Authors: Kiki Hamilton
The Last Dance (4 page)
“Thank you so much Coach.” I repeated myself several times. It was the only thing I could get out of my mouth.
“I’ll call your parents later and talk to them. Go over the game plan of what to ask these guys. But for now—get out of my office.” He grinned at me. “I think you’ve got another kind of dance to attend.”
“Yes sir. Thanks, Coach.” I hustled out of his office in a daze. I was going to play college ball.
A
fter the game, Shelby, Lily and I got dressed at Mira’s house, fondly known as the Mansion. Her father owned a software company that provided products to Microsoft. That’s why she lived in a big Tudor style house in Springwood, one of the nicest neighborhoods in town.
“Ivy, will you curl the back of my hair?” Shelby held the curling iron out to me. She was already dressed, wearing a gown the color of pink bubble gum with a halter strap neckline and BIG cascading skirts of pink tulle. Tall and thin, Shelby was painfully shy. Between her blond hair and pink gown I wondered if she knew she looked like Barbie come to life.
“Sure.” I shoved my last bite of Hawaiian pizza into my mouth. I wasn’t the most adept at using the curling device as my hair was about as straight as hair can get, but I rolled and released Shelby’s hair until ringlets hung all over her head in a pretty mess.
“Do you think I should stuff my bra?” Mira asked as she stood in front of a full-length mirror on the back of her closet door and shoved a sock down the front of her baby blue strapless dress. Her hair matched her dress. One side of her bodice stuck out in a lumpy sort of way making her look lopsided. “I’m so freakin’ flat you can’t even tell I’m a girl,” she complained.
“That’s not true.” I said. “You’re svelte, in a glamorous sort of way.”
Mira propped her hands on her thin hips and stared at me in the mirror. “What’s glamorous about being flat?”
“Keira Knightly’s flat,” Lily said, from where she stood in front of the adjoining bathroom mirror applying her tenth layer of mascara. She was still wearing her yoga pants and a ripped Griffin Eagles t-shirt, her red curls pulled back in a ponytail. Her dress of pale green silk hung on a hanger from the door behind her. Though she had been in dance programs since she was a toddler she still battled her weight and frequently complained about being a late bloomer. “She’s glamorous.”
“She’s British. That’s all you need.” Mira stuffed a sock in the other side of her dress. “Don’t you think I look better with a shape?”
“What if one of your socks falls out while you’re dancing?” I couldn’t help myself. My mother had drilled practicality into my head from a very young age. I took a bit out of a new piece of pizza. “That could be sort of… um. mortifying.”
Lily giggled. “But memorable.”
“Yeah, what if some cute guy asks you to dance and your sock slips and suddenly your boob is coming out of your stomach?” Shelby snorted with laughter. “I think you should wear them just to see what happens.”
Mira yanked the socks out of the front of her dress. Her dress sagged slightly over her small chest. “You’re right. Better not risk it.” She raised her eyebrows at me and I knew what she meant was that she didn’t want to risk looking stupid in front of Q. I wanted to remind her that Q was going with a date and wouldn’t even know she was there, boob-in-the-stomach or not, but why burst her bubble?
I finished putting on makeup, which was minimal—a little eyeliner, a little mascara— and pulled on my dress.
“Oohhhh, Ivy.” Shelby had caught my reflection in the mirror where she was now painting her lips bubble-gum pink. Her blond ringlets swung as she turned. She stared at me with glowing eyes. “That gown is perfection on you.” She strode over and lifted the shimmering lavender overskirt making the sequins and beads glitter in the light. An underskirt of deep purple made the top layer seem that much more ethereal and magical. The gown was strapless with a beautiful wrap that matched the overskirt. “It’s so fancy—” she hesitated. “I’d never guess you’d pick a gown like that. You’re usually so—”
“Practical?” I said.
“She didn’t pick it.” Mira called in a muffled voice from inside her closet where she was pulling on her boots. She poked her head out the door. “I picked it. It’s her Cinderella gown and she’s going to meet her true love at the dance tonight.”
Even though it was a joke, there was a tiny part of me—one I barely let myself acknowledge—that wished it were true.
