13. CHAPTER 13
“You figure out who you’re going to homecoming with yet?” Lacy asked Easton, twirling her mechanical pencil between her fingers.
“Yeah,” Easton said, swallowing hard. “I asked Ashley Gallagher last week.”
I looked up. That was news to me. I kept my face as straight as possible.
“Oh? Ashley Gallagher?” I said, trying to make my voice even, my eyes on the screen.
Lacy perked up. “I bet you did it all cute.”
“Nah. I asked her in English while studying vocab words.”
No eye contact. His tower placement was sloppy. He hadn’t upgraded his Super Monkey.
I knew I didn’t have a hold on Easton. He had said he wasn’t gay countless times. So, why did I feel like this was another rejection? I squeezed the mouse in my right hand, keeping myself from throwing it across the room.
Ashley Gallagher. I didn’t even know he talked to her.
Lacy rolled her eyes. “Wow. And she still said yes?”
“Yeah.” Flat. Like it didn’t matter.
“Well, I wouldn’t have said yes to that,” Lacy said, flipping her ponytail over one shoulder. “How about you, Quinn?”
I felt everyone look at me. My chest tightened. “Why do you care?” I said, sharper than I meant to. “You fishing for a date?”
“No, I’m already going with someone. I wanted to see who my friends were going with, but maybe we’re just not as close as I thought.”
“I haven’t asked anyone yet,” I said.
Bella looked up from her notebook, eyeing me carefully. “You better get moving. Any idea who you’re gonna ask?”
“Not yet.”
She stared me down like she had something else to say; I turned back to my game before she could ask her question. The game continued to run. Bloons spilled across the screen, unstoppable.
I remembered freshman year, standing stiffly in my rented suit while the rest of the baseball guys made jokes and posed for pictures. My date smiled, but I couldn’t recall what we talked about. If we talked at all. It was the same thing at every dance: smile, pretend, fade into the background.
Easton clicked his mouse. “You gonna add more monkeys or what?”
I stared at the blurry screen, trying to ignore it all.
I ended up asking Erin McAllister.
We had three classes together, and I’d heard she didn’t have a date yet. I didn’t do anything dramatic—no poster board, no candy, no flash mob. Even if I was into girls, that kind of thing wasn’t me. After class one day, I just pulled her aside and asked.
I should’ve been nervous, but I wasn’t. Asking a girl wasn’t risky. If she said no? Whatever. Would’ve been easier, honestly.
But she said yes. She got this huge smile on her face and even bounced when she walked off. My stomach did a turn when I saw that, knowing she thought there was more to me asking than there really was.
Now she sat next to me, legs crossed, while music thumped across the gym floor.
Her ponytail swayed every time she turned to say something, blonde hair flicking against the pale blue straps of her dress.
It didn’t match perfectly, but it looked nice on her.
She wore it like she wanted to feel pretty.
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. A little rounder than the girls in most of the Instagram pics, but I’d overheard Zach and Ricky calling her “secret hot.” Whatever that meant.
I’d tried to make it clear when I’d asked her that it was as a friend. Just for fun. She’d nodded and smiled like she’d understood. But tonight, I wasn’t so sure.
She had met me at our house, where we’d taken pictures with Zach, Easton, and Ricky. Erin stood in front of me while Easton bumped my left shoulder. His navy tie flapped in the wind and showed brightly against his white dress shirt. That citrus smell had inflamed my poor nostrils.
At dinner, I’d paid like a gentleman. Erin had laughed at all the right moments. Still, it had felt like I was watching myself from a few feet away, mouthing lines I’d memorized.
“They’re about to play a slow song,” Erin said.
I fiddled with my boutonniere, tugging at the pin. “Yeah, sounds like it.”
Silence. Shit.
“Do you want to dance?” I said, turning toward her.
“Yeah,” she smiled, already standing.
Her hand brushed mine as we made our way to the floor. I heard Ricky’s voice in the distance somewhere but blocked it out, knowing it wasn’t directed at me or, if it was, that I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.
The lights were low, and the music slowed. I slid my hands to Erin’s waist, hesitating for half a second. Too close, and she’d think I wanted more. Too far, and I’d seem like a jerk. Or gay. I settled on six inches—enough space to breathe, not enough to question.
We rocked in place. My fingers were loose on her body; I wasn’t sure if I even pressed hard enough to leave a valid fingerprint. Still, she smiled up at me. I smiled back, but I felt like I was borrowing it from someone else.
