17 First Kisses (27 page)

There's a text from Megan in his messages. That bastard! I can't open it because it's new and he'd know I did it, but the fact that it's there at all proves . . . something. When I replace the phone, taking care to make sure it's positioned exactly as it was before, I get a queasy sensation in my stomach. I'm one of
those
girls now. We have
that
kind of relationship.

But there was a text. From Megan. So obviously I was right to look. I shake my head. I can't even convince myself with that kind of logic. I know it wasn't right. But I also know this won't be the last time I check Luke's phone.

We get ice cream and everything is fine (well, as fine as it can be considering that text is all I can think about). Then he drops me off at my house and kisses me on my front porch and I try to find some sort of answer in the kissing, but it feels like . . . a kiss. A good kiss. A fun kiss. But it doesn't reveal the mysteries of the ages and it doesn't tell me why my best friend is texting my boyfriend or if he still has feelings for her.

I close the front door behind me and am immediately tackled by Libby.

“Open it! Open it!” she squeals.

She waves a letter over her head—it's from Georgia Tech. Holy crap, it's from Georgia Tech! I run my fingers along the seal but they're shaking and I'm clumsy and I practically rip the envelope in half trying to get at the letter inside. I gloss over the pleasantries and scan for the important part. “We are pleased to
inform you . . .” I'm in!

“Libs! I'm in! I'm in!” I pick her up and twirl her around and then read over the letter again, savoring it this time.

This is more than just an acceptance letter. This is a ticket to a different life and a validation that everything I worked for was worth it and the beginning of a fulfillment of a pact I made two years ago. Something like longing clenches like a fist around my insides.

I wish I could call Megan and tell her.

“Claire,” Mama calls from behind a rack of dresses. “What do you think of this one?”

The dress she's holding is fugly (periwinkle, huge crinoline skirt), but I'm so happy to have my mom take me prom-dress shopping I smile anyway.

“It's not really my style. I like dresses that are more straight and fitted.”

She nods seriously and dives back into the racks. I keep going with the rack I'm working on, and a few minutes later she pops back out.

“What about this one?” “Oh.”

The dress is every shade of blue—it fades from a sky color at the top to a deep indigo at the hemline. The skirt is layers of sheer fabric that fall just above the knee, and the bodice is fitted through the waist with a slight flare at the hips. Wow. My mom can take direction.

“‘Oh' good? Or ‘oh' bad?”

“Definitely ‘oh' good.”

We add it to the pile of other potentials that is quickly taking over one of the dressing rooms. I rush to try on the other dresses first, saving it for last. The dress swooshes over my head. I zip it up and turn to look at myself in the mirror. It's perfect. It shows off my legs and how tiny my waist is, but it has this ruching across the chest that makes my boobs look huge (for me). I have never felt so beautiful in a dress before. It's like it was made just for me. I run outside to look in the three-panel mirror, and Mama agrees.

We're waiting to buy the magical dress when I realize the blond girl in front of me sliding a credit card across the counter is Megan. And she realizes it's me at exactly the same time, so neither of us can pretend to look away.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” she replies. “So, you're here with your mom?”

I glance over my shoulder, but Mama is busy texting.

“Yeah.”

“That's great.” Megan smiles a sad smile at me.

I'm sad too, because I can remember a time when we would have been happy over it together.

“Is your mom here too?”

“No, I'm here with Amberly.” She gestures to the doorway, where Amberly waves to me. “Listen, I have to go because B and Amanda are waiting for us at the food court.”

With one last wistful look over their shoulders, they're gone. I see them again when Mama and I walk past the food court
on the way to our car. They're with Britney and Amanda at a table, laughing, surrounded by colorful shopping bags. They're all eating salads (prom crash diet, I'm sure), and I'm not there to lecture them on the importance of protein in any weight-loss plan. Amberly says something, and Megan laughs so hard she grabs B's wrist with one hand and slaps the table with the other.