T
he mood was more than festive at the Homecoming Dance—it was exhilarated. Nothing like a last second win to pump up a crowd who didn’t need pumping up in the first place. Ollie and CJ had scored some Jose Cuervo so we had a few shots to loosen us up before we entered the gym where the dance was being held. Laurel looked fantastic in a short black strapless dress that barely held in her curves, which was fine by me.
Even I had to admit that Laurel had changed in the last twelve months. She used to be kind of shy and sweet, but after she made the cheerleading squad in her junior year and we started dating—she definitely gained some confidence. The clothes she wore now emphasized her figure and showed off body parts that just seemed to get bigger and better, if you know what I mean.
I surveyed the crowd. The theme of the dance was A Night in Paris and the gym was decorated with what looked like a million sparkling stars glittering from the ceiling. The decorating committee had hired CJ’s dad to build this really tall, 3D lighted Eiffel Tower which looked amazingly real from a distance. Especially after a few shots of Cuervo.
“Let’s get our pictures taken by the Eiffel Tower now, Kellen.” Laurel tugged at my arm. “You know, in case we want to leave early
,
” she added with a seductive whisper. That was all it took to get me on board. The photographer had this fake black moustache glued to his lip and an outfit that I guess was supposed to be from the turn of the century, like he was some French artisté. But it did the trick, because he looked so cheesy it was easy to smile.
The flash of the photographer’s camera was still bright in my eyes, obscuring my vision, when Laurel chirped in my ear, “Want to dance?” We had a real band, a group of seniors who’d been playing together for a few years, and the dance floor was packed. I kept blinking away the light residue but it took a full minute for my eyes to clear.
“Nice game, Kell!” Brian Matson called over, giving me a fist pump. His girlfriend gave me a warm smile. Really warm.
“Your arm was on fire tonight—way to stomp the Bobcats, bro.” Johnny Tuiasosopo, our big Samoan tight end, waggled his little finger and thumb as he gave me the hang-ten hand sign. His long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and hung longer than most of the girls here tonight, but his family was like football royalty in Washington, in both college and pro ball, and included several well-known players. There was never any question about his athletic talent.
“Thanks, man.” I jerked my chin at him and instantly regretted it as pain lanced through my brain. I wished the Cuervo would stop the kick-ass headache that was trying to split my head open. So far it only seemed to be making it worse.
“Kellen.” Emma slid up close to me, winking at Laurel, before she rubbed against my arm. She was wearing a short red dress that showed off her legs and from my perspective, a lot of cleavage. “You’re my new hero. Awesome game tonight.”
‘Yeah, thanks, Em.” I pressed the heel of my hand into my right eye and rubbed my forehead. Damn, I did not feel good.
“Go find your own boyfriend, Emma.” Laurel laughed as she pulled Emma away from me. They’d been cheerleaders together the last two years and were good friends.
Rid of Emma, Laurel danced with enthusiasm in front of me. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other but the music reverberated through the gym, rattling my head. I scanned the doors trying to decide which one I could sneak out if I needed to take a break from the noise. I was so tired it was all I could do not to just lay down right there on the floor.
The band kicked into one of my favorite John Mayer songs. Even though the song had a fast beat, Laurel slid into my arms and pressed against me, burying her face against my neck.
“You want to slow dance, don’t you?” she whispered.
I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy the moment but my head was pounding so hard it felt like somebody was running a drill hammer on my skull.
I stumbled and Laurel caught me. She gave me a suspicious look. “Have you been drinking?”
“Who me?” I gave her a lazy half-smile, faking my innocence, because she knew damn well I had. But not enough to be staggering.
She stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “Why wasn’t I included?”
“Social piss, remember? All the girls had to go at the same time.” I shrugged, holding my hands out from my sides. “That’s when the booze showed up.”
Laurel had the grace to smile at that, because she knew it was true. Sometimes the girls would be in the bathroom together for thirty freakin’ minutes. Doing what, no guy knew. Nor did we want to know.
“What’ve you got?” she pressed. “Beer?”
“Tequila,” I replied. “To kill ya. And it’s not mine. It’s CJ’s.”
Laurel had her hair up in an elaborate hairdo that was cemented into place with hairspray. I was starting to feel sick to my stomach and for a second I wished her hair was down so I could close my eyes and bury my face in the softness.
“Do you think he’ll share?”
