Chapter 2 Prom And Principles #6
I turn up the volume on our playlist and thread my fingers through Weston’s, happy to be held by him.
We don’t kiss much after that. Instead, we talk about prom, laughing over silly moments we witnessed, while I marvel at the bizarre customs of public schoolers.
In conclusion, I give the entire experience three out of five stars.
“Wow,” Weston says. “Generous.”
“I would’ve liked it better if it was just you and me,” I admit. “What fun that would be, right? Like that scene in Pride and Prejudice, where Lizzy and Darcy are dancing together at the ball, and suddenly everyone is gone, and it’s just the two of them? That would be so perfect. Prom for two.”
Weston chuckles. “For me and you?”
I nod, grinning up at him. “Mm-hmm. And we wouldn’t play any of that mainstream pop music. We’d play romantic oldies like this.”
I reach over to crank up the volume on “Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Simon and Garfunkel, and in that moment, it feels like our song. We both fall silent, listening to the music—my head on his chest and his hand cradling my waist.
When the song finishes, there’s a beat of silence. And in that breathless quiet, Weston whispers, “I love you, Tessa.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat and squeeze his hand. “I love you too.”
WESTON
As I sit in the front seat of my truck with Tessa in my arms, I’m overwhelmed by every stroke of luck that brought us together. It’s nothing short of a miracle. She’s nothing short of a miracle, a lifeline pulling me back from the edge of self-doubt and stupid fears.
Her goodness makes me ashamed of the way I acted in the school bathroom when Ferguson confronted me. How dumb could I have been to cave in to his taunts? To let that squirming voice of insecurity get the better of me? I envy Tessa’s ability to not give a crap about what people think of her.
She makes me realize I don’t care either, deep down. All I care about is what she thinks of me. All I want to be is worthy of her love, worthy of her kisses, worthy of unraveling her beautiful hair in the moonlight.
Sure, every other couple parked at Hickley Point might be getting hot and heavy in their cars right now, but Tessa and I aren’t like every other couple. She’s different. I’m different. We’re different together, and it’s not a bad thing.
As we drive back towards town, I notice that my truck is running low on gas. Tessa says she doesn’t mind if I swing into the gas station to fill up. I park at a vacant pump and hop out, but before I shut the door, Tessa says, “Oh, could you also grab me a bottle of water? I’m so thirsty.”
I wink at her. “Thirsty for me? Water won’t fix that.”
She lets out a righteous little scoff, rolling her eyes. But she’s grinning.
I feel ten feet tall as I pump the gas, then stride across the parking lot into the convenience store to buy Tessa a bottle of water.
The guy at the checkout is unfazed by my tux, which makes me think I must not be the first senior prom attendee who’s stopped here tonight.
I take out my wallet to pay for the water, and that’s when I realize…
my wallet is the only thing in my pocket.
The insurance policy is gone.
My stomach plummets to my shoes.
Did it fall out in the truck?
I whip out a ten-dollar bill and slap it on the counter with a hurried, “Keep the change!” In a flash, I grab the bottle of water and race back out to my truck—heart pounding, armpits sweating—and swing open the driver’s door.
I don’t even glance at Tessa. I just shove the water bottle in her direction and start frantically searching the driver’s seat and floor mat for the little foil-wrapped package.
Damn it, damn it, I should’ve thrown it away when I had the chance.
“Did you lose something, Weston?” Tessa asks, her voice low and uninterested.
I brush off the question with a nervous laugh. “Yeah, uh, no—it’s nothing, really. Just, uh…”
It’s gone. It’s gone.
“A condom?”
I look up so fast I bash my head against the steering wheel. But I can’t even process how much it hurts because Tessa is holding the foil wrapper between her fingers, betrayal written all over her face.
For an excruciatingly long moment, I can’t speak. I’m dumbstruck, staring at her, wanting so much to say the right thing. But brilliantly, all I can manage is: “You… weren’t supposed to see that.”
It’s not the right thing to say.
Tessa narrows her eyes at me, holy hellfire sizzling behind the blue. “When were you planning to use this, Weston?”
God help me.
I don’t know how to explain. How to make her see that I didn’t even want to take the stupid condom; it was forced on me. I had no choice, right?
But I did.
And I’ve never been more ashamed of myself.
“Look,” I begin, my voice wavering. “It’s not what you think. It’s not even mine.”
Tessa frowns, suspicion and disbelief twisting her brow.