I stare at the four of them, Amanda sitting in the chair where I should be sitting. Where I
could
be sitting if I had never started dating Luke. And I start to wonder if he's worth it.

Kiss #15 xoxo

Megan deserves to win prom queen. I totally voted for her even after everything that's happened. I have to pretend prom queen is the most important thing in the world. If I lose my focus for even a second, I might remember the other prom. I might remember that prom is when little brothers die.

Seth, the senior-class president, makes a big show of announcing the winners, waving his white envelope like it's the Academy Awards or something. He'll announce king first. I hope it isn't Buck. I still don't get why the 90 percent of our class who spent four years under his reign of torment would vote for him, but they will. People still voted Megan for homecoming court back in ninth and tenth grade before the debitch-ification process. That's how I know Buck will win too.

Seth finally rips open the envelope. “And your new prom king is . . .” He reads the card inside. “Glennnnn Baker.”

OMG. Glenn! The whole crowd screams for Glenn. I whistle. Buck tries to play it cool, but he is so pissed. Ha!

Seth hushes the room. “And your new prom queen is . . . the fabulously beautiful . . . the effervescent . . .”

“Just say it already!” someone yells from the back of the room.

“Megan McQueen!”

Megan's cheers are, if possible, louder than Glenn's. I clap
and yell along with everyone else, but I can't help frowning when she exchanges hugs with Amberly and Britney and even Amanda Bell, who holds on for a few seconds too long. I know I should hate her, but I kind of wish I were there to celebrate with her. Her winning prom queen means she completed her part of Pact #5. And I guess I did too. It just wasn't as fun as I expected.

Megan makes her way to the stage, her slinky floor-length red gown swishing with every step.

“I'm so glad Glenn won,” I say to Luke as Seth gingerly places a sparkly rhinestone crown atop Megan's elaborate hairstyle. “It's unbelievable. Everyone at school finally wised up and didn't vote for the guy who made their lives hell. And Glenn deserves it so much.”

Luke watches Megan and Glenn take their places in the center of the dance floor so they can share the requisite first dance. It's hard to tell whether he's looking at both of them or just her.

“So, you haven't said anything about my dress. What do you think?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it's really pretty.” He takes another swig of his rum-spiked Coke—his third, I think—and turns back to the dance floor. “Have you seen Megan's? That slit up the side is so hot.” His eyes devour her as she twirls under the spotlight, like he's planning to draw her from memory later. “And her hair looks so cool. How come you didn't do anything special with yours?”

“I'm not an updo kind of girl.” My hands smooth my straight hair protectively. “Plus, do you know how much those things
cost? I'd rather straighten it myself.” I don't say,
Plus, thanks to you I'm no longer friends with Amberly, who would have done amazing things with my hair for free,
but I'm tempted.

He grunts in reply. Since he doesn't bother to look away from Megan, I figure he also won't notice if I leave him standing by himself, so I stalk off toward the ladies' room. Prom is being held in a ballroom at the Fabulous Fox Theatre, so it's one of those super-fancy bathrooms with overstuffed couches and real artwork. I scowl at my boring hair in the gilded mirror. Luke's at prom—with me. That means I won. So why don't I feel like a winner?

There's one thing I think could make me feel better, but I don't know if she'll talk to me. I know Megan's done some unforgivable things over the past few months. And I know finding out about Luke and me at a party in front of everyone must have been awful and humiliating. But I really miss my best friend. And it couldn't hurt to try.

When I come back to the ballroom, the first dance has obviously ended, because everyone else is dancing now. Including Luke. With Megan. I bump past dancing couples and trip over dress trains until I'm close enough to jerk Luke away by his elbow.

“Can we talk? Now.”

Megan's eyes get big. “Claire, I didn't—he just—” I leave her there stuttering and yank Luke out of the ballroom, past the faculty members standing guard over the lobby, to a couch tucked into an alcove by the bathrooms.

