The Art of Losing Yourself (34 page)

G
RACIE

I stared wide-eyed at the impostor in the mirror while Carmen stuck the last of the bobby pins in my hair. Yesterday, she kidnapped me after bowl practice and not only took me dress shopping at Cordova Mall, she paid for manicures and a visit to some fancy hair salon. Since my mousy-brown roots had grown out quite a bit and the tips that I dyed green over Christmas had turned the color of wilted asparagus, I didn’t protest. I mean, if she wanted to drop a hundred dollars for what I could accomplish with an eight-dollar box of Garnier Nutrisse, that was her decision. If I’d known the hairdresser would make such a strong case for a rich mahogany brown, maybe I would have protested. “It will make your eyes absolutely pop,” she had said.

Now, with my hair pinned up and my black eyeliner replaced with a soft smoky shadow, I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me at all.

Carmen and I made eye contact in the mirror’s reflection. “What do you think?”

I twisted my mood ring around my finger. Thanks to the manicure, I didn’t even have hangnails or cuticles to pick. “I look weird.”

“You look great.”

Yeah, like a great phony.

Carmen held up the dress we bought at Dillard’s—knee length, halter neckline, vibrant turquoise. It was a color that combined the tranquility of blue with a hint of yellow’s energy. I could have done without the yellow at the moment. Carmen handed it over with an excited flourish, set a pair of nylons and high heels on the chest at the end of the bed, and left so I could have some privacy. I stepped into the dress and bypassed Carmen’s accessories for black calf-length leggings and a pair of laceless Chuck Taylor All Stars. They made me feel a lot less glamour girl and lots more Gracie.

The doorbell rang.

Show time
.

Shaking out my cold hands, I stepped into the hallway and made my way down the stairs. On the third step, the conversation between Ben and Elias faded into silence. All three of them stared, Carmen with her eyebrows pulled together (no doubt at my legging-shoe combination), Ben with his mouth hanging open like a fish, and Elias…well, he slid his hands into his pockets and let out a low whistle. “Gracie Fisher, lookin’ fine.”

His compliment made my ears burn.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs—the center of all the attention—I wished more than anything that Elias would have let me pick him up. But he had remained resolute. I might have asked him to the dance, he still insisted on picking me up for it. I stole a glance as nonchalantly as possible. He was wearing an outfit similar to the one he wore on Christmas Eve, only his dress shirt was tucked in and instead of a navy-blue tie, he’d chosen slate gray.

Carmen clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Where are you two going for dinner?”

“We’re meeting Veronica and Malik at the Hot Dog Hut,” Elias answered.

“The Hot Dog Hut?”

I could practically see the romantic bubble she’d created in her head (candlelight dinner for two complete with a violin serenade) pop with Elias’s news. She hadn’t asked what was going on between Elias and me when we were shopping at the mall yesterday, but her running commentary made it clear she’d jumped to some inaccurate conclusions. “Why wait an hour at some overpriced restaurant in Pensacola when we have the world’s best chili dogs at our fingertips?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“No corsage?” Ben asked.

“Gracie made me promise not to get her one.” Elias wore his smile when he said it, like my insistence amused him. Seriously though—corsages and boutonnieres? Cheesy high school dance pictures? I had to draw the line somewhere. And if Elias could be stubborn about picking me up, I could be stubborn about this.

“Well, you didn’t make me promise no pictures.” Carmen held up her phone.

I groaned, but a tiny speck of reluctant appreciation blipped inside of me. This was as close to a doting mother as I’d ever had.

Elias placed his hand around my waist and tipped his lips to my ear. “No scowling at the camera.”

The tickle of his breath turned my stomach into a Tilt-A-Whirl.

Carmen snapped her picture. Ben kissed my cheek and told me I was beautiful (not at all helpful for the ear burning). And Elias and I were off, driving to the Hot Dog Hut in his mom’s Honda Accord.

The student council had transformed Bay Breeze’s cafeteria into a dance hall that was all balloons and streamers and lights, complete with a photographer in the back corner who wore a black fedora and took pictures against a gossamer backdrop. A D.J. played some awful mix of teen pop while girls in dresses of every color and boys in ties moved in a giant mass on the dance floor. Even though it was pretty much the antithesis of everything I stood for, a giddy feeling had gone and glued itself to my person. I couldn’t get rid of the flush in my cheeks if I tried.

Elias looked at me.

I started shaking my head before he could ask.

“But Fisher, it’s called a
dance
, not a stand.”

“My feet don’t dance.”

Elias attempted to recruit Malik and Veronica to his side, as if taking away the two people I’d
stand with
would make my feet reconsider. It turned out, Malik’s feet had no more interest in the dance floor than mine. Veronica looked tempted but followed us to a table near the back while Elias gazed at the dance floor longingly.

