.

I grin.

And then, because adrenaline is still sparkling in my veins, because tonight I’ve done things I never thought I’d have the courage to do, and because — most important of all — I suddenly want it so badly I forget how to breathe, I turn around and kiss him.

My lips bump awkwardly against his at first, but before I can feel clumsy or embarrassed at all, Scott pulls me closer, kissing me properly. His lips are warm against mine, hands gentle on my cheeks. I fall against him, giddy.

Now
this
is perfect.

We meet back at the car — Jolene and Meg both grinning like cats who got the cream. Or, you know, the cute boys.

“Great.” I sigh, looking between the happy couples. “Now I’m the third wheel. Or is that fifth?”

Meg blushes, shyly holding that Scott boy’s hand. I size him up for a moment, but he’s gazing at Meg with such clear adoration, I can’t even hold those indie sideburns against him.

Jolene isn’t so coy. “Get over it,” she tells me, one hand in Dante’s back pocket. “You’re the one mourning your lost love, remember?”

I stare at her blankly.

“Uh, Cameron, remember him?”

“Oh, right.” I pause, thrown. After everything tonight, he feels like a stranger — someone from a different life.

“So, we’ve got the diary back.” Jolene yawns. “What’s left?”

“Food,” Meg announces immediately. I laugh. “What?” she protests. “Theft and deception is hungry work!”

“There’s a diner just off campus,” Scott suggests, looking around for approval. Meg bats her eyes up at him, lost, while Jolene shrugs, Dante still wrapped around her. Clearly, they need someone to take control before they all melt into a sickening pool of hormones.

“Let’s go!” I declare, shooing them into the car. “Dante, get your hands off her for, like, two minutes. You’re the only one who can drive this old thing.”

We make it to the diner without any more public displays of affection, piling into a huge red leather booth in the corner. The place is bright, full of early-morning truckers and students recovering from the night before.

“Hash browns, and waffles, and sausage, and maple syrup,” Meg tells the waitress, practically swooning over the menu. Scott grins, still holding fast to her hand.

“Need any help with that?”

Meg shakes her head so fast, her hair spins out. “Get your own!”

“Just coffee for me, black,” Dante says. He slips out of his seat and heads for the corner jukebox. A second later, the twang of an old country song begins to play. “
Jolene, Jolene . . .
”

Smooth.

“If I’d known you were so easy to crack, I’d have called him in a long time ago,” I tell her.

“Shut up!” she protests, but there’s no bite in her tone. Jolene nods at the small book on the table between us. “You know what you’re going to do with it yet?”

“I was thinking a ceremonial shredding.” I decide. “Every last page.”

“But there’s still Kaitlin’s dirt in there,” Meg points out. “You could keep that.”

I shake my head. “I’m done with her. All this stupid bitching . . . I’m better than that.”

“And so modest, too,” Jolene elbows me. I yelp.

“Just for that, I’m stealing all your bacon,” I inform her, sending a longing look at the kitchen. Then I stop. “No way!”

I blink, staring at the group of goth girls crammed into a table by the door. But I’m right: it’s her. My cousin, Selena, in thick black eye makeup and a black strappy corset, her hair twisted into sharp spirals. All this time I’ve spent trying to be as perfect as her, and it turns out, my sorority cousin isn’t so image-perfect after all.

I laugh, waving across the room. She looks confused, and then worried, and then finally she raises her hand and gives me a tiny wave back.

“What?” Meg cranes her neck around.

“Nothing.” I turn back to my table with a grin. Maybe my mom won’t be freaking out so much about the feud with Kaitlin. At least I don’t have a metal bar spiked through my nose.

“Did you see the flyers by the door?” Dante returns, pushing all of us tighter together. “Okkervil River is playing out by the lake tomorrow night.”

“You mean tonight,” Jolene corrects him. He rolls his eyes at her, she sticks her tongue out, he leans forward, and then I interrupt before it all descends into make-out city again.

“Let’s go,” I suggest as the waitress begins to dispense vast piles of food in front of us. I inhale the carbs. Heaven. “After we’ve had, like, ten hours’ sleep I mean.”

“Sounds good to me.” Scott reaches for the home fries. “My last final will be done.”

“I don’t know.” Meg bites her lip. “My dad —”

“Leave him to me,” I promise.

“And my mom . . .” Jolene adds, looking up from her bacon.

“Trust me,” I insist, snatching a piece from her plate and settling back in the booth. I look around, happy. “This is going to be an awesome summer.”

Thanks as always to my wonderful agent, Rosemary Stimola, and the fabulous team at Candlewick: Liz Bicknell, Kaylan Adair, and Tracy Miracle, and everyone else who worked to make this book possible.

Thanks also to my mum and dad, and the friends who offered ceaseless enthusiasm and advice: Veronique Watt, Elisabeth Donnelly, Darinka Aleksic, and Narmada Thiranagama. Thanks to Tyler Ruggeri for the support, and Will Sheff for writing “Unless It’s Kicks.”

ABBY MCDONALD
is from Sussex, England. Since graduating from Oxford University in 2006, she has composed teen magazine quizzes, interviewed rock stars, and bounced back and forth across the Atlantic so often that the airlines should give her automatic upgrades (she wishes). She is now based in London, where she writes full-time.