Along Came Jordan (15 page)

I dutifully put it down and then arranged the napkins like a big fan at the other end of the table. Metal serving pans with flames beneath them bubbled with meats and sauces. The fragrance of sweet and sour and barbecue sauce was overpowering. I sniffed the inside of my wrist, relieved that I could still smell the gardenia of my perfume.

What was the use? Pamela Riggins was on her way back, and Jordan would want to start right up where they'd left off. Why had I worked hard to try to look good tonight? What a waste of time. I wished Sally and Margo were there, then at least I'd have some friends for comfort.

Jordan came up behind me and brushed against my back. "Having fun yet?" he whispered in my ear.

I leaned against him. He felt solid and strangely comfortable. His arms came around me, and he rested his chin on my head. He began to move us side to side as if we were dancing.

"Emili!" Laine's voice was shrill. "Janae needs you in the kitchen."

I broke loose from Jordan and went into the kitchen. Janae was balancing a huge container of punch mix over a glass bowl. "Emili, hurry. I can't hold this much longer."

I dashed to her side and steadied the bowl. "Okay, pour."

Her hand slipped from the container. It wobbled mid-air then crashed into the bowl, slopping raspberry mix all over me. Too late, I let go and jumped back.

I gazed down at my dress, now covered with a chicken pox of ruby red punch mix. Jordan and Laine rushed into the kitchen and stopped so abruptly they nearly fell over each other. Jordan looked me up and down and moaned. Laine's eyes lit up like Christmas morning. She smiled, then pressed her lips together hard — obviously stifling cries of victory.

"I'm sorry, Emili. I didn't do it on purpose," Janae said, her eyes wide.

I searched her face, my mouth half open. I couldn't tell if she was lying.

"I know we're not friends, but I wouldn't do that on purpose."

"Of course you wouldn't," Laine cut in. "No one would think such a thing." She turned to me, reached out, and pressed one of the red spots on my waist. It smeared at her touch.

I held up both hands. "I guess you get your way, Laine. I'll be leaving."

Jordan grabbed my arm. "Don't," he said. "Don't go. It's dark in the gym. Nobody will even notice."

He looked at me with such intensity I couldn't speak.

"Please Emili, don't go," he repeated.

Laine fixed her eyes on Jordan, and her expression hardened into stone.

"Fine. I'll stay." I took a long, lingering breath.

I'm not sure what made me agree, Jordan's plea or my wanting to irritate Laine. Whichever it was, I regretted it immediately.

Laine pointed to the mess in the punch bowl. "Clean it up, Janae. People are already here." She left in a cloud of disgust.

Janae fished the jar out of the punch bowl with her long fingers. She kept glancing at me as if waiting for an explosion. I exhaled slowly then looked again at my beautiful three and a half dollar dress. It was a complete and total ruin.

Jordan stepped forward and took my hand. "Want to try to wash it off?"

"It might make it worse."

He pulled me to the side of the kitchen. "Thanks for staying." My head was down, and I noticed how the spots reached all the way to my hem, so Jordan had to squat to catch my eye. His gaze was so tender, my frustration melted at his feet.

"Come on. Let's go out and do duty at the photo booth." He took my hand in his and pulled me after him. After the glaring kitchen light, the gym was like walking into midnight. I paused, giving my eyes time to adjust. There were already about ten couples on the dance floor, and a smattering of people at the round tables. The music throbbed, echoing against the gym walls.

Everything was ready at the photo booth, although no one was in line. The photographer was tall and scrawny and wore a suit at least three sizes too big. He bustled around, adjusting his camera lens, pushing the flowered arch a few inches to the right, and holding up his hands, thumbs out to frame the scene. I was standing inside a cartoon.

"Hi," Jordan said to him. "Want to take a practice shot?"

The photographer looked down his nose at us and snorted. "Young man, I don't take practice shots."

I bit my lips to keep from laughing. The guy was priceless.

I pulled Jordan's arm. "I don't want to take a photo, anyway. It looks like I'm splattered in blood."

Jordan nuzzled my neck, sending shivers of warmth through me. "I don't care. I want a picture." He turned back to the photographer. "Okay, not a practice shot, a regular shot."

The man tossed his head and thin, stringy hair swished across his forehead. "Stand in position then."

