“Instead of a corsage,” he says, offering me a painting of what appears to be my ear. I can see the shadow of the healed piercing that I’ll reopen in college.
Wisps of just the right color hair tucked behind. The tiny pitch at the top.
“It’s your elf ear,” Luke says, grinning. I can’t help but laugh and self-consciously touch the body part in question.
He takes a step closer. “It’s my favorite ear,” he whispers into my left lobe, sending chills down my spine. He stands back again and regards my ensemble. “You look great,” he says without hesitation. “Nice shoes.”
“Thanks,” I say, grinning with my whole body. Most guys don’t notice footwear. “You look nice, too. I expected a band T-shirt under your jacket or something.”
“Naw…” Luke says with a laugh, showing off a prominent dimple on his right cheek.
I carefully lean the painting against the foyer wall and grab my coat. Luke offers me his hand, and just as we’re ready to leave, my mom makes a perfectly timed appearance to wish us well. I could kiss her for being armed with a digital camera and for forcing us to stop and pose before we take off.
Luke leans over and gets the door for me, and once we’re out of my mom’s earshot, he bends down and whispers, “The dress is hot.”
Shivers run down my spine, and I am thrilled that I get to spend the whole night—well, almost the whole night—with him.
Luke drives to school, and because the dance is in the gym, we park in the teachers’ lot. Even though it’s allowed tonight, it feels scandalous.
Inside, the disco lights rage and the music is one notch higher than deafening. Scanning the room, I see Carley Lynch surrounded by Alex Morgan and some other cheerleaders, all wearing dresses so low-cut that I’m embarrassed for them.
In the opposite corner, I spot Jamie just as her eyes catch mine. Our gazes hold steady for a moment, and then she looks away. In a lovely black dress, she is standing to the right of a boy I don’t recognize.
A second passes before my hurt wanes and I remember that Jamie and I will continue to be friends long after this evening. She might not know it right now, but she doesn’t hate me.
I follow her eye line, and my stomach lurches a little when I realize that now she’s staring at Mr. Rice, who is chaperoning tonight. I consider that I might actually be sick when he gives her an inviting look no married teacher should ever throw in the direction of a sixteen-year-old girl.
Luke must have noticed, too. “Come on, let’s dance,” he says, before I can get lost in my thoughts.
We move to the center of the dance floor and are immediately awash in a sea of sparkling stars, courtesy of the disco ball. I drape my wrists over Luke’s shoulders, and all at once, the strength of his arms around my waist, combined with the melodic song we’re swaying to, makes me fantasize about marrying him.
This could be our song.
I let the smooth lyrics carry me away, and I enjoy the moment and the fantasy until it heads down the road toward children. And then the darkness is there, my mind asking questions I don’t want to answer.
Is the dead child mine and Luke’s? Is that why I don’t remember him? Because what we share together will be too painful?
I pull Luke closer and smash my cheek into his shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut in an effort to make the darkness go away. Somehow he knows to hold tighter, too, and though he doesn’t see the tear escape my eye, he rubs my back as if to say: “It’ll be okay.”
I never want to let go.
Luke and I dance like we’re glued to each another for three slow songs, before the DJ speeds things up.
My ears fill with a remixed version of a disco classic that will play at practically every wedding and party I’ll attend for the rest of my life. The brave kids dance, while those who are either too cool or too awkward move to the outskirts. I’m not sure which group we’re in, but we slowly make our way to the fringe.
“Want some punch?” I ask.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Luke asks back.
I shrug and Luke agrees. “I’m going to say hi to Adam, but I’ll meet you for a roll in the snow,” he says, pointing to a group of benches decorated with fake snow.
Laughing and shaking my head, I walk to the punch table and grab two clear plastic cups. I wait my turn, fill them, and move to a snowy bench and sit down.
Gabby Stein, from PE, and her date, Christopher Osborne, are sitting on a bench two over from mine. Both look at me like I smell like dirty socks. Neither knows it yet, but Christopher will be valedictorian when we graduate next year.
