Making Out (12 page)

Still, the mood was exciting, and there was some kind of buzz in the air. The dance floor was respectably full. It was still too early for a lot of the hippest kids to show up—that's why the place wasn't packed yet. But after a minute, Heather finally spotted the person she was looking for.

Katie. At least Katie was there.

Heather's heart pounded a little as she watched Katie dancing with the group of girls she'd arrived with. In her slinky beige gown cut on the bias, with tiny torn bits of netting sewn like trim along the seams and hem, she was a vision, a knockout. The tiniest pearl necklace hung around her beautiful long neck, and her golden hair fell everywhere, framing her shoulders and covering the thin straps of her dress.

No matter how crowded the dance floor got, Katie was the kind of girl people always made room for. There was this invisible cushion of space around her—as if she were the star of a movie, and the extras knew they had to leave room for the camera shot. You didn't crowd a girl like Katie Morgan. Her aura gave off a huge glow.

“Why aren't you dancing?” A voice beside Heather broke through her private space.

It was Marty Alexander, the yearbook editor, dressed like James Bond in a white dinner jacket, black bow tie, and black formal pants. Very East Coast preppy. Very old-school money. The dinner jacket didn't look rented, and it didn't look brand-new. Marty had done the formal thing before.

“Hi,” Heather said, glad to have someone to talk to. She couldn't blame her friends for dumping her already—not really. She just wished they'd have spent a
few
more minutes with her before running off to be with their guy. Or guys. Plural, in Lisa Marie's case.

“You alone?” Marty asked, sounding surprised.

“No, I came with Marianna and Lisa Marie.”

“So why aren't you dancing?”

The DJ was spinning something with a dance club beat, and Marty didn't seem to have anything more than a quick twirl on the floor in mind, so she let him take her hand and lead her into the crowd. The minute they hit the dance floor, she started to loosen up. Dancing was better than doing the wallflower act.

Marty grabbed her and spun her around to the right, then the left, throwing down some serious swing dance moves. He was pretty masterful, surprisingly so. Heather laughed, amazed at how people's personalities changed—some for better, some for worse—on the dance floor. Marty was suddenly a party animal. Who knew?

He spun her around again, and now she was back to facing Katie. Katie was bumping hips with Marco Wessington. Wasn't he one of Lisa Marie's dates?

When the song ended, Marty dipped her. So corny. Then he turned to leave.

Now what?
Heather wondered, finding herself back on the sidelines again.

Suddenly someone turned the lights down even lower, and a mirrored disco ball began spinning slowly, scattering flickers of light all over the room.

A slow song came on the huge speakers.

“This is for all you lovers out there,” the DJ said in his low, Al Green impersonation.

Through the crowd, Heather saw Marianna and Luke dancing close, lost in each other's eyes. It was obvious they were falling for each other—anyone could see that from a mile away.

Then she spotted Katie with her arms around Sarah Mc-Callister's neck. Sarah had her arms around Katie's waist, and they were dancing the slow dance together.

For all you lovers out there? Oh, God.
Heather's heart skipped a beat. Could it possibly be true—what she'd been hoping and wishing for? Could Katie possibly be gay?

Heather desperately wanted the answer to be yes, but she didn't want to hope too much.

She tried not to stare, but it was too riveting, seeing Katie in another girl's arms. Katie and Sarah's thighs were practically touching, although they were leaning back from each other, talking and giggling through the whole song.

It was hard to tell—was it just a goof?

Heather could feel herself getting all hot and aroused, just watching them.

I'm going to look like a freak if I don't stop staring,
she scolded herself.

To make herself stop, she wandered along the edge of the dancing crowd. The slow dance ended, and more people pushed onto the dance floor.

Lisa Marie had to be here somewhere, didn't she? Yeah, there she was in a dark corner, kicking it up with John and Ramone, who were arguably two of the best dancers in the school. The minute Lisa Marie noticed, she waved Heather to join them.

Whatever,
Heather thought, nodding and dancing on the fringes of their group.

Ramone ogled Heather, giving her his standard-issue grin. Her dress wasn't low-cut or revealing enough to push his buttons, and she knew it. She tried to smile back.

To be honest, Heather thought the music really sucked. In an effort to keep everyone happy, the DJ was bouncing from one kind of groove to another with no rhyme or reason, switching from techno to salsa to hip-hop to trance . . . it was insane. But at least she was at the prom. And she was dancing.

Where the hell was Tony, anyway?

When the song was over, she checked the time on her cell phone. Oh, Christ. It was only nine o'clock. Could she really take three more hours of this?

Marianna and Luke cut across the dance floor and dragged her out to join them.

“Where's Tony?” Marianna shouted over the blaring music.

Heather shrugged. “God only knows. Maybe he decided not to come.”

Marianna shook her head. “He's just too cool to show up on time.” She looked around, checking each group and scanning the corners of the ballroom to make sure. “His friends aren't here yet, either. They'll show.”

“Whatever,” Heather said.

Whatever. What was that? Her only vocabulary word for the night? Shape up, she told herself. All this self-pity was beginning to bore even her.

So what would she do if she actually did shape up?

All of a sudden, it hit her. She was living a sort of schizo prom night—attending two different proms, almost like two parallel realities.

There was the prom she was
supposed
to be doing: the prom where she and Tony hung out, danced, made small talk, and nothing happened, other than her managing to get through the evening somehow without blowing her cover and revealing she might be gay.

Then there was the prom she
wished
she could attend: the one where she and Katie danced all night, where she was out and honest about her feelings for girls, and where she let her heart hope for the things it was secretly hoping for.

But there weren't really two proms. There was only one, and this was it. This was her one and only chance to do senior prom right. Why was she blowing it so phenomenally?

