Awkwardly Ever After (25 page)

T
here's not a whole lot to do at a school dance.

I mean, you basically have three options: you can dance with a group of friends, you can stand around the edges of the room and compliment people on wearing something you've never seen them in before, or you can eat.

And after being bumped and jostled by all of Smith High School's diehard ReadySet fans for an hour, I was more than ready to take a huge step back. All the way to the buffet table, in fact.

Say what you will about the overblown expectations and the petty backstabbing that surrounds a glorified high school assembly, the crab dip was addictive.

Plus, it gave me a pretty good view of all my friends, without the discomfort of being tossed in as a third wheel. Mackenzie whispered something in Logan's ear as they swayed back and forth in one of the less crowded areas of the dance floor. No doubt they had deliberately chosen that location to prevent even a royal klutz like Mackenzie from twisting an ankle in her heels. Isobel and Spencer weren't dancing together, but I'd never seen her look happier . . . especially when he took the corsage off his wrist and slipped it onto hers. Even if she did wrinkle her nose and say something that made him burst out laughing.

Jane and Scott were both obviously working the event—I was convinced that she had a notepad and a dozen pens in her clutch instead of makeup, and he was armed with his ever-present camera. But the two of them kept exchanging these looks across the room that made it obvious they were looking forward to ditching prom early. I doubted they would have bothered to attend if they didn't have a good excuse to avoid the dance floor.

Meanwhile, I ate to pass the time.

I was debating the merits of a second cookie when Jane gave a little yelp and moved past me in a blur of black satin, then pulled up short and crossed her arms with feigned nonchalance.

“About time you showed up. I see how it is now. You go spend a little time in Cambodia and suddenly you're too good for us.”

Chelsea Halloway flashed a stunningly perfect smile that I'd never seen on her face during her reign at Smith High School. She looked radiant in a knee-length gold dress that brought out the burnished undertones of her long blond hair.

“I'm sorry, have we met?” Chelsea pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You remind me a little of this girl I used to know, but . . .”

Jane pulled her into a hug. “Shut up, Chelsea.”

“Make me, geek.”

A guy in an ill-fitting suit with floppy dark hair shifted uncomfortably next to the girls. “Well, this is fun. Okay, give me a task, please. Someone. Anyone. Anything.”

Chelsea raised an eyebrow devilishly. “Anything, you say? Interesting . . . I might have a few ideas.”

Tall, dark, and geeky turned to Jane for help. “Hey, Jane, would you mind repeating that last thing you said?”

Jane grinned. “Shut up, Chelsea?”

“Perfect. Thanks. Feel free to say that whenever you want. Really.”

Chelsea stuck her tongue out at him and I nearly did a double take at the sight of the Notable queen acting like, well . . . a geek. Then she turned to me.

“Oh hey, Corey! Have you met my boyfriend, Nashville?”

He grimaced as he held out a hand for me to shake. “Houston.”

“But he loves it when people call him Tallahassee. Or better yet—”

“Jane?” Houston interrupted.

“I'm on it,” Jane said dutifully. “Shut up, Chelsea.”

“Okay, we obviously have some catching up to do, right after I dance with Atlanta.” Chelsea pulled Houston into the fray before he had an opportunity to protest. Although when she hijacked one of his arms and did a little twirl, he grinned down at her instead of making an escape.

“I still can't believe Chelsea's dating a college guy like
Houston
.” Jane slipped her arm around my waist. “I was starting to worry that she'd pine after Logan forever.”

Chelsea did a little shimmy and then burst out giggling as Houston tried to leave the dance floor. He was all rumpled edges to her polished sheen, but the contrast made them look
right
together somehow.

It wasn't fair.

Chelsea could bring her
college-aged
boyfriend to a school dance—where she was no longer even
enrolled
—but my boyfriend couldn't be seen even holding my hand. And if I were to mention it to Principal Taylor, the only thing I'd accomplish would be ruining their night. I couldn't do it.

But the injustice of the whole situation had my stomach tied in knots.