“Okay, it is mine. But it’s not like I have more of them at home or something. I just… happened to have that one tonight because—”
“Tonight?!” Tessa bursts out, cutting me off. “Because, what? It’s senior prom, and that’s what all the guys do?”
Damn it, what can I say? I’m afraid if I open my mouth again, I’ll just keep digging myself deeper and deeper into this hole.
“So that’s why you were trying to talk me into having sex with you,” Tessa says, throwing the insurance policy down in disgust.
“I wasn’t trying to talk you into having sex—”
“Oh, so you just thought I’d want to?” she fires back. “You figured I’d go along if I knew it was safe?”
“No—no, Tessa, that’s not how it was at all. I wasn’t planning to use it, okay? I was gonna throw it away—”
“Of course you were. After I drew the line.”
“No, I was gonna throw it away before that. Hours ago, right after I got it.”
Tessa squints at me, because this makes no logical sense when I say it out loud. “Then why would you get it in the first place?”
“Because…” The explanation dies in my throat.
I should tell her the truth. But the truth is an ugly, complicated, twisted thing—something I don’t want to admit because Tessa will see how spineless I am.
How much of a pansy-ass I’ve been. Trying to protect my manly ego.
Trying to fit in with the locker room guys.
To not be the “holy virgin” on top of being the guy without legs.
I can’t tell her all that. I’m too mortified.
So instead, I just stand here, like an idiot, and say nothing.
Tessa finally scoffs and sits back hard in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I guess my mom was right,” she murmurs, voice thick with tears. “I guess all guys are the same.”
It cuts when Tessa says that. It cuts to know this is how she sees me.
Like every other stupid, horny guy who has no self-control.
Like Ferg and the locker room losers. All this time, it’s been bothering me to not be “one of them”—bothering me because I didn’t fit in, didn’t belong.
But now, hearing Tessa lump me in with that group… it’s horrible.
All this time, I didn’t want to be seen as different. An outlier. An outcast.
But God. Right now, I would give anything to make Tessa see me as different. Her kind of different.
“Take me home, Weston.”
Just like that, the discussion is over. There’s nothing else I can say. I have no good excuse for what I did.
It was wrong.
I slide into the driver’s seat and start my truck—my knuckles white around the steering wheel. We drive back to Tessa’s house in silence. I feel sick to my stomach the whole way there, angry enough to kick myself.
When I pull into Tessa’s driveway, she doesn’t kiss me or even say goodnight. She just gets out of the truck and runs to her front door in her fancy ballgown—looking like a princess with a broken heart.
TESSA
Mom is the only one still awake when I walk through the front door. She turns away from the reality TV show she’s watching to cast me a smile. But the smile dies as soon as she sees my expression.
“Tessa, is something wrong?”
I shake my head firmly, quiet rage boiling in my chest. “No. I’m fine. Just tired. I’m going to bed.” Before she can ask any more questions, I pivot and go upstairs—heading straight for my room.
I shut the door quietly so as not to disturb Grandma and Grandpa, who are asleep down the hallway.
Nervous energy buzzes in my veins as I turn on the lamp beside my bed, pull my nightshirt out of a drawer, and feel around for the zipper on my dress.
I need a mirror to see what I’m doing, but when I catch sight of my reflection…
I lose it.
A silent sob wrenches out of me as I take in my beautiful gown covered in flowers. My undone hair, messy from Weston’s fingers unraveling my braids in the darkness. My corsage, still tied to my wrist, pink petals matching the fabric of my dress.
It all breaks my heart because it’s so perfect.
This whole night was perfect—before I found that thing in Weston’s truck.
Now my face crumples with furious tears, and all I want is to forget all of it. I reach behind my back to grab the zipper, jerking it down. It’s stuck. Mom helped me put this dress on, and I didn’t consider the difficulty of taking it off on my own.
I struggle in silence for a moment, mascara beginning to run down my cheeks as I fight with the zipper, then—
A soft knock echoes through my bedroom door.
“Can I come in?” Mom asks.
I sniff, swiping tears off my face, but only succeed in smearing my makeup. Instead of replying, I cross the room and swing open the door.
Mom’s eyes widen in dismay when she sees what a wreck I am. “Sweetie, what happened?”
I swallow a sob, not ready to spill the awful truth. “I can’t get this stupid dress off.”
Mom wordlessly turns me around, gently brushes my hair aside, and unzips the back of the gown, letting it pool around my ankles. I step out of the gauzy pile of fabric and reach for my oversized nightshirt. It’s one I stole from Weston, but I don’t have the energy to look for anything else to wear.