Jordan put his hand on the small of my back and guided me to the cardboard footprints placed on the floor. We stood on them, me leaning against Jordan's side, his arm tightly around my waist. Jordan was casting a spell over me, and I think if he'd asked me to jump off a building with him right then, I would have done it. I could feel the twirling emotion tying us together like a rope.

"Tip your head to the left, little lady."

I tilted.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

"They'll be ready in an hour."

His assistant, just as skinny and wiry, came out from behind a low screen.

"We print on the spot," she said, chirping, her long bony arms flailing outwards. "You're a cute couple. Yikes, what happened to your dress?"

"Kitchen disaster."

She'd called us a couple. Were we? My heart swirled, but I tried to shove down the excitement. Already, Pamela Riggins could be on her way back to Indiana. Why else would Laine be giddy with anticipation?

As if beckoned, Laine appeared at my side. "You took photos looking such a mess?" she asked, fingering my dress again.

I pulled back. "Quit touching me, Laine."

"It's a shame you look so bad, especially tonight."

"I'm only here as a helper, so it doesn't matter." But it did matter — it mattered down to my toes.

"So you say." She spoke with a drawl, like a fresh transplant from Texas. "You should want to look your absolute best tonight of all nights." She grinned like a cat who'd slurped up a mouse.

And then I knew my fears were justified.

Pamela was going to show up at the ball. I was certain of it. My eyes darted to Jordan. Did he have any idea at all? His face only registered irritation at Laine's interruption.

Laine was still grinning as she left.

"Maybe you should take me home," I said.

"Don't let Laine get to you. She's a bunch of hot air — hot jealous air. You look perfect, by the way."

A chilly draft seemed to come from nowhere to whoosh around me. I shivered and looked up. Had someone turned a vent on? Jordan noticed me shaking and put his arm around my shoulder.

"Done," said the photographer's assistant. "Don't have too many takers yet, so I finished them up pronto. Sorry I couldn't edit the red smears off your dress. Still, you two look cute." She handed each of us a five by seven photo, tucked inside flimsy cardboard frames with "Winter Ball" printed in fancy script at the bottom.

I took mine and walked over to sit at an empty table. I held the photo close to the candle to get a better look. Jordan was mouth-watering gorgeous. He towered over me, his tight muscles evident even through his suit jacket. His expression was open, happy, and I couldn't take my eyes from his face.

"Not bad, huh?" he said, joining me at the table. "The spots on your dress hardly show."

I looked at my image. "They do too, Jordan."

He chuckled. "I know, but I thought you'd feel better if I lied."

The song ended, and the DJ cajoled everyone to get ready for the cupid shuffle. He cranked up the volume, and the music became deafening.

"Come on. Let's dance," Jordan said in my ear. He got to his feet and held out his hand.

"We're not supposed to dance, Jordan. We're supposed to be working."

He bent toward me, and his mouth skimmed my cheek. "After Janae sprayed you with punch, I think we're entitled."

There was a mischievous spark in his eyes. I was mesmerized, my gaze glued to his. I gave him my hand, and he pulled me up. We walked to the group, but instead of joining them, he put his arms around me and led me in a slow dance. We swayed out of sync with the music, dancing instead to some internal rhythm. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

The cupid shuffle ended, and everyone burst into applause. Another song started, and I straightened and moved away from Jordan. I glanced around the gym, and my eyes were drawn to a girl, a stranger.

She stood inside the entrance of the gym, tall and breathing hard, as though she'd been running. Her wavy brown hair was tousled and fell behind her shoulders. Her white fuzzy coat hung open to reveal a tight tee and skinny jeans. She was a knockout.

I knew it was Pamela.

Jordan sucked in his breath, stiffened, and dropped my hand. I watched her scan the crowd until her eyes came to rest on him. Her expression relaxed, and pure eagerness spread over her face. Jordan took a step toward her then hesitated and glanced back at me. The confused desperation in his eyes stopped my heart. He kept looking at me and, right then, I knew we were finished.

I nodded toward her, an almost imperceptible movement. "Go," I managed to say over the knot in my throat.

The music still blasted, but everyone had stopped talking and laughing. All eyes went back and forth between Jordan and Pamela. I took a step backward, wanting to disappear into the wall. Tears trickled down my face, but I made no effort to wipe them away. Jordan walked as if in slow motion, each movement stiff and awkward. Pamela started toward him across the dance floor, and everyone parted before her.

