Chapter 5
Iris
The knock on my front door startles me out of my freak-out.
I yank it open, breathless, to find Layla, stunning in a pink dress that hugs her curvy figure and flatters her skin tone perfectly.
Meanwhile, I’m still in sweatpants with my makeup half done and my hair looking like I lost a fight with the brush.
“Well, clearly someone’s having a fashion emergency,” she says, stating the obvious.
I groan, stepping aside to let her in. “I’ve tried on everything I own, and I think I officially hate all of it.”
She gives me a sympathetic look while I sit on the couch with my face in my hands. I know it’s stupid, being so worked up over this, but I can’t help it.
“I’ve never been to a dance before. How am I supposed to know what to wear?” Layla sits beside me, rubbing her hand over my back.
“You never went to any dances?” she asks, like that’s the most tragic thing she’s ever heard.
I sit up straight to look at her, shaking my head. “I didn’t have many friends in high school. Or date. It felt stupid to go alone.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got a best friend now who’s dragging you to one.”
“Against my will.”
“Please. You love it.” She smirks. “Besides, I hear there’s a certain handsome football coach who got roped into chaperoning tonight…”
“I don’t know what that has to do with me.”
She stands, heading toward the bedroom like she’s been here a thousand times. “Sure you don’t. Now come on. Let’s find you something that says, I’m a responsible adult, but also, look at me, Coach Wesley. Kiss me.”
“I hate you.”
When we walk through the doors to the gym, it’s almost unrecognizable. Lights reflect off glittering streamers, and cheesy balloon arches are set up around the room.
Music comes through large speakers at the bottom of the stage, where students are gathered in clusters on the dance floor.
It’s not quite loud enough to drown out the buzz of conversation, but enough to make the floor vibrate beneath my flats.
I hover near the entrance, glued to Layla’s side, who has already spotted several students and faculty she knows before we’ve even made it through the door.
“See?” she bumps my shoulder. “I told you. Chaperoning dances is fun. Especially when you’re not trying to impress a date or praying you don’t spill food on your expensive dress.”
“Give me five minutes,” I reply, “There’s still plenty of time to humiliate myself.”
She rolls her eyes and tugs me forward. “Iris, you look amazing. You’re gonna be just fine.”
I’m not so sure about that.
Layla lets go of my arm and heads straight for a group of other teachers, launching into conversation with an older woman I’ve only ever seen in the science hall.
I hang back, hovering on the dance floor, unsure of what to do with myself.
I scan the room for familiar faces from my classes, spotting the homecoming king and queen dancing together, their plastic crowns identifying them.
When I look back toward Layla, she waves me over to introduce me to the other teachers, I’m sure.
I know I should make more of an effort with the rest of the staff, but it’s always been hard for me to make friends. Layla and Nate have made it surprisingly easy, but that’s very much not the case most of the time.
I make my way toward Layla and the other teachers, dragging my feet, when I hear, “Ms. Patel!” over the sound of the pop song playing.
Addie is headed straight for me.
She’s all pink in a dress, the exact shade of her hair, bubbly as ever, while her friend following her seems uncomfortable in a dress a size too big on her full frame.
“Hi, Addie, you look beautiful!”
She beams. “Thanks, so do you! I wanted you to meet my best friend, Emily. Emily, this is Ms. Patel, my art teacher, the one I was telling you about.”
Emily doesn’t seem impressed, frowning as she crosses her arms. “You’re the one who made Addie cry.”
“She did not make me cry. I just—” Addie starts, flustered. “I got emotional about my project, okay?”
I nod, understanding completely. “Art can do that to you.”
Emily raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced, but I catch the amused twitch at the corner of her mouth when she looks back at Addie. I’m glad she has someone looking out for her.
Her art made her seem so alone.
“You came to the dance,” Addie says, changing the subject with a bounce on her heels. “I didn’t think you would.”
“Me neither,” I admit. “But Mrs. Carter talked me into chaperoning.”
Addie gives me a quick once-over. “You don’t look like a chaperone.”
“Thank you, Addie. That actually makes me feel better,” I say genuinely.
At least, according to Addie, I don’t look like that much of a mess.
We chat for a few minutes, mostly about the photo booth and how they’ve already taken three sets of pictures. Emily pretends to be above it all while, I think, secretly enjoying Addie’s energy.
They’re sweet together.
It almost makes me forget, for the time being, how anxious I am.
Until Addie stops telling her story and elbows Emily, nodding behind me.
When I glance back to see what they’re looking at, I see Nate Wesley standing by the doors, looking our way.
“Um…” Addie starts, but I’m barely listening.
He looks really good in a button-down blue shirt that I’m sure brings out his eyes up close.
When I look back at Addie, she’s giggling. “I think Coach Wesley thinks you look pretty, too, Ms. Patel.”
