Chapter 2 Prom And Principles #3
“No, Mom. I don’t need protection. This is going to be just like any other date Weston has ever taken me on. There’s no reason to get all worked up about it. Let’s face it: I’m about as wild as an elderly woman whose highlight of the week is perusing the romance section of the bookstore.”
Mom has no clever comeback for that. She just lets out a dry chuckle and says, “Perusing,” with an air of mockery.
I’m right, and she knows it. There’s nothing to be worried about.
Weston and I will dress up nice, go to prom, dance, and laugh, and have a good time together.
It will be lighthearted and fun, and the trickiest bit will be enduring all that social interaction.
The only thing I’ll have to worry about is introducing myself to strangers and draining my introvert batteries.
But even then, Weston assured me we can leave whenever I want—and we’re under no obligation to attend After Prom, which is the next phase for extroverts who don’t need things like sleep and sanity.
Mom may have a point—all guys might be the same.
But Weston is different.
WESTON
“Seventy bucks plus tax to rent a tux for one night? It’s times like these when I wish I had an older brother to steal clothes from.”
Rudy laughs from the passenger seat of my truck. Two plastic-sleeved clothing bags hang in the backseat, swishing noisily at every stop sign.
“Maybe you should’ve bought a tux and split it four ways with your brothers,” Rudy suggests. “That way, they’d all get a turn wearing it when they get old enough to go to prom.”
I snap my fingers. “Good idea. Except Henry’s already taller than me, so I doubt he’d get much use out of it.
” I tap on my directional and swing into the parking lot of the florist shop.
With our formal attire taken care of, Rudy and I are now in pursuit of corsages for our respective dates.
It’s totally antiquated and borderline ridiculous, but according to my mom, it’s still the custom.
I pinch my nose to stop myself from sneezing the minute I walk in the door. Flowers are everywhere—stacked in vases on floor-to-ceiling shelves, crowded on table displays, and filling refrigerator cases.
“Can I help you guys?” asks a tall young woman with blonde hair. She’s standing behind the counter, wrapping up a gift basket of flowers in cellophane.
Rudy steps forward to brief her on our mission. “We’re going to prom; we need corsages.” A very brief brief.
“Absolutely,” the florist says with a sunny smile. “Right this way.”
She leads us over to a refrigerator case filled with little bundles of flowers in every color imaginable. Some have ribbons, beads, and sparkly stuff—it’s like an ice-cream bar with too many flavors to choose from.
“What colors are you guys looking for?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.” Turning to Rudy, I ask, “Does it have to be a specific color?”
Before he can answer, the florist says, “Usually, you try to match with the color your date is wearing.”
I frown, trying to figure out how Tessa will match her corsage to the color “her date” is wearing when that date is me, and I’m wearing a black-and-white tux.
“But we’re both going to be wearing tuxedos,” I say, gesturing between me and Rudy.
The florist’s eyebrows rise like she wasn’t expecting to hear that, but she nods and smiles understandingly. “Oh! Okay, well, what color ties are you guys wearing?”
Rudy blinks, looking utterly confused. “Uh… blue.”
“Red,” I reply.
“So… you two want to match each other?”
I squint at her for a second before the realization hits me—and I can’t help but burst out laughing when it does. “He’s not my date!”
“He’s not my date,” Rudy adds, shaking his head like the florist just accused him of taking an orangutan to prom. “We’re not going together.”
I’m cracking up too hard at this point to see the florist’s face when she realizes her mistake. Rudy punches my shoulder to make me knock it off and says, “We’re supposed to match the corsages to our dates’ dresses. What color is Tessa wearing?”
“No idea. She refuses to tell me anything about it. But I’m guessing it will be pink. Light pink. It’s her favorite.”
The florist selects a corsage made up of tiny pink roses and a few sprigs of lavender. Good enough. Rudy texts Clara to find out what color her dress is; it turns out to be blue.
We pay for the corsages (which luckily don’t break the bank like the tux rentals did), and the florist advises us to store them in the refrigerator until prom night.
Back in the parking lot, I stop Rudy before he can get into my truck.
“Hey, Rudy?”
“Yeah?”
I grin, extending the little plastic to-go box of pink flowers. “Will you go to prom with me?”
He responds by giving me an affectionate whack on the head. “You’re such an idiot.”
Tessa texts me hours ahead of time to let me know when I should pick her up. I’ve already given her the rundown for the night: dinner out with me, her, Rudy, and Clara, and then onward to the dance, which is being held in the gymnasium at my high school.