They met in the middle, under the glittery stars I'd help cut out. Pamela reached for Jordan, winding her arms around him. He grasped her to him, burying his face in her neck. Someone started clapping, and everyone joined in.

My back was smashed against the wall, my hands flat out on each side, as if the wall and I had become one.

Laine came toward me, her face a study of stifled delight. "Well, Emili, good thing it wasn't truly a date. You and Jordan are only friends, right?"

I stared at her and knew my tears gave me away.

"Tsk, tsk," she continued. "Shall I get you a tissue?"

I could only nod.

Her brows crinkled in surprise, and I could see she hadn't expected me to accept her help. She reached behind to a table and grabbed a napkin lying there. "It's clean," she said, thrusting it into my hand.

I wiped my face and blew my nose, hating myself for being such a baby.

Laine paused, as if unsure whether to help or to continue her attack. "Good grief, Emili. Pull it together. You look like a fool."

"I know, Laine. I don't need you to tell me." My voice came out in choked bursts.

She grabbed my arm and pulled me around the rim of the dance floor and yanked me into the kitchen. The glaring lights made both of us squint.

"You're such a wimp." Her voice was full of disgust. She snatched a dishtowel off the counter and threw it at me. "Wipe your face."

I caught the towel and drew a deep breath. "I'm okay now." I looked at Laine. "Thanks."

She grimaced. "You should thank me. I can't believe you stayed out there like a complete idiot."

"I need a ride home. Do you have your car?"

"Don't push your luck, Jones. I'm not a charity worker. Get your own ride." She turned and flounced back into the gym.

I stood there alone. My breathing slowed, and the tears stopped. What was I thinking, breaking down in public? Like Laine said, I must be an idiot. I sank into a chair next to the sink. Now what? I couldn't go back out there and ask Jordan for a ride home. Almost everyone else was an upperclassman, and I didn't know any of them well enough to ask for a rescue. My phone was in my sweater pocket, which I'd left next to the photo booth. Maybe I could sneak out and get it without anyone noticing.

I stood on my toes and looked through the small square window in the kitchen door. The glass was smeared, but I saw everyone dancing — everyone except Jordan and Pamela. They weren't anywhere in the mass of gyrating bodies. Had they left?

I spotted Janae making a beeline straight for me.

I took a quick step back before she plowed me over with the door.

"Emili, I need the trays replenished. Get to it." Her voice raked over my ears. She scurried to the fridge and started pulling out packages of sliced cheese.

"Are you crazy?" I asked. "I'm not replenishing any trays. Were you even there a few minutes ago?"

"Seriously? Who cares? All of us get dumped one time or other. Now, get out there. You're the one who volunteered to help."

"Well, I'm un-volunteering as of this minute. You ruined my dress, my ride home is gone, Laine saw me cry like a two-year-old — I'm done. Do you hear me? Done."

The door opened again, and Jordan stepped into the kitchen, a pained expression stamped on his face.

"Emili, I…" He noticed Janae watching us with her ears perked out like airplane wings. "Janae, do you mind?"

"We have a ball to put on, you know." She huffed long and loud but had the decency to leave.

Jordan reached out for me, but I held my hands up. "Jordan, no worries. I'm going home. You stay and get caught up with Pamela." Even I was impressed with my words.

"Emili, you and I came as a couple. It's not right—"

"As friends, Jordan. Remember? We came as friends. It's no big deal. I'm glad you get to see Pamela." My voice faltered on the last sentence, but I recovered and even managed a wobbly smile.

"I'll drive you home," he said. "You know, when it's over."

"No need. I'm going home right now. My dad's been sick, and I think I'm getting the same thing." I sniffed and fake coughed. "I have a ride."

I'd no idea how I was going to get home, but I wasn't about to stand and discuss it.

"I can take you, Emili," he said. "It's not a problem."

"No, it isn't a problem, because I have a ride who's probably already outside waiting for me. You have fun, Jordan, and I'll see you on Monday." If I stayed even one more minute, I'd break down, and he'd know the truth. I pushed by him and hurried back into the shadowy gym. The tears came then, and I had trouble seeing. I made my way to the photo booth, found my sweater, and ran out the closest exit to the cold and empty hallway where I slumped against the wall.