Right now, however, despite looking uncannily like Superman, Christopher is nothing but a small, helpless animal that’s fallen prey to Gabby’s boa-constricting embrace. I can’t help but long for the PDA police as I quickly look away and wish like crazy for Luke to hurry up.
“Sorry,” Luke says when he finally settles in next to me. “Adam’s chatty tonight.”
“No problem,” I say, handing Luke his punch. He chugs it and sets the cup in the snow next to a bunch of other empty cups littering the faux outdoors.
“Having fun?” he asks. His eyes wander to the make-out session two benches down, and he quickly looks back at me.
“Of course, I always have fun with you,” I reply, feeling slightly guilty for my use of the word always.
“Dance not your scene, though?” he prods, reading my mind.
I let out my breath and laugh. “Not really, no. I mean, it was fun for a few minutes. The slow dances were nice. But these shoes are killing me and I’m hungry.”
He laughs with me, then stands and pulls me up with an easy swoop. “Let’s go, then,” he says.
“Okay, let me just run to the restroom first,” I say.
“All right, I’ll wait for you by the doors,” he replies, kissing me gently before I make my way to the girls’ bathroom closest to the gym.
Inside, there are at least five girls admiring themselves in the massive mirror over the sinks. Without catching any eyes, I find an empty stall and then scoot through satin and tulle to a free sink.
Washing my hands, I feel someone’s stare in the mirror.
“I know you never asked him about me,” Page Thomas says in her most accusatory voice.
This is why I should never come to social events: I am not social. I’m definitely not going to prom.
“Sorry?” I say, pretending not to have heard. Maybe I can stall her long enough so that I can dry my hands and leave.
“You should be,” she says, eyes narrowed, face puckered. She spins around, her white-blonde hair trailing after her, and leaves the bathroom.
I’m finished, and the other girls are now staring at me. So, I’m forced to follow Page.
At the end of the hall, Luke is waiting for me. Brad is there, too, waiting for Page. Luke leans against the wall, looking like a suit model. Brad is staring curiously into the trophy case.
Luke’s presence must have registered with Page, because she whips around and sees me behind her. She rolls her eyes at me, turns forward, and quickens her pace. When she reaches Brad, she grabs his hand and pulls him back inside the gym.
I can’t be sure, but I think I hear her mutter a particularly unkind word about me as they go.
“Making friends tonight, huh?” Luke says with a sympathetic smile. He is holding my coat open for me.
“Let’s go,” he says, once I’m wrapped and ready.
He grabs my hand, and we rush through the wind toward his minivan, away from it all. In the bitter darkness, my mind wanders to a question that, according to my notes, I’ve been hoping to answer: Did I change anything with Page, or is she headed down the path toward embarrassment and heartbreak, courtesy of Brad from math?
Even though she clearly has it out for me, I silently hope that somehow Page’s fate will be different from what I saw those months before. However nasty she may be, no one deserves that pain.
27
“You’re sure
she’s not home?” Luke whispers as he eyes the front of my house from the driver’s seat of his van.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I reply at normal volume. “Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t know,” Luke whispers. He looks at me and flashes a huge, cheesy grin, turns back to the house, and says, “I feel like she can hear me.”
“She’s not home!” I yell, to prove the point.
“Where is she?” he asks.
“She’s at a movie,” I answer flatly.
Suddenly, I’m nervous. Luke and I have been dating for several months. Does he expect something? Do I?
Knowing that I could obsess to death about this, I decide to go for it and leap out of the van. Before I slam the door behind me, I turn to Luke and ask: “Are you coming or what? I need a grilled cheese.”
He laughs and kills the engine, then follows my lead. We’re inside the warm entryway in no time, removing our jackets and shoes. I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I just kept going, removing my dress….
“She left all the lights on. Are you sure she’s not coming back soon?”