“Hey, all you Portland people! Is everyone having a good time tonight?”

I couldn't bring myself to cheer in response to Tim's question. Then again, I didn't have to make a sound because the ReadySet cheer section was all over it; hooting, hollering, screaming themselves hoarse . . . the works.

“Well, we've had a great time with you tonight, but we think it's time for you to meet your prom king and queen!”

His last few words were nearly drowned out by my classmates, and Tim had to wait for everyone to settle down a little before he continued.

“So, without further ado, here's . . . Principal Taylor!”

I clenched my hands into tight fists as my classmates dutifully cheered for a man who thought that everyone was entitled to the full high school experience . . . unless they were gay.

Principal Taylor cleared his throat into the microphone. “Um . . . thank you, Mr. Goff. I'd like to remind all of you that underage drinking jeopardizes your life and everyone around you. Be smart, stay safe, and we'll all make it out of here alive.”

He paused awkwardly, probably because he had planned on leaving an opening for laughter and applause. It didn't happen.

“Um . . .” He floundered, ripping open an envelope as if he were at the Academy Awards. “Your junior prom king is . . . Logan Beckett!”

I wolf-whistled as the hockey captain made his way over to the stage and accepted the crown with a good-natured shrug and a smile, but I was far more curious to see how Patrick would take this blow to the ego. I couldn't find him in the sea of sequins and suits, so I began hunting for Steffani instead. Her sparkly silver number was pretty hard to miss, especially because it included a slit that ran all the way up to mid-thigh. Sure enough, I spotted Patrick glowering right next to her
Dancing with the Stars
–worthy outfit. Judging by the viselike grip Steffani had on his hand, Patrick didn't have much choice in the matter.

I began moving toward them. There was no doubt in my mind that the only people who would hassle Mackenzie if she won were standing in that little clump. I didn't slow down until there was only one rather tall girl separating me from the worst of the Notable crowd.

“And your junior prom queen is . . .”

Mr. Taylor fumbled with the sheet of paper in his hands and I glanced over at Mackenzie in time to see her start inching toward the exit.

“Chelsea Halloway!”

Everyone went nuts.

“She doesn't even go here anymore!”
Steffani wailed while Mackenzie cheered for all she was worth.

“Way to go, Chelsea!”

“God, she gets
everything
she wants. It's so unfair!”

“We love you, girl!”

Chelsea didn't seem to hear any of it. She sauntered elegantly on her three-inch heels to where her king was already standing, and accepted the tiara with a grace that nobody else could have pulled off. Mackenzie had been right all along: Some girls were just born to be prom queens, and Chelsea Halloway was one of them.

I couldn't make out what Steffani said to Patrick, but even though she had lowered her voice, it was obvious she was almost overcome with fury. Hoping her anger would consume her focus, I crept forward to eavesdrop.

Okay, so maybe I should have minded my own business.

Maybe I should have relished the moment and watched along with the rest of the high school as two seniors were crowned with a whole lot less enthusiasm from the crowd. Chelsea and Logan had upstaged the seniors. Again. All eyes were riveted on the pair of them when both couples claimed the floor for the honorary first dance.

But a full-fledged Notable freak-out was too entertaining to resist.

“I told you!”
Steffani hissed at Patrick.
“The only way to beat Chelsea is to get your hands dirty! But you had to go wimp out on me!”

“Hey, I did not wimp out! I'm just not as desperate for attention as you are.”

So . . . that relationship definitely wasn't going to last the night.

Steffani laughed coldly. “
I'm
desperate? Me? That's a good one. I'm not the one who anonymously posted a YouTube video because I was worried other people wouldn't like it.”

“Back off, Steffani,” he growled.

“Or what? You'll try and share my embarrassing moments with the world? Good luck with that, Patrick. I'm not a freak like Mackenzie Wellesley.”

I stood frozen in place, unable to think or breathe or . . . do just about anything beyond feeling a layer of ice begin encasing my heart.

Patrick Bradford had been the one to humiliate Mackenzie.

