Chapter 12 Harper
Harper
“…It was absolutely embarrassing.” I pause dramatically.
“I think you’re reading way too much into it.”
I shoot my best friend a glare through the screen of my phone, doing my best to remain casual. “I am not reading too much into it.”
“Mmm.” Macy hums, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. “You might be. Boys are dumb, Harper. They do dumb shit. I’m sure Easton wasn’t even thinking—he was focused on practice.”
“So not true,” I snap. “He was thinking. He saw me. And then he skated away like I wasn’t there.”
My throat tightens. I didn’t tell her any of this at the ice rink—but I’m making up for it now, saying all the things out loud that I felt an hour ago.
Macy exhales through her nose, shifting her phone so I get a dizzying glimpse of her bedroom ceiling. “Maybe he was nervous.”
I scoff. “Easton? Nervous?”
“Or avoiding you,” she amends, shrugging. “Which, fine, is also a dick move. But maybe he didn’t know what to say.”
“Um—hi? He could have said hi! Like a normal person!” Sheesh, as if it’s hard to have manners?
Macy winces. “Valid.”
“I know.” I flop onto my back. “It was humiliating.”
“Dial it down a notch, ma’am—it’s not that deep,” Macy says, but not as confidently as before. “Maybe he just—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt, holding one of my hands up to stop her. “Don’t try to make it better. It sucked. And it made me feel like crap.”
Macy sighs. “Okay, fine. It sucked. He sucked.”
“Thank you.”
A pause. I don’t want to dwell on this any longer, so I say, “Change the subject.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Show me your dress again.”
“Eh?”
“Your dress,” she repeats. “We’re manifesting here. I need another look at the outfit that’s gonna make every guy at prom—including a certain idiot—eat their hearts out.”
I let out a huff, feigning protest. “It’s literally the same dress as the other times you’ve seen it.”
“Doesn’t matter. Let me see it.”
“Fine—twist my arm.” I launch myself from the bed and go to the closet to retrieve my dress, holding it up for her so she can ooh and aah appropriately.
“Literally put it on, I want to see how it fits.”
Macy has in fact seen me in the dress twice already, but you know what they say: Third time is a charm.
“Isn’t it bad luck to keep putting it on before the big night?” I’ve already tried it on, like, ten times.
“No—that’s weddings. It’s bad luck for a groom to see the bride.” She rolls her eyes.
I hesitate, glancing at my gorgeous, spectacular dress.
Macy’s excitement is contagious, and part of me wants to see how it looks again, even if I told myself I wouldn’t keep touching it. No good comes from being impatient. The last thing I want is for it to get dirty.
Or god forbid something happens to the delicate fabric, like beads or sequins falling off.
“Okay. But if I split a seam or something, I’m blaming you.”
All too eagerly, I peel off my comfy outfit. I step into the gown with caution, giddy with anticipation, wishing I had someone to zip it up the back but not wanting to call my dad upstairs.
My best friend grins, eyes sparkling. “Hurry up, I’m waiting.”
I prop my phone on my desk, adjusting it so she gets a clear view. Carefully, I tug at the zipper, which I get only halfway up my back—I can’t reach it all the way. Partway will have to do. It slides over my skin perfectly, like a glove.
I smooth my hands down the front and turn to face Macy.
She gasps—as I expect her to. “Oh. My. God. You look incredible! Should I put my dress on, too?”
“Yes!” I do a little shimmy, letting the dress flicker and flare. “Uh, how is that even a question?”
Macy’s face is lit up with excitement and she claps a few times to punctuate her sentence.
“Yay! Let me grab mine! Give me a sec.”
For a few moments she disappears from view, leaving me grinning like an idiot—a very shimmery, well-dressed idiot.
I glance at myself in the mirror—my dress looks amazing, fitting perfectly. For the first time, I feel like prom night might actually be as magical as I imagined it would be back when I first started daydreaming about it, long before Easton came along.
Seconds later, my bestie reappears on the screen, grinning as she holds up her own dress—a gorgeous deep lavender-blue that suits her perfectly, bringing out the natural glow of her skin and the warmth in her eyes when she holds it against her body.
“I’m putting it on. Don’t go anywhere!” she tells me.
“I’m not. Where would I go in a prom dress?” I giggle, shaking my head. I watch as Macy props her phone on her dresser.
She changes quicker than I did since her dress isn’t as stiff and structured.
Within minutes, she’s back in front of her phone, twirling and striking poses like a supermodel on the runway.