“Luke! What are you so afraid of?” I playfully shout at him. He’s looking back toward the living room to make sure that my mom isn’t there.
“Sorry, I know I’m being crazy. I just doubt your mom would want us here alone together this late at night.”
“Okay, first of all, are you from the fifties or something? And second of all, it’s not that late. It’s only…” I glance at the ornate wall clock mounted over the piano in the adjacent room. “It’s not even nine o’clock. My curfew is midnight. And, third of all, even if she doesn’t want us here alone, she’ll never know. She’s at a movie!”
“What time will it be over?” Luke asks.
“Ten thirty.”
“Fine, I’m leaving before ten thirty.”
“Fine,” I say, grinning.
“Fine,” Luke says gently. He’s standing over me now, finally calm, rolling up the sleeves of his untucked white dress shirt. The look of him makes my breath catch.
I take a step forward so our faces are just inches away. Before I think too much about what I’m doing, I stretch up on tiptoe, take Luke’s face in my hands, and plant a firm kiss on his soft lips. He doesn’t pull away; instead, he bends down slightly, low enough that I don’t have to stay on my toes. He wraps his arms tightly around my waist, and I feel his strong palms press into my lower back. My hands move to the back of his neck. I lose track of time and place and just let go and enjoy the increasingly heated kisses.
My heart races, and the thought of shedding clothing comes to mind again. I lean into Luke, and, lip-locked, the two of us stumble backward, until his back thuds into the closed front door. I smash against his chest and it feels like warm marble. He moves his hands into my hair and I breathe heavier as I keep kissing, kissing, kissing him.
The five phones connected to the landline scream in unison and scare Luke and me apart as if we’ve been caught by some chastity alarm. Realizing the source, and feeling silly both for being startled and for the hormone surge, I nervously laugh, and he joins in.
I take two steps backward, trip over my shoes, and fall to the floor, which sends me into hysterics. Unable to breathe, I roll into a ball of embarrassment, and Luke joins me on the floor, sitting at first, then lying and staring at the ceiling.
The phones finally stop ringing. I manage to compose myself.
“I love your laugh,” he says once I’ve calmed down.
“Thanks, I love to laugh,” I reply.
“I know. That’s one of my favorite things about you. Remember how spastic you were on our first date? It was cute.”
Good to know, I think to myself.
“Tell me more,” I say, as perfectly comfortable on the Persian rug as I’d be lying on a couch or a bed. We are head to head, with our bodies at angles: if someone observed us from overhead, they’d see a V.
“Mmmm, you want to know the reasons why I love you?” he asks casually, as if he’s said those words to me before. But if I’m remembering my notes correctly, this is the first time.
My heart is threatening to break free from my chest, but I present a calm exterior. “Yes, a list, if you will.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle.
“There are too many reasons to have a complete list, but I’ll name a few.”
“Please, go on,” I say, attempting to remain steady when I feel like bouncing. I hold my breath.
“Well, there’s the obvious. You’re beautiful.”
“Yes, obviously,” I reply flatly, masking the fact that my stomach just did cartwheels.
“I love your hair. This sounds crazy, but when I first saw you in that ridiculous outfit with your long red hair flying out all over the place, I just wanted to touch it. It’s soft, and it always smells good. In fact, hold on….” Luke leans over and buries his nose in my hair. He takes a deep breath, then returns to his back.
“Ah, the best,” he mutters.
“You are a total weirdo,” I joke. He ignores me.
“Let’s see… what else? I love you because you’re the type of person to befriend a new guy on his first day of school. Oh, and speaking of friends, I love that you haven’t given up on Jamie, even though she’s mad at you and not being very cool.”
“She’s worth it,” I say in her defense.
“Yeah, that’s what I mean. You’re not into cliques and all that crap. You’re mature.”
“Right. What did you say about laughing fits?”
“Well, yes, there are those. Most of the time, you’re mature.” Luke pokes me in the ribs and grins before facing the ceiling once again.