She wandered through the ballroom, searching for Katie again, wondering who she'd be dancing with this time. But right then, the DJ took a break, and everyone sort of split up. Katie headed for the restroom.

What the hell,
Heather thought.
You only live once.

She took a deep breath and decided to follow her.

 

 

 

 

The restroom was down a long carpeted hallway in a quieter wing of the hotel, just out of the way enough to make Heather feel slightly like a stalker, but at the same time, private enough to give her the impression she and Katie were alone.

The heavy, dark mahogany door with
Ladies
etched in a shiny brass plate swung shut before Heather reached it, so she had to push it open again after Katie went in.

There she stood at the long mirror, glowing even more in the soft restroom lighting, surrounded by the scroll-and-gilt-edged mirror, golden sconces, and marbled everything. She was leaning forward slightly to look at a jeweled clip in her hair. Something was tightly clutched in her left hand.

Heather took only a few steps into the room, then froze. She didn't need to pee. She didn't need to comb her hair or fix her lip gloss or check for spinach in her teeth. She had come for only one reason . . . to see how it would feel to be this close to Katie Morgan on prom night.

“Hi.” Katie smiled as their eyes met in the mirror.

Heather's heart picked up speed. They were alone, she was pretty sure about that. Or at least, the stalls were quiet, and it seemed like the place was empty. Her pulse quickened in a way she hadn't felt since The Moment in New York when Serena Moss put her arm around Heather's shoulders.

Only this was better. Because this was Katie. This was what prom night was all about—standing behind the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen. The one. Alone together.

“Hi,” Heather said, frozen still.

Katie turned slightly and opened her hand to show Heather what she was holding. It was the delicate pearl necklace—the tiniest strand of perfect little beads Heather had ever seen. “My necklace came undone,” Katie said. “Can you fix it?”

“Sure.” Oh my God, was this really happening? Was she really alone with Katie Morgan, helping her put her necklace back on? The sounds of music and prom-goers and laughter just barely filtered through the thick door. It seemed like everything outside that bathroom was just a dream.

“It's a tricky clasp,” Katie said, turning back to face the mirror so that Heather could hook the necklace from behind.

Heather's hands were almost trembling. She reached around Katie's neck and grasped the two ends of the necklace, one piece in each hand. Her breath felt shallow. Her mouth was so close to Katie's hair. She felt so light-headed, she could barely keep her eyes focused on the reflection of the necklace in the mirror . . .

“Oops.”

The strand of pearls slipped from Heather's left hand and dangled down into the cleavage of Katie's dress.

Katie giggled, her eyes still locked on Heather's in the mirror. She didn't move, she didn't even flinch. What did she expect Heather to do? Get it?

Okay. If that's what she wanted . . .

Heather reached forward, toward Katie's plunging neckline. Her arm brushed Katie's shoulder, and Heather felt her own face glow with a kind of heat that made her feel like she might pass out. The end of the necklace dangled just half an inch below the ragged lace edging. With two careful fingers, Heather reached to retrieve it.

Her hand was right at the top of Katie's dress when the restroom door opened and Emily VanDerMoot walked in.

“Katie, where the hell . . .” Emily stopped in her tracks. “Oh. Major lesbo moment.”

Katie laughed lightly, not the least bit embarrassed, and she still didn't flinch.

“Heather's just fixing my necklace,” she said, smiling.

Heather's face flushed bright red as she fumbled with the damned thing, hooking it as quickly as she could. Why did they have to make those clasps so impossibly tiny?

And why didn't this hotel have more restrooms? So certain people could be left alone when they wanted to be?

Katie turned around to face Heather. “Thanks,” she said, and for just an instant Heather caught what she thought was a meaningful look behind her smile.

Or was it?

Was she ever ever ever going to learn how to read the signals?

“Listen, you
can't
just disappear like that,” Emily was saying, grabbing Katie by the arm. “Jessie's freaking because her cell phone died, and she missed a call from Nat, who was supposed to be bringing . . .”

Their voices faded as they disappeared back into the hallway, back toward the prom. The restroom door closed gently behind them.

Heather stood there on the marble-tiled floor, feeling completely confused. She stared at herself in the mirror. What was she supposed to do? Did Katie mean something with that parting glance? Was she interested in Heather . . . or just trying to be friendly? When, if ever, would Heather know how to act . . . how to respond . . . how to
be
a lesbian?

It was just too much trouble, Heather decided. Too hard, too crazy, and it made her feel like too much of a loser.

She fluffed her hair, fixed her stockings, and decided for what felt like the billionth time to put all this misery behind her.

It was time to go hook up with Tony.

 

 

 

 

“Have you seen Heather?” Marianna was still moving with the music, tossing her hair around and boogying to match Luke's amazing dance moves. She and Luke had somehow worked their way across the dance floor and wound up near Lisa Marie and her cluster of guys. It gave Marianna a chance to multitask.

Lisa Marie was surrounded by John, Marco, and Bradley, although she appeared to be mostly dancing with John, if body language was any clue. Marco and Bradley were just hanging on the edge.

Lisa Marie shook her head. “Not in a while,” she shouted above the music.

Oh, well. She's probably fine,
Marianna thought, laughing at a wild hip-gyrating move Luke was trying out, probably for the first time.

Marianna couldn't believe her luck. Luke was such an amazing dancer. Every move he made was interesting or expressive. It was almost theatrical, the way he threw himself into wild, exaggerated moves that looked like they could have been choreographed by someone doing a music video. But it wasn't a “look at me” type of dancing. More like, “who cares who's watching?”

Luke spun around and struck an angular pose on each hit of the reggae music.

Marianna laughed and tried to imitate him.

“You okay?” she called to Lisa Marie on one of the spins.