“You don’t need to stay here with us.” I waved toward the crowd. “You’re more than welcome to go bust a move.”

“You don’t care?”

“No.” But there was a ping—of jealousy? of longing? I wasn’t sure.

“All right. One dance. Maybe two. Then I’ll come back and see if you’ve changed your mind.” Elias flashed me his smile, then weaved his way toward the mass of bodies. I watched him go, trying not to think about who he’d dance with.

Malik cleared his throat, extra loud, and folded his hands over the table. He’d opted for a black bowtie, matching suspenders, a white dress shirt, and
jeans. He pulled the outfit off in typical Malik-style. “What’s up with you and Banks?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Woman, you know exactly what I mean.”

Veronica leaned over the table. “For the past month he’s been eating lunch with you most days in the cafeteria. He was totally flirting with you at dinner. And this is the first time he’s ever partnered off to go to a dance. Every other time, he’s gone in a group.”

“That’s because you put him on the spot with your impromptu suggestion.”

“A suggestion that found him exorbitantly compliant.”

I shook my head at Malik’s comment in an attempt to brush it off. Elias had plenty of opportunities to ask me out. So far, we remained friends. Sure, there was the almost-kiss moment on Christmas Eve and he
had
been extra flirty tonight, but I didn’t want to be one of those girls who read into things that weren’t there. I didn’t want to be the girl I was last year in Apalachicola, when I thought Chris Nanning actually liked me. Song one ended. Song two began. I glanced at the dance floor, then back at my teammates. “Do you think we’re ready for semis next week?”

“Evasively played.”

“Seriously, Malik. How good is Lake City?”

“Good enough to make it to the semis,” Veronica said.

Florida broke their high school academic bowl competition into four regions: South Florida, Central Florida, North Florida, and the Panhandle. The regional winners faced off in the semis: South versus Central, and North versus the Panhandle. If we beat Lake City, we would either compete against Coral Gables (South Florida regional champs) or Kissimmee (Central Florida regional champs). Whichever team had the best point record got “home court” advantage in the finals. Of the four teams remaining, our overall point total was the highest, which meant should we make it to the academic bowl state championship, it would take place in Bay Breeze. Anytime I pictured this scenario, I lost my appetite. According to Malik and Veronica, people actually came to watch the finals, and if it were in Bay Breeze, I imagined the crowd would be substantial.

While Malik and Veronica broke down the strengths and weaknesses of
our upcoming opponents, I tried not to think too hard about what lay ahead. Somewhere in the middle of my trying, a familiar song started playing from the speakers. The Euro-symphonic rock had my jaw dropping a little. The D.J. had Delaine on his playlist?

“You can thank me on the dance floor.”

I jumped at the sound of Elias’s voice in my ear and turned my head to find him smiling smugly. Before I could ask any questions, he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the clot of teenagers jamming to music they didn’t know, let alone appreciate. Halfway there, my shock wore off and panic kicked in. I dug in my heels, but I was no match for Elias. He might not act like a meatheaded football player, but at the end of the day, he had the strength of one. And thanks to that strength, he had gotten his way. We were standing inside a hot horde of bodies, my heart thudding harder than the beat of the music.

“I don’t have rhythm!” I yelled over the noise.

“Don’t worry, I have enough for both of us.”

He wasn’t exaggerating. While I stood there lamely, not at all sure what to do with my hands, Elias proved that he not only had rhythm, he had rhythm with a sense of humor—this slick combination that had me laughing—and before I could remain self-conscious for too much longer, the song melted into something slow. His dancing stopped. My standing continued. Students paired up. Elias scratched the back of his neck. I rolled my eyes and turned to walk away, but he snagged my wrist, pulled me toward him, and wrapped my hands around his neck.

“Come on, Fisher. All you have to do is sway.”

Yeah, sway. An easy task, if the nearness of his body wasn’t making blood
glug-glug
in my ears. “You do realize that slow dancing is about as lame as corsages, don’t you?”

“Lucky for me, you didn’t forbid slow dancing.”

“I’ll have to remember to add that to the list next time.”

“Next time?” He quirked one of his eyebrows. “Are you asking me to prom?”

“Never.”

Elias chuckled.

I tried ignoring the smell of his cologne, the feel of his large hands on the small of my back.
Friends, Gracie. You two are friends. Friends, friends, friends
.
I focused on taking calm, even breaths and pinned my attention on all things not Elias. The streamers hanging from the ceiling. The balloons taped on the support beams. Classmates swaying back and forth, some couples closer than others. Seriously, how long was this song?