Part 10 (1/2)
”Ultimate chick food-according to my big sisters. I wanted to take you out to a nice place, but with the concert-”
I get a lump in my throat. ”This is so sweet.”
”Dig in. You must be starving.”
I start with the brownies.
We get to the hotel in time for pictures. ”You better hurry.” The teacher who takes our tickets pushes us down the hall. ”They close up in ten minutes.”
”We get pictures?” How can Scott be so stunned? Even I know that.
”I need to fix my face.”
He frowns at me. ”No, you don't.”
I quick put fresh lip gloss on while he pays the photographer.
”So if they turn out, we can order extras?”
”Scott! ”
”Just checking. My grandmother might want a copy.”
”She can have mine.”
His face falls.
”I didn't mean you. I'm hideous in pictures.”
”Twenty years from now, we'll need these to prove to our kids that we actually went to the prom.”
”Our kids?”
He gets pink around his edges. ”Your kids. My kids. Future hypothetical miserable adolescents.”
”Like us?”
The photographer motions us to stand in front of a cheesy archway wrapped in silk leaves and twinkle lights. She looks from me down to Scott. ”I think we need a chair. You should sit, hon.”
Scott glares at her. ”No way.” He points to my legs. ”I want those in the picture.”
”You sneaky brat.”
”I've never seen them before. Who knows when you'll show them off again?”
The photographer's laughing at us now, but Scott gets his way. She has us stand facing each other, puts Scott's arms around me-adjusts them so his hands rest in the small of my back. She has me clasp my arms behind his neck, shakes her head, repositions my arms to mirror Scott's. ”Now, turn your heads. Chin down, dear. Stand up straight. Smile a little. This isn't a funeral. Look here.” She holds up her hand and wiggles her fingers. ”That's good.” The camera flashes.
I feel stiff and awkward and blink.
Scott, the little sneak, tickles me. I laugh, and she snaps another shot. ”Oh,” she says, ”that one is nice.”
Scott keeps one hand on my back and guides me into a blue plush room with chandeliers turned low. A slow song is playing. ”Let's dance.”
I hesitate. He knows I've never been to a dance. Enemy territory. He went in junior high. Maybe some in high school. Guys can do that-watch from the sidelines. Maybe he even danced. I don't know. I was home writing sad songs that I tore into tiny bits and threw out my window.
”Come on, Bethie.” He slips off his jacket and hangs it on the back of a chair at an empty table in the back. ”Slow ones are easy.” He glances at the sparkly clutch Meadow loaned me. ”Anything valuable in that? ”
”Just my face.” Who knows what that's worth? Hundreds. Thousands. I toss the bag on the table and glance around. There are a couple teacher chaperones watching stuff at the tables. One of them nods at me.
Scott grabs my elbow and pushes me onto the dance floor. He puts his arms around my waist again. I rest my hands lightly on his shoulders, barely touching him. He's staring straight at my cleavage.
”Stop looking at that.”
”Didn't you wear this dress so I could look at it?”
”I wore this dress because Meadow made me.”
”Thank you, Meadow.”
”You're creeping me out. Knock it off.”
”Where should I look?”
”How about my face?”
He tilts his head back, and we move around in a slow circle. ”This isn't going to work. My neck's getting stiff.” His eyes drop back to my cleavage.
I step on his toes-hard. ”Look to the side then.”