He had intentionally posted that video to exploit her moment of embarrassment for social capital. And I really, truly, honestly didn't care that he hadn't intended for it to go viral. It didn't make a difference if he had planned to share it with five people or five billion.

There was no way I was going to let him get away with hurting my best friend.

I
t was strange watching Chelsea dance with Logan.

Together they were an undeniable power couple; all that confidence and poise and freakishly great genetics combined to make them every bit as golden as Chelsea's dress. They looked completely at ease with each other too. Considering that they were exes, I would have expected tension or awkwardness or . . .
something
. Instead, the Notable queen grinned up at Logan before he dipped her with the same move he'd used on Mackenzie only a few hours earlier—although this time he kept his mouth to himself.

I studied Mackenzie closely just to make sure she was okay with all of this. It was one thing to create posters for your former arch-nemesis and something entirely different to watch your boyfriend whirling his stunningly beautiful ex-girlfriend around the dance floor. But Mackenzie was beaming at them as if the whole thing had been her idea.

Which I guess was the truth.

So instead of detouring over to her, I headed straight for the stage as soon as the special dance for the prom court ended. It was slow going because I had to squeeze between couples who had no intention of leaving any space between each other—or anyone else, for that matter.

“Hey, Houston, what do you think of my new accessory?” Chelsea posed jokingly in front of her boyfriend.

“I always knew you were a princess.”

“Yeah, but you rarely meant it as a compliment,” she pointed out.

I didn't hear his response because a sliver of space opened up in front of me and I seized the opportunity to move forward. Tim was halfway through a new song he had co-written with Nick in L.A. by the time I reached the stage. There was no way I could cut him off mid-performance, so I stood right next to Darryl while I waited for them to finish.

Tim could tell that something was wrong.

He cocked his head slightly to the side and began scanning my surroundings, obviously trying to identify the threat to my well-being so that he could eliminate it. Or at the very least get Darryl to take care of the situation.

His concern should have made me feel all warm inside, but I still felt cold. Numb with a seething hatred that had seized me the instant I had overheard what Patrick had released online.

I didn't bank the fury in my eyes as I waited for the final notes to make my move.

“Uh . . . Corey O'Neal, everyone!” Tim said lamely, by way of introduction as I climbed up the steps onto the stage. He leaned over to my ear and whispered, “Are you okay, Corey?”

I nodded jerkily, took a deep breath, and then spoke clearly into the mic.

“Hey, everyone! I know that we've already crowned our prom king and queen, but there are actually a few other people I think we need to recognize for their contributions tonight. So let's put our hands together and give Lisa Anne Montgomery a big round of applause for being the worst, most condescending journalist
The Smithsonian
has ever seen. Well done, Lisa Anne.”

Everyone—the students, the handful of faculty members and parents who were acting as chaperones—all of them stared at me in shock. It would have been funny to see that many well-dressed people with their mouths hanging open if I hadn't been spitting mad and nowhere near finished.

“Congratulations, Alex Thompson. Your rampant homophobia pushed you over the edge in the very competitive category of Smith High School's biggest bully.”

I could see Principal Taylor desperately trying to signal for someone to cut my mic, so I spoke even faster.

“Ashley McGrady and Steffani Larson have tied for the female equivalent of that award. It really was impossible to choose between you two ladies.”

The shock was starting to wear off and I could see more than one adult begin pushing their way through the crowd to reach me.

“The honor of Smith High School's Worst Person Award goes to our very own Patrick Bradford. Congratulations, Patrick; you showed a complete lack of basic human decency when you deliberately tried to humiliate Mackenzie Wellesley with a YouTube video. She's a million times better on her worst days than you'll ever be on your best. And here to escort me to the door is the man who decided I couldn't attend prom with my date because of my sexual orientation. Let's hear it for Principal Taylor!”

“He's really coming up here, Corey!” Tim grabbed my hand and pulled me across the stage in an attempt to put space between one seriously pissed off school principal and his boyfriend.
“Let's go!”

