A Night to Remember

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Kayla

I can feel the bass inside my bones, like a heartbeat that reverberates through my entire body. I start to sway my shoulders, feeling my hair sweep against my bare arms, and take another swig of my Miller Lite. All around me, my classmates laugh and shout and grind; Steven O’Connor’s graduation party has quickly devolved into a teenage mating ritual. But I’m not looking for a boy. I just want to dance alone, disappear into the music. That is, until a deep voice cuts through the surrounding chaos.

“I like your moves, Johnson,” Gabe Wilson says, clinking his bottle against mine.

“I have no moves, Wilson,” I laugh. “I just wiggle my hips.”

“That’s the part I like,” he says, starting to swivel his own. I like Gabe. Sure, he belongs to the snooty rich-kid set, but he never really seems comfortable around them. He always seems like he’d be happier with his sleeves rolled up, fixing an old Chevy Silverado, than pursuing the corporate law career his father is pushing him towards.

“I passed calc, by the way,” he says, coming steadily closer. “Thanks to you.”

“No way,” I reply. “You would have passed on your own, you were just looking for an excuse to hang out with me.”

“Guilty,” he responds with a grin. Honestly, it’s a wonder either of us passed. Gabe’s a smart guy, but he’s also a total goofball: I spent most of twelfth-grade calculus trying not to snort-laugh every time he leaned over my paper and whispered suggestively, “Hey… nice asymptote.” Studying together after school had led to hanging out at the diner where I work, which had led to…

…nothing. Thankfully. Sometimes I worry that he might want more, but he’s never asked me out. He’s never tried to kiss me. We’ve never gone to a dance together. We’re friends, that’s all. So what if I occasionally admire his warm amber eyes and broad shoulders? So what if a secret thrill runs through me whenever he playfully tickles me or slings a companionable arm around my shoulder? I didn’t want a boyfriend in high school. I don’t want one now that I’ve graduated.

But tonight this admittedly sexy goofball is edging his way towards me, slowly, as if daring me to stop him. He affects an over-the-top seductive expression. I laugh. Maybe it’s the beer, maybe it’s the music, maybe I just know I can trust Gabe Wilson, but I give him a look that invites him to come closer. He doesn’t need much encouragement. Slowly, he reaches out and lightly puts a hand on my hip, pulling me to him as the music continues to pulse.

And suddenly it’s not a joke anymore. My breath hitches when our hips meet. The smile falls away from his face as he slides his hand to the small of my back, holding me against him. He takes my other hip, gently but firmly, and I reach up tentatively to touch his shoulders as we ease into a rhythm. We’ve touched before. We’ve even danced together before. But this is different.

“You okay?” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. I nod, all capacity for speech having left me. I’m more than okay, even though I shouldn’t let a guy get to me like this. Normally I keep boys at arm’s length. I know that letting my guard down will only make me swerve off my path. I want to graduate from college. I want to be a writer. I want to make my own way in the world, and not be distracted by…

Gabe. Gabe is no ordinary teenage boy. With him, I never feel too smart, too poor, too tall, too anything. And my body has never responded to anyone else like this . My skin flushes; the bass that moved me before has now been replaced by the pounding of my own heart. I wrap my arms around his neck, every part of our bodies now touching. I run my hands through the bristly hair at the back of his head, breathing in his scent. Suddenly I feel his hardness against my leg, but instead of pulling away, I press more firmly into him. Would it be so bad to give in, just this once?

Gabe runs one hand up my back and fingers my bra clasp; the other traces a line from my hip to my rib cage. “God, Johnson, I’ve wanted this so long,” he whispers into my ear. There isn’t a hint of flirtation in his voice, only raw need.

“Me too,” I reply breathily. I’m realizing, very quickly, how true that is, and how ridiculous it was to dance around each other for an entire school year without acting on what is obviously a very strong attraction.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private?” he asks, his breath warm on my neck. Yes , every part of me shouts. But?—

“Aren’t you leaving tomorrow? For Italy?” My rational mind has just struggled back to the surface.

“Maybe my family would let me stay behind?” he murmurs, brushing his lips just below my ear.

“From the trip they bought you as a graduation present?” I force out.

“Well… there’s always the phone, right? And school breaks?” His grip on me tightens slightly, like he wants to wrestle me to the ground right here on this patio and is struggling to hold back. “Please, Kayla.”

He never calls me that. We’ve always been on a last-name basis, like we’re locker-room buddies. Hearing him whisper my name like that feels intimate. Tender. I melt into him. The hand on my back slides up to the nape of my neck, tangling in my hair. Then he leans away from me just enough to reach my mouth, which gives me the millimeter of space I need to slow. This. Down.

“I should find Allison,” I say, pushing him away slightly.

“Wha— who?”

Allison, my best friend. He knows who she is, of course, it’s just that his brain hasn’t come back online. Allison is adorable and flirty and fun and everything I’m not. She has a tendency to overindulge at parties, and the last time I saw her, she was hanging around the keg with three very untrustworthy football players.

“I’ll come back,” I promise.

“You’d better,” he replies, smiling a little woozily. “You’ve got me all worked up—maybe I should go find Allison.”