“Addie, stop,” Emily warns, already exhausted by Addie’s meddling.
“I sure do,” a confident voice says from behind me.
I turn to find Nate standing right there, his hands tucked into his slacks, and his hair a bit wind-swept, but still styled in a way that makes him look so—
And I was right. That is definitely his color.
Addie gasps, while her friend groans, but Nate just tips his head to them in acknowledgement. “Ladies.”
“Hi, Coach Wesley,” Addie chirps, clearly delighted.
“Y’all enjoying the dance?” he asks, the girls responding yes in unison, but his eyes haven’t left me. And something about the way he’s looking at me makes my skin feel too tight.
I remember our moment last night on the field.
It was sexy, seeing Nate coach the team. He was in control the entire time, even when they were down by several points.
He wasn’t freaking out.
He was focused.
Confident.
And after the game, when they won, and I saw him down on the field with his team and a bright smile on his face, I couldn’t stop myself from walking down to the field.
I had to see him.
“You look nice,” I say, trying to keep it light, even though my cheeks already feel warm.
He looks me up and down. “You clean up alright yourself.”
I scoff, even though I feel like squirming under his attention. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“‘Course it is,” He responds, still looking at me like I’m the only thing in the room worth noticing.
The DJ shifts to a ballad, and the lights dim, students pairing up with their dates on the dance floor. I turn back to face the girls, but they’ve left.
I’m not sure how long they’ve been gone.
Nate nods toward the dance floor. “You want to?”
“Want to what?”
“Dance.” He responds, like it’s obvious.
“Oh, I… Nate, I don’t dance.”
“Sure you do, everybody dances.”
“I don’t.” I cross my arms over my chest, looking down at the shiny gym floor. “I’m not good at it.”
“That’s okay,” He offers his hand, palm up. “I’ll show you.”
My heart is pounding so loud it’s drowning out the music while I scan the room, searching for some sort of excuse to get out of this. I find Layla still in the group of teachers, her hands waving around as she talks.
I point to her. “Layla was actually calling me over—”
“Seems like she’s good,” he gestures back over to her, where she’s giving us a thumbs up.
Thanks for nothing, Layla.
His fingers close around my clammy ones, warm and firm as he leads me onto the dance floor, through the couples and clusters of teenagers standing in groups, until we get to a space off to the side.
“Just follow my lead.”
Nate places one of his hands on my waist, holding mine in his other one, and pulls me close, while I cling to his muscular arm.
We move in a slow side-to-side motion, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body through the fabric of my satin dress.
It feels like something out of a dream, dancing with Nate.
“You’re good at this,” I tell him honestly.
“Been told I’m alright. Back in the day, anyway.”
“Back in the day,” I repeat, “What are you, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”
“Thirty. Old as dirt.” That makes me laugh, and he grins like that’s all he wanted.
The song playing is slow and romantic, and I let myself sink into the moment.
I know I shouldn’t, but I imagine that Nate knows me completely and still chooses to hold me in front of everyone.
That the ease and the warmth wouldn’t go away.
The way he’s rubbing his thumb up and down on my waist-
It wouldn’t go away.
“You know,” he starts, pulling me closer, tighter in his grip in a way that has the butterflies in my stomach going wild. “I was playing it cool in front of the girls. But right now, I gotta tell you…”
He leans in, his mouth right against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, “You are just about the prettiest thing I ever seen in that dress.”
“You… You really think so?” I ask, my voice nothing more than a squeak.
He pulls back far enough to look at me, meeting my eyes. “I know so.”
It’s almost too much, feeling these things, trying desperately not to name them.
But my body catches up before my brain does.
My hand wraps around his tie, and he tilts his head slightly. I mimic the movement until our breath mingles together, our noses brush. I want to kiss him so bad, more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything.
But I can’t.
When he realizes that I’m not going to, he closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against mine, and that feels more intimate than his hands on my body.
“You make it real hard to be a gentleman, Darlin’,” he says with a puff of air, making my lips part.
But then he pulls back, his hands staying on my waist, reluctant to let go. “Thanks for the dance.”
“Okay,” I force out.
We stay like that for the longest moment of my life, and just before he walks away, he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.
It’s small, maybe nothing to most people.
But to me, it feels like everything.
Layla appears a moment later, holding two paper cups of punch. I take one look at her, and I can tell she knows exactly what happened.
“Don’t say anything,” I warn.
She passes me a cup. “Who, me? I’m just here to hydrate you. You look a little flushed.”
“Layla.”
“Iris.” She mocks, causing us both to burst into giggles.
I take a sip of the lukewarm punch and watch, across the dance floor, where Nate is talking with a group of students. He looks happy, relaxed, exactly where he belongs.
I wish I belonged there, too.