Chapter 26
HENLEY HOUSE
ME
Can’t wait to see you tonight
Hey you! Are you on the way?
7:14
Let me know your ETA
7:16
Just so I can plan for it
7:18
We may not have time to get dinner now so maybe get something on the way
7:45
Starting to worry about you, everything okay?
I look down at the phone in my hand. I last texted Jonah twenty- seven minutes ago. The dance started twelve minutes ago.
I can’t text him again. It’s already pathetic, but that would be too pathetic.
Still, I edge up to the window of my bedroom, peek through the curtains, hoping to see his blue Honda Civic pull up in front. Sorry I’m late, I was stuck in traffic. Had a flat tire. Had to help a family of ducklings get across the highway.
I’d take any of them.
My body has been on high alert all day long.
For three days, actually—since I invited him to come, since he said yes.
Yesterday at school, during the game, today while doing my hair and makeup, I’ve been bouncing my feet, fidgeting, wandering around in a dreamy fog.
Because I was going to be in a room, finally, with Jonah.
I was going to show up at the dance with him.
I could picture us, framed beautifully in the doorway as everyone stopped to look.
Is that Iris Henley? Who’s that boy with her?
For one thing, we could change the news cycle.
For another … I could finally see what it felt like to touch him. To put my hand in his and see what it was like to feel his skin on mine.
But now I know I’ve made a terrible mistake. A terrible, embarrassing mistake.
I look back up through our chat history: What time should I get there? What color is your dress? Do the guys at your school do tuxes or just suits? And then, this morning, one last message from him: See you tonight.
Nothing since then, though. And now my guts are plummeting through my body in freefall as I wonder: Was this always going to be some kind of joke? Was he ever planning to come? Did I scare him off?
Is literally everyone in the world fucking with me?
I can hear Noelle’s music in her room. She’s not going, of course.
It’s so strange how she has the guts to dress up in all kinds of wild, formfitting costumes, but she’s too self-conscious to put on a formal dress for a dance.
Does she have to pretend to be a different person before she can make an effort?
Or is it just not fun if she doesn’t have superpowers?
Maybe I’ll take a page out of Noelle’s book, and take off this dress and crawl back into bed. No one wants me at that dance, and the one reason I wanted to go has obviously stood me up. So why bother?
But then I see headlights. A car! Finally a car, pulling up just outside our fence.
From here it looks like a compact sedan.
I take the stairs two at a time and land right in front of the door, just ahead of my mom.
I give her a back-off look before I turn the doorknob, and she holds up her hands, then vanishes into the kitchen.
I take a deep breath and pat the back of my head to make sure my hair is still up in its twist.
Then I open the door.
The man who stands on the mat is in his forties or fifties, graying at the temple, glasses perched on his nose. I freeze in place, all my hopes and expectations shriveling up inside me.
He glances politely at the number on the house. “Is this the home of Iris Henley?”
“Yes, that’s me.” I can’t quite muster a smile, but I do fight off the tears threatening my eyes. “Can I help you?”
He holds up a small plastic container before pushing it at me. “Delivery.”
It’s a wrist corsage. Three pink roses, arranged in a wristlet. There’s a note attached to the top of the container. Family emergency. I won’t be able to get to Varda tonight. I’m so sorry, Iris. I know these will be beautiful on you. I will make it up to you.
“Th-thank you,” I mumble to the delivery guy before shutting the door.
I stand there for a moment, the little plastic box light in my hands.
A family emergency. Well, that could mean anything.
It could mean sick grandparent, parent in a car accident.
Could mean someone was kidnapped or that the house caught on fire or that everyone was abducted by aliens.
Or it could mean, Hey, I decided dancing with a potential murderer wasn’t that appealing after all.
But maybe that’s just the paranoia talking. Isn’t that what Rockytruther wants? For me to feel alone? Like I can’t trust anyone? There’s no good reason to believe that this was ever supposed to be a prank. If it were a prank he wouldn’t send a wristlet.
I pull out my phone and open the chat with Jonah.
ME
Don’t answer this if things are too chaotic right now, but I just got the flowers. They’re beautiful. I’m disappointed you won’t be here to see in person … but I hope you and your family are ok. We’ll talk when you are able.
Then I go to my room to check my hair and makeup one more time before I leave.
The juniors are usually in charge of decorating for homecoming, but there’s only so much you can do with a high school gym.
The air still smells like chalk and rubber, and the scoreboard is a big blank face overhead.
Still, the shiny metallic streamers and paper lanterns give the place a softer, dreamier feel.
You can squint your eyes and make out a hint of transformation on top of everything familiar.
When I step in it’s not the big entrance I’d imagined—no cute boy, no sudden needle scratch—but right away I see my girls, standing at a high cocktail table draped in white linen.
Sophie’s in a short sequined dress that shimmers when she moves.
Next to her Billy Schultz watches her with puppy-dog eyes, and I smile, realizing he hasn’t gotten the memo that they’re just “going as friends.” Hayden’s in a dark green dress that hugs her curves. She sees me looking and waves.
“Where’ve you been?” she shouts over the thrumming bass. “I was starting to think we were going to have to come and drag you out of the house. You look amazing, by the way.”