The fabric flows effortlessly with her movements, gleaming under the bedroom light, and for a moment, I’m almost jealous of how princess-like it is.
“Look at you!” I cheer, unable to contain my excitement. “You look amazing!”
“You think so?”
“Of course I think so. It’s seriously fabulous! Totally fab—”
Three quick knocks tap on my door and I halt. “Harper?”
My heart almost flatlines. That is NOT my dad’s voice. Not even close.
I freeze, eyes locked on my bedroom door as the voice says my name again. It’s unmistakable; the realization slams into me like a freight train: Easton Westermann is in my house.
In my house!
I whip around to my phone, eyes wide with Pure. Unfiltered. Panic.
Macy’s face immediately registers my distress. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? Who is it?”
“It’s Easton!” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down, even though my pulse is screaming in my ears. “At the door!”
“Why?!”
I think I’m gonna faint.
He knocks again, and suddenly the only reasonable option seems to be hiding in my closet. Or climbing out the window.
Not in this dress, you don’t…
“Harper?” he says through the door. “Your dad said I could come upstairs. Um. Is that okay?”
“What in the flipping hell is he doing there?” Macy whisper-hisses, arms flailing.
“I have no idea,” I whisper-hiss back, scanning my room as if I might find a way out of this nightmare. I consider the window again.
The dress suddenly feels too tight. Too formal. Too heavy.
Too everything.
Oh.
My.
GAWD!
“I knew it was bad luck to put this stupid thing on.” My hands fumble, trying to get the zipper down so I can get this dumb dress off. “Why did I let you talk me into this!”
“Do not blame me for this!” she argues, the tiny butterflies on her shoulder straps mocking me.
There’s another knock. “Harper?” Silence. “You in there?”
He’s pressing his ear to my door, I just know it!
Macy is delighted by this. Practically buzzing. Who wouldn’t be? This tea is piping hot.
I stare at her, wide-eyed, mouthing, What do I do?!
She just shrugs, thoroughly enjoying my meltdown. “Stick your head out the door and tell him to leave.”
Leave? Hell no!
“Macy, I don’t want him to leave!” The confession slips out of my mouth before I can stop it. Even though I have no clue why he’s here, I’m surprised by how much I do not want him to leave.
Also: I don’t want him to see me like this—caught in the most absurd, embarrassing situation ever—but the idea of making him leave and missing this chance to talk to him feels worse.
Macy’s eyebrows shoot up. “I see how it is. I was right! You’re totally into him.”
“You are not helpful,” I grind out miserably, pressing my palms to my flaming cheeks. “Help me! What am I supposed to say?!”
Macy snickers again.
“Maybe start with ‘Hey, I’m not ready yet. Gimme five’?”
“Right. So I don’t act like I’m casually putting on a prom dress for fun.”
I mean, let’s be real. How often do boys show up at my house unannounced? Answer: Never. I’m not the kind of girl who has guys hanging around, stopping by, or messaging me all day long. My phone isn’t constantly blowing up with notifications, and I’ve never been the girl guys pursue.
But tonight?
Easton is here. In my house. Knocking on my bedroom door.
I am not letting this thrill go to waste.
I want to know what it’s like to be that kind of girl.
Easton lurks outside the door. I can hear his feet shuffling against the carpet.
“Hey. Harper?” I realize with horror that he’s not just knocking—he’s actually trying the door handle. “Is everything okay?”
“Don’t come in!” I shout, immediately regretting the volume of my voice. This is every bad dream I’ve ever had in the history of bad dreams coming true all at once, minus the dream where I’m naked in front of my AP English class.
He jiggles the door handle again.
I am seriously going to kill him.
“Would you at least say something?” He pauses. “I know you’re in there.”
“I’m fine!” I lie, my volume increasing ninety decibels. “Just give me a second!”
In a desperate attempt to salvage what little dignity I have left, I dash to the closet, yank open the door, and grab the first thing I see—an oversized hoodie. Brilliant, right?
Wrong.
I try pulling it over my dress, but it’s a disaster from the start. I immediately get stuck, thrashing like a trapped animal, trying not to snag the dress fabric, instead managing to tangle myself in the hoodie’s arms.
Oh, and the hoodie is dirty. And it smells. I kind of want to just curl up and die inside it, a shell of the woman I was ten minutes ago.
“Harper, seriously, what’s going on?” Easton’s voice drips with concern now, which only makes everything so much worse. “Do you need help?”
Has he never heard of a little thing called privacy? What if I wasn’t wearing any clothes?
