Speechless (28 page)

Living it up, indeed. The gym’s decorations are as mediocre as ever—leftover silver Christmas tinsel and plastic glittering snowflakes everywhere—but the place is packed, reeking of sweat and cheap cologne and teenage hormones.

“Smells like teen spirit,” Andy quips as he guides Noah to one of the empty side tables.

Asha wastes no time in dragging me onto the floor. I had no idea the girl could dance like she does. My initial self-consciousness vanishes from the sheer, overpowering force of her shamelessness. A few minutes later Sam abandons Andy and Noah to join us; he dances like your typical boy, all minimal feet shuffling and head bobbing, but he looks like he’s enjoying himself, and that’s what really matters. Having fun. And I am. We get a few strange looks—I’m not sure if people are weirded out by Asha’s dress, or by the fact I’ve dared to show my face here—but I don’t really think about it. Who cares? Let people stare.

After a few songs I take a quick break to use the bathroom, and when I come out, I see Brendon by the water fountain. He smiles when he sees me.

“Hey, Chelsea,” he says.

“Hey,” I say, and grin at the surprised look on his face.

“You’re speaking again,” he says. “When did this happen?”

I shrug. “It’s a recent development.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “I saw you come in with Noah and Sam. Are you guys having a good time?”

“More than I’d hoped for,” I tell him. I tilt my head at him. “Where’s Kristen?”

“Around,” he says vaguely. He bites on his lower lip for a moment, like he’s considering what to say next. “You know, I almost thought about asking you, but—”

I wave him off midsentence. “It’s good that you didn’t.”

“It is?” He frowns.

I could tell Brendon all the reasons why—that I’ve realized he doesn’t know me at all, and I don’t really know him, either, and that I don’t think he’s my type anyway. My type has brown hair and glasses and a crooked smile and a dorky sense of humor and can cook the best damn tuna melt I’ve ever tasted.

I could tell Brendon all of these things, but some things are better left unsaid.

Instead I just smile and say, “Good luck with the Snow Prince thing,” and waltz back into the gym.

I find Asha and Sam on the floor again just as the music dies down. People groan with disappointment, and a spotlight appears on the front stage. Mr. Fenton hops up the steps and grabs the microphone, a stack of envelopes in hand.

“Good evening,” he says. “I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves tonight.”

Someone yells, “TURN THE MUSIC BACK ON, DICKFACE,” and people look around and laugh.

Mr. Fenton ignores the disruption and clears his throat. “I know you all want to get back to your dancing, so I’ll make this quick. I have the pleasure of announcing your elected Winter Formal Court.” He doesn’t
sound
very pleased about it.

“Oh, goody,” Asha mutters under her breath, and I grin at her.

“What?” Sam teases. “You’re not
quivering
from the anticipation?”

I’m not
quivering,
but I do want to hear this. First, Mr. Fenton calls out the freshmen Prince and Princess; a beaming brunette with boobs half spilling out of her tight strapless dress prances onto the stage, accompanied by a tall boy with a long face. Some junior from the dance committee hands out the awards: a tiara and roses for the girl, a crown and staff for the boy. When Mr. Fenton turns his back, the boy holds the staff between his legs and thrusts his hips in a seriously perverse juvenile display, and everyone cracks up.

Oblivious, or maybe just wanting to get through this torturous exercise as quickly as possible, Mr. Fenton forges on. “Now, for the Snow Prince and Snow Princess for the sophomore class…”

I know what that envelope’s going to say. Sam and my rendezvous to the hospital yesterday meant we skipped out on the voting at the end of the day, but it didn’t really matter—it wasn’t like two protest votes would make the difference.

But that doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t twist a little with disappointment when Mr. Fenton rips open the envelope and says, “Your sophomore court is…Brendon Ryan for Snow Prince and Kristen Courteau for Snow Princess!”

Big shock there.

Everybody except Sam, Asha and I claps as the two of them make their way onto the stage, Kristen towing Brendon eagerly by the hand. Kristen looks radiant, of course, the beaded purple dress she’s poured herself into shining like diamonds under the lights, her smile glossy and perfect. She takes the rose bouquet in one arm and uses the other to adjust the tiara so it sits straight on top of her elegant up-do.