I swat him playfully on the arm. “Five minutes!” I shout. I move through the crowd into Steven’s house. I really am looking for Allison, but I’m also trying to catch my breath. Am I going to have sex with Gabe Wilson tonight? He would be my first, but there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? And Gabe didn’t balk when I suggested, like an idiot, that this could be more than just a hook-up. That’s crazy, though , I think, trying to talk some sense into my racing heart. No boyfriends, remember? No distractions.

I scan Steven O’Connor’s living room. Allison isn’t part of any of the couples locking lips on the sofa, nor is she one of the people obnoxiously taking pictures of them. Could she have gone upstairs with one of those guys? I hope not. Slowly my concern for my friend pushes thoughts of Gabe out of my mind.

I make my way up the carpeted staircase, calling Allison’s name. The first door on my right is closed. Based on the noises coming from the room, someone’s teenage mating ritual has progressed into full-on teenage mating. I knock softly.

“Allison? Is that you?” No answer.

“Alli?” I call more loudly.

“Urgh! No! Fuck off!”

O- kay . I take a deep breath. Door number two: bathroom. Puke on bathmat. Door number three: more teenage mating, but again (“ Shut the DOOR! ” my chem lab partner screams) not Alli. Door number four: weeping girls. Urgh.

“And so I showed a moment’s hesitation —I just really had to piss, you know?—and I come back and he’s making out with Mandy Sanchez. Like literally sucking her face off . She wasn’t even in the room when I left,” Chloe Gernsheimer rages.

“What a turd,” Sophie Bender says supportively.

“I know, right? Like how did that even happen? Did she just open the door and fall on his dick? Oh, hey, Kayla.” Chloe turns a weeping, red-eyed face towards me.

“Have either of you seen Allison?” I ask, barely stepping into the room to avoid getting embroiled in the drama.

“No, but did you hear about the total dick move that Ryan Hutchinson just pulled? He was talking to me all night and then I went to the bathroom for one minute ?—”

“Are you the one who puked in there?” I ask.

“—and now he’s probably still eating Mandy’s face,” she finishes, ignoring my question.

“I hope he gives her crabs,” Sophie says vindictively. “Itchy, creepy, blood-munching crabs. Right?” She looks to me for back-up.

“Well, actually, I don’t really think Mandy deserves—nope, forget it, I gotta go. I’ll see you guys later.”

As I extricate myself, I hear Chloe shout tearfully to the world at large, “What was I supposed to do ? Pee my pants so Ryan could eat my face? Give me crabs? Are these really my choices?” I head back down the stairs, shaking my head ruefully. This is why I avoid teenage guys , I think. Except for…

I lose my train of thought when I glance out the window on the landing. There’s Gabe’s Lincoln Navigator parked on the front lawn, and there’s… Gabe? And is that Allison? A petite blonde in a short skirt and heels clings to his arm, stumbling a little. As they reach the car, she turns so I can see her face. It’s definitely Allison. Is she flirting? Pleading with him? I can’t read her expression, but she is obviously drunk. I see Gabe take her firmly by the arms and push her into the car. What on earth?

My brain can’t read this situation. I stand frozen on the landing, adrenaline pounding through me. I will be deeply ashamed of it later, but my first thought is not Is Allison okay? but Does he want HER instead of ME? Chloe and Sophie’s conversation comes rushing back to me. Gabe is with Allison —Allison, who almost always has a boyfriend, who has no weird hang-ups about sex and dating, who would never string a guy along for a school year and then flee from him the moment he makes a move. Allison, who probably has no idea that I’m attracted to Gabe, who is definitely not in a position to make good decisions right now. Check on her , I tell myself, but I can’t seem to move quickly. I struggle through crowds of people to the front door, but by the time I finally get outside, Gabe’s Lincoln Navigator is gone.

I stay at the party a bit longer, hoping, I guess, that he’ll come back, but the longer I wait, the angrier I get. What the fuck was he even doing? And what the fuck am I doing? Waiting around for a boy who could derail my entire future? Getting jealous instead of looking out for a friend? Who am I?

By the time I get home and find my phone where I left it charging, I’m terrified. What if she’s not okay, and I’m the last person who could have intervened? If something terrible happens to her, it will be partly my fault. I see several texts and missed calls from Gabe, but ignore them. I text Allison. Wait. Text again. Wait. Text. Wait. Finally, I can’t take it anymore and risk calling my friend, even though I never call anyone. I jiggle my leg in fear and frustration as the phone rings and rings and rings.

“Mfph,” she answers on about the tenth ring of the third call.

“Alli, are you okay?” I ask desperately. “What happened to you?”

“Dunno. ’M okay. Seeping now. Love you, babe,” she slurs, then hangs up. So yeah, she seems… alive. I sit on the edge of my bed for a while, waiting for my heart rate to slow.

If I hadn’t danced with Gabe, I would have been there for her. If I had slept with him instead of leaving him to go find her, I would have lost my virginity—and likely my heart and my ambitions—to a boy who is no better than any other sleazeball at that party. I feel like I’ve dodged a bullet.

I block his number and delete him from my social media. When I see Allison at work two days later, she acts like her normal, cheerful self, so I don’t ask her again what happened. I don’t know how much she remembers, and I don’t want to embarrass her. I’m embarrassed enough myself. I don’t know how I could have been so wrong about Gabe Wilson.