Part 13 (2/2)

”But I can see Josh over there, dancing with Kellie and Macie. Come on, please!” Rachel insists. She tightens her grip on my arm.

”Okay,” I sigh, rolling my eyes.

We continue to push our way through the crowd, when suddenly, I have the sense that I am being watched. The noise, the music, and the press of warm bodies seem to fall away. I feel as though I am swimming underwater, following Rachel, but not seeing, the echo of the din m.u.f.fled and far away. My neck grows itchy and tight, and my steps feel jerky.

Then, I find him. I find Damian's gray eyes across the dance floor, focused on my own, and everything comes back. He smiles and dips his head, and I send him a nod and a grin in return. He came! A million thoughts are rioting in my mind. Did he come for me? Oh my, he looks cute. He's wearing a crisp white s.h.i.+rt, a lavender tie, and khakis. I tear my eyes away, embarra.s.singly aware that I've been ogling him and staring like a total nut-job. I follow Rachel until we're just outside 137.

the circle of Nasties and soccer jocks, including Josh. My heart is racing, and I crane my neck, trying to keep Damian in my line of sight. He's disappeared.

”Ready?” Rachel asks, planting her feet before starting to dance.

I can't sense him watching me now, but I still feel completely self-conscious. If I'm going to be perfectly honest with myself, I must admit, I had hoped, but I had never actually expected him to come to the dance. I am jittery and nervous.

”Come on, Cor, dance with me!” Rachel begs. I realize I've been standing leadenly in the middle of the dance floor, probably looking like a weirdo.

Enough. Just stop thinking, I tell myself.

I close my eyes and let the music in, let it fill me up. My limbs loosen and my feet un stick and I begin to dance. I don't pay any attention to the Nasties, or to the fact that their circle remains closed to Rachel and me. I try not to pay attention to Rachel or to the longing so apparent in her eyes. It's sad, but I'm afraid I might look the same way. Because I am lonely, too. And Damian, let's face it, looks amazing, and I hope -- oh, I really do hope -- he came to the dance because of me.

Then suddenly, the tempo of the music s.h.i.+fts and the lights dim further. A slow song. I see Rachel's gaze dart over to Josh, then down to the ground. Josh has wrapped his arms around Pearl O'Riley's waist.

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”Come on, Rachel,” I say gently, and begin to steer her from the dance floor.

”Hey, Cora,” a deep, rumbling voice interrupts us. I look up quickly to see Damian blocking our path from the dance floor. It's weird to see him without his customary trench coat; he looks vulnerable, younger, as though he's shed his battle armor.

”Hi,” I reply. My voice trembles.

”So, um,” Damian begins, scuffing his toe on the vinyl mat, ”would you, uh, like to dance?” He looks nervous, I notice. That's curious. Wait, what did he say?

”Oh, um --” I look back at Rachel, whose mouth is hanging wide open. She wraps her fingers around my wrist and squeezes. Like a vise.

”Come on, Cor,” Rachel whines. ”I have to go to the bathroom.”

I freeze. Pathetic, yes, I know. Then I remember the bonfire and the lunch table abandonment, and I defrost real quick. Looking up at Damian I say, ”Yes, I'd like to.” I turn to Rachel. ”Go on to the bathroom without me. I'll see you after, okay?” Without waiting for a response, I follow Damian back into the crush of bodies on the dance floor.

Slowly, we turn to face each other. My stomach flutters nervously. There must be about a hundred b.u.t.terflies in there. We've sat this close inside the barn, but this feels very different. Carefully, with such care and gentleness, Damian wraps 139.

his arms around my waist, and draws me nearer to him. His touch is soft.

He looks very serious. I bring my arms up to his shoulders. His cheeks are dusted with the tiniest hint of stubble, and he smells of something warm and spicy -- nutmeg, maybe -- and a pine forest. His eyes are moving over the dance floor, but as they settle on me, I feel a stinging heat wash over my face. We've barely started, but my stomach feels like it is dancing, dancing. I can't get used to the warmth of his hands on my back; it feels right. The palms of my hands tingle against the smooth fabric of his s.h.i.+rt. What do we look like to all the other kids at the dance -- do we fit together, do we look like a couple? Do Damian and I look graceful together? Are the others even looking at us? Is everyone thinking about Nate and what a pair of freaks we are?