Brendon accepts the crown and staff, holding it awkwardly at his side, but instead of standing next to Kristen, he steps forward and whispers something to Mr. Fenton. Mr. Fenton listens for a second and then shrugs, handing over the microphone.

“Hello?” Brendon’s smooth voice echoes through the gym. People shift around, impatient for more music, but then the clamor quiets down. “Hi,” he says. “So, uh, I’m really honored that you guys in my class voted for me…but I think there’s someone here tonight who deserves this title way more than I do.”

Asha and Sam both look at me like I should know what’s going on. I’m just as clueless as them, of course, so I half shrug and shake my head then turn my eyes back to Brendon. He’s looking out across the gym, over our heads.

“Noah Beckett is here tonight,” he continues, “and if he’ll accept it, I’d really like him to have my crown.”

What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On?

I twist around to find Andy and Noah. Andy’s staring at the stage, wide-eyed and gob smacked, while Noah just grins his doped-out smile. And then, snapping out of it, Andy stands and maneuvers the wheelchair to the front of the gym, the crowd parting to make a pathway. Brendon hops off the stage and places the crown on top of Noah’s head, hands him the stupid plastic shiny staff, and he says something, too, but the microphone is away from his mouth so I don’t hear. He squeezes Noah’s shoulder with a smile, and everyone is just
staring.

Everyone still stares, even after Mr. Fenton ends this weird little interlude by announcing the rest of the upperclassman court. Everyone still stares when the music kicks on again, a slow pop ballad, the dance reserved for the Court winners. Everyone stares as Andy slowly, slowly helps Noah stand.

They don’t really dance—they just hold each other, swaying from side to side, Noah’s face buried in Andy’s chest, Andy holding him up, their arms encircled so tightly around each other.

No one is looking at Kristen. But I am. I stare across the room at her, her rose bunch clutched in one limp hand, her mouth slack as she gawks at Andy and Noah, the Snow Princes, the belles of the ball, the center of attention. I wonder if she’s thinking what I am. How it seems so impossible that someone could look at them, see how plainly they care for each other, and find anything ugly or shameful or worthy of hatred in it, when all I see is something beautiful.

I can’t tell. I hope she is. I hope that’s what she sees.

* * *

“Best. Winter. Formal. Ever.”

This has to be at least the eighteenth time Asha has made this same declaration in the past hour.

“It was your
first
Winter Formal,” I point out. I lean against the counter as Sam rummages around for an extra colander. We’re having some serious tuna melt cravings.

“I don’t care. Nothing can top tonight’s.” Asha does a giddy twirl on her toes.

I can’t disagree—we bailed not long after the announcements, because there was just no way things could get any better. Plus, Noah’s curfew will be up soon, and he kept talking about wanting pie, so we figured we’d all head over to Rosie’s to unwind and celebrate.

Rosie’s is empty at the moment; dinner hour has long ended, and it’ll be a while before the post-formal stragglers and hungry burnouts wander in. Andy feeds Noah forkfuls of Dex’s pumpkin pie in one of the booths, their heads bent close together as they talk between bites. Lou fiddles with the jukebox until it blasts “Love Shack,” and she and Dex and Asha do this funny synchronized dance all in a line.

“I’ve still got the moves!” Dex crows and Lou bumps her hip against his while Asha dissolves into giggles.

“Are you going to help, or am I expected to do all the grunt work?” Sam asks.

I tear my eyes away from the group scene and face him. He looks so ridiculous in that diamond-patterned sports jacket, spatula in hand, and even so I want to just throw him in the supply closet and do all kinds of dirty things to him.

We stayed at the formal long enough to have one slow dance together, my arms wound around his neck, his slid around my waist. It was amazing, the two of us like that, so close, spinning around and around under the swirling lights. Even if the music sucked, even if no one was looking, it didn’t matter because
Sam
was looking, like he couldn’t stop, like he couldn’t believe I was actually there with him, when really I was the one who should’ve been in disbelief.

Now we stand next to each other in our fancy outfits and flip tuna melts on the grill. Mine turns out better than it did last time, and we make home fries to go with them, and then slide in across from Andy and Noah, eating off each other’s plates.

When Sam kisses some ketchup off the corner of my mouth, Andy says, “
Awww
. As much as I’d like to stick around with you two lovebirds, Cinderella’s gotta get his ass back to bed.”