“What else?” I prompt him. “This is fun!”
“Let’s see,” Luke says, folding his left forearm behind his head. He looks to the wall where his painting leans. “I like that you don’t think it’s strange that I like to paint ears.”
“I do, a little. But I like strange,” I say. “What else?”
“I don’t know, London,” he says, rolling to his side to face me and propping his head on his hand. “I think it’s just the whole package. I can’t pick you apart. I just love all of you. I think I always have.”
I wonder what he means by “always” as he brushes my face with his hand and we are quiet for a moment. It doesn’t sit quite right, but, not wanting to ruin the moment, I say, “I love all of you, too.”
The words are weighty, but I mean them, and I think Luke does, too. And, strangely, for their heaviness, I feel light. This feels easy.
We lie here, Luke and I, inhaling each other’s breath and listening to the ticktock of the clock, when a very unpleasant gurgling growl erupts from the depths of me.
“Was that your stomach?” Luke asks, looking down at my abdomen.
“Yes!” I blurt out, before launching into a fresh wave of delirium. “I… told… you… I… was… hungry!” I manage to say between gasps for breath. He shakes his head at me and then slowly stands up. The sight of him towering above me in all his gorgeousness steals my giggles.
“Let’s get you a grilled cheese,” he says, offering me his hands.
“Finally!” I say back, allowing him to pull me from the floor. Once I’m standing, I shiver: the cold from the tile beneath the rug made it through me.
“Cold?” he asks.
“Yep. I’m going to go grab a sweatshirt. You make yourself comfortable in the kitchen.”
I run up the stairs and search my bedroom for something fuzzy and warm. Nothing in plain view, I hit the closet light and start pulling folded items from the shelf. I evaluate my options and settle on a tan hoodie that I know from my notes is Luke’s.
Checking my reflection in the mirror, I decide to take the extra minute to pull my hair back into a ponytail. As I wrap the hair tie once, twice, then three times, my eyes scan the room, seeing it as Luke might.
If I let him come up here tonight.
The bed is beautifully made: M
om must have tidied up after we left for the dance. The throw pillows are lined up just so.
There is a photo of Luke and me in a dark wooden frame on the desk. I don’t remember when it was taken.
In the corner, the hamper is empty.
On the nightstand are the lamp and an empty coaster where a used tea mug sat earlier. My mom really must have cleaned….
Wait.
For a blink, I look back to the nightstand in the mirror. Then I turn around on the stool to see it firsthand.
It looks so… bare.
Because it is.
Because it is!
My pulse quickens as I quiz myself.
Where are my notes?
Did Mom move them? Did she put them away?
No, she wouldn’t do that. Or would she? I stand and rush across the room. I check the nightstand drawer and the desk drawers, too.
I chew my pointer fingernail, thinking. I turn slowly around the room, scanning every surface.
Did I take them somewhere?
Where would I take them?
Where did I have them last?
My breath sucks in almost before I fully realize what’s happened.
I know where my notes are.
They’re right where I left them.
Right where I was reading them before Luke picked me up tonight.
Right where I sent Luke to hang out.
They’re in the kitchen.
“Luke!” I shout, running out of my bedroom and down the stairs, as if it will make any difference. “Luke!” I shout again in vain.
I know even before I’m down the stairs that he’s already seen them.
No answer comes from the direction of the kitchen. I quicken my pace and nearly slip on the polished hardwood while rounding the corner to the kitchen.
“Luke,” I say again, to his back. He faces the table and doesn’t speak.
“Luke?” I try a gazillionth time.
He turns, holding a single letter in his hands.
I stand, frozen, staring at him.
Finally, he speaks.
“I wondered how you did it,” he says.
Still frozen, I’m confused.
“Did what?” I ask.
“How you remembered me this time,” he says. “I mean, I’ve caught you a few times, forgetting things. But most of the time, you seem… normal. You seem to recognize me each day.”