“I’M FINE!” I shout back, my voice embarrassingly loud. “For the love of God, Easton, can’t you just wait?!”
I don’t hear him move away.
What does he think I’m doing in here? Napping?
I tug at the hemline of my hoodie, successfully managing to yank it down over the front of my dress, the universe finally on my side. Unfortunately, I look ridiculous.
Sequin-covered skirt sticking out from the bottom of a sweatshirt I bought from a secondhand store? Hair jutting out in a thousand directions? Not a good look for me.
“Is he still standing there?” Macy asks.
“No idea.”
Macy pulls a face when she gets a glimpse of me. “Girl, take that sweatshirt off. You look chopped.”
I know!
“I don’t want him to see my dress!” I tell her. It feels like bad luck.
Macy is laughing so hard I’m surprised she isn’t rolling on the floor in her dress.
“Okay. I’m doing it.” I’m going to be brave and stick my head out. I am brave. “Deep breath.”
“I’m sorry, but this is amazing,” my bestie whisper-giggles, wiping tears from her eyes.
I take a deep breath, count to three, and pray that miraculously, I can survive this day without dying of humiliation.
I tiptoe toward the door and take one last deep breath. Turn the knob and peek my nose through the slightest crack.
“Yes?” Um. “Hello, sir. May I help you?”
WHY ARE YOU HERE?
Easton gazes back at me, gawking. “What is going on?” He tries to look over my head and into my bedroom. “Did I interrupt something?”
Yes.
He one thousand percent interrupted my dignity.
Easton continues to squint at me, gaze roaming from my face to my hoodie to my skirt, bouncing around like a pinball. Homes in on the sparkles of my bottom half.
“Are you wearing a dress?”
Technically I am wearing THE dress, but he doesn’t have to know that.
“Yes. I was cleaning out my closet.”
“Oh. Well. I came back ’cause I wanted talk to you about before.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall adjacent to my room.
“Before?” Just go away so I can put my clothes back on!
“At the rink.” He looks bashful and self-conscious.
I nod robotically. “ ’Kay. Give me a second. I, uh—have to change.”
“Want me to wait downstairs?”
YES! Obviously!
“Please. Give me, like, five minutes.” Or ten. “Ask my dad how to get into the garage. Be right there.”
If I can get this dress off without tearing it or splitting a seam.
Easton gives me one last assessing glance before ambling back down the hallway from whence he came, eliciting a loud sigh from the place where my phone is propped.
Shit.
Macy is still listening.
“Wow,” she breathes. “You dodged a bullet.”
I sigh, gingerly attempting to pull the sweatshirt back over my head, doing my best not to snag any sequins.
Macy flops onto her bed, crossing her legs, also still in her prom dress. The layers of fabric puff around her as she props her chin in her hand, eyes twinkling with amusement.
“I knew it,” she crows, raising an eyebrow at me. “He’s totally into you. Harp, he showed up at your house. That boy is waving a green flag. It’s so cute that he regrets being a dumbass.”
I’m too nervous to laugh.
With my friend watching, I delicately pull the hoodie off. The dress. Saunter to my closet and pull out a fresh T-shirt—one that fits—and black bike shorts.
“You’re so adorable when you’re flustered,” Macy teases.
I slip on my shorts, sucking in my stomach as I yank them over my thighs, hopping to squeeze myself in.
“I guess.”
Macy watches me with a knowing smile, fluffing the skirt of her massive lavender dress. “I have to text Marcus about this. We’re, like, matchmakers!”
I wince. She doesn’t know that the reason Easton has been hanging around lately is because I’m forcing him to, and there is no way I’m telling her. If I let Macy in on the secret, she’ll tell Marcus, and by tomorrow, everyone at school will know everything.
My stomach drops. “Macy—do not.”
I catch her wicked grin before her screen pauses. “Too late.”
“Why are you the worst?!”
“I’m the best,” she corrects me. “And when Marcus confirms that Easton is down bad for you, I’ll accept your apology.”
I sigh, brushing invisible lint off my shorts. “If I kill you, do I have to go to prom alone?” I give my chin a tap with the tip of my finger.
Macy gasps dramatically. “Harper Conrad. Violence?”
I grimace at the thought, snatching my phone off the nightstand and glowering at her. “Cool it with getting in the middle, okay? Easton and I are just friends.”
Friends.
The word sits awkwardly in my mouth.
Macy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue. Instead, she smirks. “Who knows, Debbie Downer—he might end up asking you to prom.”
Magic 8 Ball says: Most likely.
Because that was the original plan.