Noah pouts. “An
dy
—”

“Don’t you ‘An
dy
’ me. If we’re a second late, your mother will shove her foot so far up my ass I’ll be eating Crocs for a week.”

Andy helps Noah into the wheelchair, and everyone waves them off. Asha and Lou clean off tables while Dex juggles measuring cups and talks about all of the blue paint he picked up yesterday.

“I’m closing tomorrow so we can get a first coat done,” he says. “I can count on you guys to help out, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Sam tells him, leaning against me.

I lean back and close my eyes. I could stay here forever and be happy.

He pokes me in the ribs. “What are you smiling about, girlie?”

I didn’t even realize I was. I open my eyes and smile wider. “Life’s just weird sometimes, that’s all,” I say, and then I yawn, and Sam grins.

“Maybe we should get you home, too. Do you need to call your parents?”

I check the time on my phone. “I’ve got a while.” I look up at him. “Do you…want to come over?” I ask, and yeah, I’m blushing a little.

He looks at me for a minute and then says, “I…could do that.”

Lou offers to give Asha a ride home. Before we leave, I grab Asha tight, hug her until she laughs.

“You’ll be here tomorrow?” I ask.

“Of course.” She glances at Sam and then at me with a knowing look and says, “Have
funnnn,
” snapping her dish towel at my shoulder.

In the parking lot, Sam impulsively picks me up and twirls me around and around as I shriek with laughter, kicking my heels, my gauzy skirt floating all around us. He sets me down, and I press my mouth to his, dizzy, breathless.

When I pull back just to look at him, it’s like the world is spinning and standing still, all at once. And I’m happy.

* * *

Sam is the first boy to ever set foot in my room. Well, the first nonblood relative, at least. Mom and Dad have this whole “boundaries” thing going on, and I’ve never had a real boyfriend before, so it was never an issue I had to deal with. I manage to sneak him in through the side door, and then herd him straight into my room while I check in with my parents. They’re in bed—Dad’s already fast asleep, and Mom’s reading some thick book by the light of the muted television. When she sees me, she slides a bookmark between the pages and takes off her glasses.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” she says with a smile. Thankfully that means she didn’t hear the second set of footsteps, either. “Did you have a good time?”

“The best,” I tell her. “I’m pretty tired. Guess I’m gonna head to bed now.”

I go over to kiss her good-night, and Mom touches the side of my face and says, “You look very happy. That’s all I care about, you know?”

I smile back. “I know.”

I’m a lucky girl. I really am. To have parents like this, ones who care enough to worry, who care enough to smother. I need to remember that.

I slip back into my bedroom and close the door, and when I turn around, I see Sam, his back to me as he looks around the room. I’m suddenly totally self-conscious. Even though ever since The Great Purging there isn’t much to see.

He faces me, my Nelly dog in his hands. Oh, God. That’s embarrassing.

“I met your friend,” he says. He cups the back of Nelly’s neck and bobs her droopy head up and down. “Arf, arf.”

“I think she likes you.”

“Well, we’ve been bonding.”

I let out a fake gasp. “Uh-oh. Does this mean I have some competition?”

“She’s cute, but I don’t think so. There’s only one girl for me,” he says. His smile is like floodlights, lighting up everything.

I all but pounce on him, and he laughs when we kiss. “Shh,” I hush against his lips, “we have to be quiet.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have as much experience in that arena as you do,” he says. He laughs again, soft and breathy, trying to stifle it by pushing his face into my shoulder. “Teach me?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I like you talking.”

“Fickle, are we?”

Instead of answering, I pull him down on the bed and swing my legs so I’m straddling his lap. My dress, of course, makes it awkward. I lean down and kiss him again, longer, slower.

“You’re going to rip your dress,” he points out.

Is he kidding me? “A girl has you in her bedroom, on her bed, and
that’s
what you say?” I shake my head, clucking my tongue.

“What? It’s a nice dress!”

“Hmm, okay, I changed my mind. Maybe no more talking. More—” I touch my mouth to his to finish the thought.

“I can do both at the same time.” He punctuates each word with a quick kiss. “I’m—” Kiss. “Very—” Kiss. “Talented—” Kiss. “That—” Kiss. “Way.” Kiss kiss kiss.