I shrugged, wondering why the tequila was bothering me so much. We’d gone to dinner before we came to the dance. I had plenty of food in my stomach and hadn’t had that much to drink. “Probably.”
“Let’s go then.” She smiled up at me, her eyes full of promises. “I’m ready to party.”
Fresh air and less noise sounded good to me. At the moment, however, the look in her eye was more than I could handle.
“CJ’s over there with Ollie.” Laurel pointed across the room. “They’re talking to Ivy League and her lesbian friends.”
I could see CJ in his black tux all slicked up for the dance. He had his hair in corn rows and his earrings sparkled in the light. Dressed like that you couldn’t see the tattoos that lined his arms with a few sprinkled on his chest and back for good measure. He was surrounded by four or five girls who looked tiny next to his tall frame. Pink, blue, and green dresses—they blurred together and looked like sugary pieces of candy. I shook my head to clear my vision. One girl had even dyed her hair to match her dress. That took some nerve.
A blond girl in a very large pink dress moved and I spotted the girl who Laurel had been talking about. Her gown was darker, almost iridescent, and fell in simple lines to the floor. With her tan skin and cloud of dark hair she looked exotic and mysterious. With a start, I realized I knew her. She was in my AP English class.
“Why do you always call her Ivy League?” I asked. “Her last name is Ly.”
“Because she’s a geek, that’s why.” Laurel motioned with her hand as though she was shooing a bug away. “And of the eighteen hundred kids in this school, Ivy Ly will probably be the only one who’ll get into an Ivy League school.” Laurel’s nose curled. “It’s just what she is.”
“What do you mean?” For some reason my brain was in slow motion tonight. “She’s in my—”
Laurel sighed and rolled her eyes before she cut me off. “I mean she’s just so Ivy League. She’s a bookworm, music major, and a math geek all rolled into one. Haven’t you ever noticed? She’s a walking stereotype.” Laurel tugged at my hand, pulling me through the crowd toward CJ. “And she came to the dance with three girls. Explain that.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have a boyfriend and wanted to enjoy the last Homecoming dance of high school.” I let Laurel drag me across the floor. “I really don’t think that’s any big deal.” Frankly, I didn’t care about the geek girl. I just wanted my headache to stop. The stars overhead were glittering in a freakin’ weird way. I squinted, trying to focus on them.
I wondered if I was going to throw up when puke suddenly spewed out of my mouth. The next moment the gym floor came rushing up at me in the most impossible way. I heard Laurel shriek, “Kellen!” before my forehead smashed into blackness.
T
he dance was crowded when we arrived. The gym had been transformed with glittering lights and a giant Eiffel Tower stood in one corner. Old streetlamps were lined up to form walking paths and umbrellas were strewn about the floor as if a rain shower had just passed. It was wonderful.
I’d always dreamed of going to Paris and the sight of that glowing Eiffel Tower and the sparkling stars hanging from the sky made me oddly giddy inside—like there was magic in the air.
We’d barely got in the door when I heard a stunned voice say, ‘Ivy?’
I turned and there was Brandon, staring at me with his mouth half open as if I’d grown two heads. I did a quick check to make sure I wasn’t having a wardrobe malfunction but he managed to recover and croaked, “You look beautiful.”
My cheeks started burning and for a second I had a total out-of-body moment like I’d never met the guy before. He wore an elegant white silk tie with his tux instead of the standard bow tie he had to wear to the orchestra concerts, and apparently he’d gotten contacts because the black frame glasses he usually wore were gone tonight.
“Oh, hi Brandon.” I made a point of looking around so I didn’t stare at him with the same shocked look he had on his face. I’d never seen him look so good. “Where’s Jenny?”
He jerked his head away as if he’d just realized he was devouring me with his eyes and pointed toward one of the other doors. “Bathroom.”
“Oh.” I pointed across the gym. “The Eiffel Tower looks good, doesn’t?”
‘Yeah, Charlie Jackson’s dad made it. Supposed to be an accurate scaled down version.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. “They’ve got a photographer that’s supposed to look like—”
Mira grabbed my arm. “Hey, Brandon. C’mon Ivy.” The next thing I knew we were headed across the gym. The band started playing another song and the sounds of their electric guitars filled the gym.