Across the floor, Zach danced with his girlfriend, his hands at her lower back. They’d been dating since August. His head tipped down, hers tilted up. Easy.
I spun my head toward the right. Maddux—red hair clashing with his date’s yellow dress—was close as well. I wasn’t even sure he’d known her name last week.
“Tanner,” Erin said, “are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Just checking everything out.” I looked back at Erin. This really wasn’t fair to her.
She nodded. Maybe she believed me, maybe not. As I looked down at her, I kept thinking how sweet she was, how she deserved someone who wasn’t measuring the space between them like it was a math problem.
But I stayed. Because it was what was expected. Practical and safe. No emotions.
We danced through the song. Through another one. Through the next hour. My ears throbbed from the bass, and my toes ached in my tight rented shoes, but I kept the rhythm going as the smell of a hundred girls’ perfumes and a hundred guys’ colognes combined in a disgusting mix of mist.
Pretending was easier when no one was watching too closely.
Mercifully, it ended.
I drove Erin to her house; I hadn’t invited her to Silas’s after party, and, thankfully, she hadn’t invited herself, as I wasn’t sure I had the mental energy left to be nice when I told her no.
The engine purred as I parked in her driveway. Zach and Easton sat in the back seat, their dates still laughing about something. I got out, circled the car, and opened Erin’s door. Always a part to play.
The porch light cast a warm glow over the sidewalk as we strolled to the door. An American flag hung limply from the post, shifting with the breeze.
“I had fun tonight,” she said.
Her words hung in the air. I knew the ending she expected.
“Me too,” I said.
She stepped closer and kissed my cheek, then stayed inches away, her eyes searching mine. I felt the wetness on my face but didn’t wipe it away, my hands flexing in my pockets.
I could feel them behind me, the guys in the car, watching—waiting to see what I’d do. So, I reached up, held her face, and pressed my lips to hers. She kissed back, softly at first, then her tongue slipped into my mouth.
Nothing. No jolt. No flutter. Just lips on lips, two puzzle pieces that would never fit. Her perfume was sweet, like peaches, and it made me feel lonelier. It made me think of citrus.
I let it last long enough to look real then pulled away. We said good night, and I turned back toward the car, head lowered like I’d passed a test I hadn’t studied for.
“Look at you, Mr. Romeo,” Zach said from the back.
“Shut up, or I’m taking you home.” I was sick of him. Sick of this.
I pulled out of the driveway nearly as fast as I’d pulled away from the kiss. I barely remembered the drive to Silas’s. It was only a mile, but it felt longer with that nothing still sitting on my tongue.
We all jumped out of the Durango and headed to the big red barn at Silas’s house. His parents were functioning alcoholics and didn’t care what we did in the barn as long as nobody drank and drove.
The word “barn” didn’t quite do the place justice. The property had once served as a wedding venue before the owners had gone broke and Silas’s parents had bought it cheap.
Christmas lights lined the walls, glowing softly in the mid-October night.
Inside, even more lights twinkled, their warmth clashing gently with the white strands still strung from the chandeliers.
Once, couples had danced here beneath those same chandeliers, but now the place sat half-cleaned and half-abandoned, with folding chairs pushed into corners and a dusty archway leaning against the wall.
Silas had started decorating, if you could call it that.
A beat-up speaker sat at one end of the hall, where he lounged next to Maddux and their dates.
On the opposite side, a cooler overflowed with ice, soda, and a keg.
Mismatched lawn chairs formed loose circles around the room.
About two dozen people milled around, most of the guys still in tuxes while the girls had changed into hoodies and sneakers.
I dropped into the chair next to Ricky, where he and Bella argued about who was the better catcher, and Lacy sat amused. Silas’s mumble rap thudded through the floorboards—some bass-heavy track that made my ribs ache like I was still on the dance floor. My ears buzzed.
My head was clear, though, painfully so.
I waved off the red cup someone tried to hand me. Again. The fifth time tonight? Sixth? I’d stopped counting.
Being sober in public felt safer. No risk of slipping up. No slurred confessions or loaded glances. No mistakes. Hurray for being gay helping contain underage drinking!
At 1 a.m., I stood up again and wove through half-spilled drinks and half-hearted conversations, looking for the two drunk idiots I had to shepherd home.
I found them next to their dates at the table I’d been avoiding since we’d gotten here.
One of the girls’ dads was picking them up, so, thankfully, I only had to be in charge of two slobbering fools.
“You guys have twenty minutes. Mom wants us home by one-thirty,” I said. My voice came out sharp. I didn’t wait for them to answer before turning around.