I paused only to drop the mic.

Then I maneuvered my way through the crowd with Tim two steps ahead of me.

I'm not sure who started the slow-clap, but the room went from a heavily weighted silence to a resounding beat. It didn't take long for the other ReadySet boys to get in on the action. Nick pounded away on the drum set and Chris began chanting, “Cor-ey! Cor-ey!” into my abandoned microphone.

The amazing part was how quickly the students who had silently watched Alex Thompson push me and my friends around in the cafeteria joined in.

All it took was hearing we had the support of a rock band and suddenly they were all fervently anti-bully.

Go figure.

I wasn't really going to complain, though; especially since they sprang aside so that Tim and I could make a clean getaway. Maybe that was because they didn't want to risk upsetting the scowling Darryl, who was trailing right behind us. Darryl definitely would have been incentive enough for me to scurry away. Still, Tim and I were both breathing a little roughly by the time we reached the enormous doors that kept the reporters at bay. There was no time to strategize the next leg of our daring escape.

So for once we didn't even try.

Tim yanked open the door and forged onward toward the parking lot. But I twisted at the last second so that I could snag one last glance at the chaos I was leaving in my wake. I had a feeling that someday I would describe to my grandchildren the way the hundreds of red and silver balloons caught the glare from the paparazzi's flash photography. The twinkle lights wrapped around the support beams that glowed in cheery contrast to the absolutely livid expression of the school administrator who was still in full pursuit . . .

Then I left it all behind me as I followed Tim into the heart of the press.

“What's the rush, Timothy?”

“Are you being chased because you're gay?”

“How was your night?”

“Over here, Timothy!”

Tim never slowed down, even when we reached his sports car. He pulled his key fob from his pocket, unlocked it with a beep, and barely waited for me to climb in before he revved the motor as a warning to all the tabloid vultures to keep their distance. He didn't waste any time telling me to get in, or buckle up, or hold on, or any of those other clichés that get tossed around in every Hollywood car chase sequence. Instead, Tim focused his attention on putting as many miles as possible between us and everyone else in the world.

As we sped out of the parking lot and onto one of Portland's many one-way streets, I released a victorious war cry that had been hiding in some dark corner of my chest.

“Did you see that?” I lowered the car window so that the wind could whip through my hair. So that the very air could share in my exhilaration. “That felt . . .
amazing!
”

Tim nodded, but he kept his gaze locked firmly on the road ahead of us. “It was definitely something.”

“Something
awesome,
” I amended. “I wish I had done that years ago.”

“Did you really have to do it tonight? At prom?” Tim's voice was calm and steady, but I heard the reproof in it. “You couldn't have waited to go public with all of that?”

I couldn't believe he even needed to ask. “When would
you
have done it, Tim? A school assembly? During an interview with Ellen? When do you think the timing would be right to publicly call out the bullies who have made my life a living hell?”

He considered that for a moment before speaking. “I'm not trying to judge you, Corey. I know what you did took a lot of courage. But I wish we could have enjoyed prom without a confrontation.”

I twisted in the plush leather seat so that I could get a good look at Tim. “I don't get why you care so much about this one stupid dance. It's
high school,
okay? You can dress it up however you want; it's still going to be a disappointment. Because for most of us, that sums up the whole high school experience.”

“I guess I wanted more for us.” Tim's voice was stiff, and the exhilaration I'd practically been swimming in only moments before evaporated like water on the sidewalk during a heat wave in Los Angeles.

“Could you pull over? Or drive to a hotel where we can really talk? There are . . .” I nearly lost my nerve, but I forced myself to spit out the rest of the words. “There are some things we need to discuss.”

If you can't handle the rock star lifestyle . . . it doesn't mean that you don't love him.

The only way to move forward was to clear the air. I briefly wished I was back at prom, facing down a crowd that couldn't quite decide whether they wanted to treat me like a hero or lynch me on the spot.

Telling the truth in front of everyone hadn't been easy.

But it was nothing compared to the conversation I was about to have with my boyfriend.