Luke holds his hands in front of him, the universal gesture for
I have nothing to hide.
“I didn't do anything. She came up to me out of nowhere and asked me if we could talk about why we broke up. She wanted closure.”

“Since when does closure involve freak dancing?” “Oh, c'mon. It
wasn't
like that. Anyway, the only reason I danced with her is 'cause I couldn't find you. Why'd you walk off like that?”

I roll my eyes. “I'm surprised you noticed. You were so busy going on and on about Megan.”

“I just said I liked someone's dress. You can't expect to have the best dress at prom or for other girls to never be prettier than you. Try not to be so insecure.”

“Maybe if you'd stop comparing me to her, I wouldn't be.”

“I'm not comparing you guys. I'm just stating facts.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, your facts hurt.”

He sighs like I am the most exhausting, annoying person in the entire world. Then he takes a drink directly from the flask in his pocket, because apparently I'm
so
annoying he can't stand to be around me without having some alcohol to take the edge off.

“Whatever, Claire. Prom is supposed to be fun, but if you want to ruin it by picking a fight with me . . .”

Me ruin prom?
“You're the one—”

I stop because I hear noises coming our way. Luke shoves his flask in his pocket fast, but relaxes when a couple of junior girls breeze past our couch, giggling their way toward the bathroom.
He pulls it back out and takes a sip. I've never seen him have more than a couple beers, but he's a mean drunk. At least, I sure hope this is the alcohol.

“Look,” he says. “I'm sorry I said that stuff about Megan. Can we just go back in and have fun now?”

I really wish it were that easy. “It's more than that. I think there's something going on between you two.”

Luke's apologetic face disappears. “Are you seriously doing this right now?” He gets up and stomps across the alcove. “I broke up with her to be with you. How can you even say that?

I follow after him and lower my voice. “You were dancing with her, and I know you guys have been talking again.”

“No, we haven't. I don't know who's telling you this stuff, but they're lying.”

I'd like to believe him, but I saw something like fear flash in his eyes before he answered. He's the one lying.

“I saw a text from her in your phone.”

“What.”

“I looked through your phone one time when you were getting gas, and there was a text from Megan. I didn't read it, but—”

“What the fuck, Claire!” He moves toward me, his hands at his side like veiny claws, his face red with anger and rum. “I can't believe you went through my phone. It's the kind of thing Megan was always doing. First her. Now you. I'm so tired of dealing with this bullshit!”

And then it happens so fast. His left hand balls up and lashes
out toward the wall, almost as if it's acting of its own accord. His fist passes so close to my cheek the flyaway hairs around my face spiral with the motion of the air. An angry thud echoes behind my ear. Did he really just punch the wall? But now he's shaking his hand in pain, and sure enough, there's a fist-sized crater imprinted in the antique velvet wallpaper.

I back away from him like he's a wild animal.

“Claire, wait.” He looks just as shocked as me.

I shake my head and run back to the ballroom, where other people are having fun at their senior prom. I flop into the first chair I find. My heart pounds against my chest, and I'm breathing like I just ran suicide sprints.

“Claire, are you okay?”

Megan hovers over me, looking ridiculously beautiful, even for her. She sparkles from head to toe, the top of her crown to the heels of her stilettos. Of course he wants her back.

“I'm fine,” I say with my jaw clenched tight.

“I'm sorry about what happened before. With Luke.”

“I bet you are.”

“No, I am. I didn't mean for it to look that way. He came up and said he wanted closure and could we—”

“I already talked to Luke. I know you're the one that wanted the closure.” I make air quotes when I say the word
closure
.

Megan's perfectly plucked eyebrows arch towards her crown. “No, I'm not.”

“Well, I'm not about to trust someone who has done everything she can to make my life miserable for the past three
months.”

“I know it was wrong of me to keep you closed out for so long. I'm sorry I did it.”

“It was a lot more than that. The things you guys did . . . you tortured me.”

Megan frowns. “What—?”

“No. You know what, I'm going to stop you right there. Some things are too big for sorry.”