The song is languid and speaks of love and loneliness and loss. Why does love always seem to go with the sad things? Damian and I do not look at each other as we sway, turning in circles, and I can't bring my eyes up to his face. Yet, every piece of me is aware of him, of his closeness. For this moment, I can almost believe that his loneliness has run away.

We're both lonely. Like two empty halves of a seash.e.l.l.

When the song winds to an end, Damian and I quickly drop our arms and step apart. I don't know where to look, what to say.

140.

”Thanks.” Damian speaks hesitantly, smiling a small, mysterious smile down at me.

”You're welcome,” I whisper back. ”Thank you, too.” My heart is squeezing and expanding and jumping and maybe breaking apart just a little bit.

”I think your friend is waiting for you,” Damian says, tilting his chin toward the press of kids on the edge of the dance floor. Rachel is there, an impatient look on her face.

”Oh, I should probably go to her,” I reply. Damian's face drops, his eyes darkening, and for a moment, I wonder if I've hurt him.

”All right,” he says. ”I'll see you around.”

”See you.”

Damian vanishes into the crowd. My heart hurts. I sigh and make my way to Rachel. A thundercloud seems to have descended over her.

”Hi,” I say, making my voice sound bright as I come to her side.

”I can't believe you,” Rachel practically spits.

”What? What did I do?”

”I can't believe you went out there and danced with that waster, in front of everybody. Everyone saw,” Rachel hisses.

”I'm sorry?” I say stupidly. ”What did you say?” I couldn't have heard her right.

”You heard me. You danced with that loser in front of the whole world.”

141.

”What?” I repeat, louder this time, as I realize what Rachel is saying. ”Who are you to call Damian a loser? And who cares if everyone saw us dance? He's my friend. What is your problem? Is it that you're jealous?” Rachel flinches, but I press on. ”You're just jealous, aren't you? Because Josh didn't ask you to dance, because he was there dancing with Pearl! Is that your problem?”

”You're my problem,” Rachel shouts. ”You are. You walk around school, acting like a giant weirdo, and now you're a.s.sociating with a freak, and you know what? People are talking about you. They're calling you a freak. You're just a freak and a baby, and I don't need to be a.s.sociated with that.” Rachel's eyes glow with anger. ”I'm done.” She whirls around and marches away, not looking back.

I stand rooted to the spot. What just happened? Rachel... Rachel of all people calling me a freak -- these awful names? Rachel? Well, I don't need her, either. What a monster! I can feel my neck, my ears, my cheeks burning as Rachel's words burn in my mind. Weirdo. Freak. Done. Did she really say all those ugly things?

Tears p.r.i.c.k the back of my eyes, and I run outside. I pull my cell phone from my purse and, with shaking fingers, dial my mother. ”Mom?” I ask, my voice quaking with sobs. ”Could you come pick me up?”

As I'm cras.h.i.+ng through the halls, blinded by tears, someone calls my name. I keep sprinting down the corridor; faces 142.

are blurry, and I hear my name shouted again. I slow to a walk and I realize that Helena is streaking toward me, her corn silk curls flying out behind her. Her face is filled with concern and as she reaches me, she takes my hand in hers. ”Cora, are you okay? What happened?” she asks.

I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and swat away the tears dripping down my cheeks. ”I'm sorry,” I say, not really sure why I'm apologizing, except I hate to think that I'm messing up the dance for anyone else. Especially Helena. ”I'm fine. I'm just... I'm just going to go home now.”

”Why? Cor, what happened to you? Did Damian do something?”

When I whip my head around to glare at her, she stutters, ”I'm s-sorry. I just saw you two dancing and thought maybe he'd said something to hurt -- Sorry ...” she finishes lamely.

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