Her grandparents gave her permission to bend her curfew tonight as long as I bring her back home before midnight. The idea of bent curfews and all-nighters immediately gives me flashbacks to Neil Fergeson’s gibes from the locker room a few days ago.
No girl’s parents would be worried about you taking their daughter to prom.
I remember what Tessa said when I asked her what her grandparents would think if I kept her out all night.
They trust you… because they know you’re not like other guys.
Not like other guys.
Not
like
other
guys.
My knuckles tighten around the steering wheel as I try to shove that squirming, pansy-ass insecurity to the back of my mind. Rudy’s right—Ferg is a moron, and so are all the guys who hang out with him.
I shouldn’t care what they think of me.
I don’t.
Not tonight.
I pull into Tessa’s driveway at five thirty and snatch the corsage from my passenger seat before hopping out of the truck. After knocking three times on the front door, I take a deep breath and summon my most heart-melting smile, holding out the corsage.
When the door starts to swing open, I blurt out, “Hello, beauti… ful.”
Mr. Dickinson stands in the doorway with a friendly pastorish grin on his lips. “Hello, Weston.”
The corsage zips back to my side. I clear my throat awkwardly, heat blazing through my face. “Uh, hello, Mr. Dickinson. I thought you’d be Tessa.”
“She’s almost ready. Come on in.”
I step into the foyer and turn at the sound of thunderous footsteps racing down the stairs. Tessa’s mom, Heather, flies over to crush me in a hug and tell me how handsome I look.
“Tessa’s on her way down.” She whips out her phone, apparently having planned to film this moment. It feels like a rehearsal for our wedding. “Okay, sweetie, you can come down now!”
It’s just a school dance—something I’ve always thought was overrated and overpriced—but I’d be lying if I said my heart doesn’t lift into my throat with anticipation as Tessa walks down the stairs.
First, all I see is a glimpse of swirling gauzy fabric through the spindles of the stair railing—flashes of her shoes beneath the hem of her skirt.
It’s light pink, just as I thought it would be. And it’s covered in flowers. And she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
I’m paralyzed—speechless—as she stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks at me, a smile lighting up her eyes as she takes me in. Her hair is twisted into an updo, tiny sprigs of lily of the valley tucked in between her golden curls. Even from five feet away, she smells incredible.
Heather laughs behind her phone, which she’s still using to film us. “Well, aren’t you gonna say something, Weston?”
Tessa blushes and groans, “Mom,” in a way that sounds embarrassed—but she’s smiling too much to be embarrassed.
I shake myself out of my stunned daze and step closer, taking her hand and looking down into her beautiful eyes.
“Wow,” I rasp, my gaze sliding over the curve of her sparkly cheekbones, the gold chain around her throat, the ruffled edge of her neckline. “You look… breathtaking.”
I don’t know if this is the right moment to kiss her—with Heather filming and her grandfather watching a few feet away. But I can’t help myself. This close, I can almost taste the scent of lily of the valley, which reminds me of the summer I first fell in love with her.
I lean down and capture her lips in a kiss G-rated enough to be immortalized on her mother’s photo roll.
When I straighten back up, she’s looking at me like she wants me to kiss her again.
A hundred times. The feeling is mutual, but there’s a time and place.
For now, I give her the little plastic container with the corsage inside.
Tessa gasps when she sees it. “Did Mom tell you what color my dress was?”
I shake my head, giving her a wink. “Nope. Just a lucky guess.”
TESSA
High school prom couldn’t be more different from a Regency ball. But I would feel like a princess on Weston’s arm no matter where he takes me.
He is my safe place—my lifeline in a sea of strangers as we weave through the vast, low-lit gymnasium strobing with purple lights and pulsing with dance music.
Apparently, we showed up late and missed the popularity contest that kicked off the night—the whole “Prom King and Prom Queen” ceremony.
I laugh into Weston’s ear that the royal couple looks utterly ridiculous in their bejeweled crowns and sashes, and he agrees.
Secretly, I’m glad he’s not popular enough to win such a trivial competition.
We hang out with Rudy and Clara, though a few other students occasionally rope Weston into conversations.
Some such students are girls in shimmery dresses who tell him they voted for him to be Prom King, which leads to Weston introducing them to me, which leads to insincere smiles and quick departures on their part.
Clara leans into my ear at one point and says, “You have no idea how jealous they are of you.”