“Thanks!” I hug her, careful not to crush her flowers or her hair, and then turn to do the same with Sophie.
Thank God I didn’t tell anyone about Jonah—I’d be making excuses and answering questions all night.
Even Sophie and Hayden would be demanding more info.
As it stands I can glide into the dance without looking like an enormous loser.
Well. Without looking like more of an enormous loser.
People are still watching me cagily, giving me a wide berth.
A few girls smirk from the snack table, leaning in to whisper to each other when I look their way.
Javier Rodriguez keeps aiming his phone at me without even trying to hide it. Everyone’s eyes are still on me.
But by and large, most people seem wrapped up in their own dramas.
Stephen Dawes and Lacy Smith are on the dance floor, and their bodies are pressed so close together they can barely move to the music.
A few feet away Lizzy Hernandez is shouting something at Braden Nederbrock, who is gesturing angrily back at her.
And there’s Olivia Chambers in a dress that more or less breaks every Varda High dress code on the books, leaning over and trying to get the DJ’s attention.
It’s a big night. Everyone wants to be the main character of their own story—so, they have less energy to pay attention to me.
That’s when Carter appears at the table, trailed by a couple of his buddies. His jaw is clean-shaven for once, his hair slicked back. He flops an arm heavily around Hayden’s shoulders, and she snuggles up to his side. It’s pretty clear he’s been pregaming.
“We gonna dance, or what?” he asks. Then he notices me there, and his eyes go wide. I wonder if he’s surprised—or just enraged. It’s hard to tell. But does he expect me to stay home? Does he expect he’ll never bump into me again?
Does he really think that I murdered his best friend?
“You,” he says. I take a step away from him as his finger jabs against my chest. “Why’re you here?”
“Well, Carter,” Sophie cuts in before I can answer. “She goes to this school, so she comes to the dances.” I see Hayden shrink a little.
Carter either acts like she hasn’t spoken, or he’s so drunk he can’t focus on her enough to listen. But his eyes are locked on me.
“You’re always around. I’m just so sick of you.” Hayden cranes up to whisper something in his ear, but he shrugs her off. “Why didn’t he just … why didn’t he just break up with you? What did he see in you, anyway?”
The laugh that comes out of me is almost cruel in its despair. “Oh, Carter, I wish I knew.”
He tries to focus his eyes on me. His pupils are cavernous, and I wonder if he’s on something besides just cheap whiskey. Hayden whispers something else to him, and this time he lets her lead him away to the dance floor. She tosses an apologetic look back over her shoulder and gives a little shrug.
I put my elbows on the table next to Billy and Sophie, the roses bright against my freckled skin. “Well. That sucked.”
“She has got to dump him,” Sophie says, watching them stagger to the dance floor. “He’s a nightmare.”
“He’s been drinking a lot lately,” Billy says. He’s a soft-spoken boy with shaggy hair and a sweet drawl. I’m not used to hearing him speak up in a group, even a small one. “More than he used to. We’ve all been trying to get him to lay off.”
“Maybe you should stop,” Sophie says. “Maybe you should just let him crash and burn.”
Billy shakes his head sadly, but then the music changes and Sophie’s eyes light up. “I love this song,” she says. She looks at me. “Want to go dance?”
“Not yet,” I say. “You guys go ahead.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but I know her—she can’t resist when it’s a beat her body wants to move to.
So she takes Billy by the hand and leads him out on the floor.
They look really cute together—her small nimble body finding the rhythm, and his lanky form shifting almost lackadaisically next to her. I watch them and smile.
Then I feel a pair of hands at my waist.
There’s a split moment where I think the word Jonah. He made it after all. He’s here to surprise me.
Then I angle my head around and see that it’s Bryce.
He’s grinning like a panting dog, his cheeks flushed. “Hey there, beautiful.”
I’m stuck between him and the table, so I can’t just discreetly step away. I have to grab his hands and pull them away from my waist. “You startled me.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he murmurs. He doesn’t take the hint to back off; he’s still standing, firm and heavy, just behind me. He smells like beer and citrus and sweat. “Unless you like that kind of thing.”
“Um, what do you…”
He leans the slightest bit closer, his mouth against my ear now. “Come on, Iris, give me a chance here. It’s not like you’ve got a lot of options.” He gives a sour laugh and gestures around us. “I’m the only one who even wants you now.”
Adrenaline flushes through my limbs, but I don’t want to do something that’ll make a scene. I don’t want the cameras on me again, tracking my every move. I think of all the things I could say, the ways I could say them, but I’m somehow frozen. Tears prick at the back of my eyes.
“Hey, Henley!” The voice is male, familiar, coming from my left.
I look up and give a double take. Max. Max in a rumpled black suit, hands in his pockets, like a lounge singer after a set.
He doesn’t even look at Bryce. Instead he gives me a searching look, though the rest of his expression is deadpan.
“Been looking all over for you. Can I cash in that dance you promised me?”
I feel Bryce shift his weight—not much, but enough that I can squeeze out from between him and the table. I try to move carefully, but I can’t take Max’s hand quickly enough. “I’d love to. Thanks.”
Before I turn away to face the dance floor, I catch a glimpse of Bryce.
His fingers are clenched at his sides, like for all the world he’d love to hit someone.