The Anti-Prom (15 page)

This is what hell feels like.

“Woohoo, go Bliss!” Eli yells, loving every minute of my pain. The first lyrics appear on-screen behind me but I turn to Jolene, looking for a last-ditch escape.

Instead, she stares at me, eyes wide. “Please,” she mouths. That’s when I know for sure I’m doomed. Jolene would rather die than even admit for a moment that she doesn’t have things under control, and here she is, begging me for help.

I grip the mic, say a prayer, and turn to my audience.

“Ooh, baby, I want you so bad.”

I’ve got to hand it to Bliss — the girl does nothing halfway. She may be tone deaf and unable to hit a single decent note, but she throws everything into that performance, prancing across the stage area and pouting like this is all just a big joke, and anyone who thinks otherwise isn’t in on the plan.

“Hit me up, don’t stop, I’ve got to get what you’ve got,”
I sing quietly as we head toward the exit. That terrible melody is already carved deep into my brain, but I’m too wired to care. Because I’ve got it: gripped tightly in my hand, the last thing standing between me and that painting. A little black box of technological magic.
“Tonight, make it right —”

“Please stop.” Bliss shudders. She trips out onto the fire escape, gasping for air. “That song is going to haunt me forever!”

“But it worked.”

“Mmmhmm.” Bliss sinks to the ground, perching on the edge of the metal staircase. She rummages in her bag and pulls out her lip gloss, swiping it back and forth over her lips as if it’s some sort of meditative gesture. Slowly, her breathing returns to normal.

I pause. For the first time, I realize that the panic and terror before weren’t just drama queen hysterics; Bliss is actually scared to death of singing. But she did it anyway. For . . . me?

“That was amazing,” I tell her, confused but grateful. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“That you’ll never tell another soul what I just did?”

“I think it’s kind of late for that.” She looks up at me, eyes wide. “There were some camera phones waving around in there.” I grimace. “And, knowing Eli, he’s got the whole thing taped.”

Bliss lets out a whimper.

“But, it’s fine,” I promise quickly. “You were hamming it up so much, you can just say it was a dare. Part of some scavenger hunt or something.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

“Nice show you put on there.” A voice from behind makes me jump. I turn to find Dante leaning in the doorway, grinning at Bliss. “I mean it — that was awesome. Next stop: Vegas.”

“Can you not do that?” I snap.

“Do what?”

“Lurk.”

His gaze slides over to me. “You said you didn’t want me getting in your way.”

“I meant
at all
.” I shift under his stare, self-conscious. For all my ice-queen act, this dress is a big flashing neon sign saying I showed up, that I remembered our plans. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Nope.” Dante meets my eyes, unruffled. I always used to like his calmness, how nothing would ever shake that nonchalance. It made me feel safe when everything else was whirling in a riot, like the world could fall to pieces but he’d still be there to keep me centered, keep me from going too far. I’ve lost count of the times he’s pulled me back from making stupid mistakes with that look, the one that says, “I’ve got you.”

Now I know that look is a lie, I wish he’d break a sweat, just once. Just for me.

“Let’s get going,” I tell Bliss, turning my back on Dante and the way the shadows cut across his face. “I promise, I’ll have you at Brianna’s soon.”

She nods, slowly getting up. “Thanks.”

Dante follows us down to the parking lot, whistling some song I don’t recognize. I force myself not to turn, or even acknowledge his existence, but I can feel him behind me with every step. “Where are you heading?” he asks when we reach the car. Meg clicks off the central locking, looking miserable behind the wheel.

“None of your damn business,” I answer at the same time that Bliss says, “Her dad’s office.”

“Bliss.” I give her a murderous look, but she just shrugs.

“What? Maybe he can help.”

“I don’t want his help. I don’t want anything from him,” I lie, hurling myself into the front seat.

It’s too much. My dad, and Dante, and college, and Meg and Bliss. I can’t deal with them all at once. I don’t have the space.

“Are you OK?” Meg asks quietly.

“Sure,” I lie again. “Sorry we took so long.”

She nods, starting the ignition.

“Wait for Bliss,” I remind her. Meg scowls, hitting the horn in a sharp gesture. A moment later, Bliss slides in.

“I thought you were going to leave without me!” She’s breathless.

“Maybe we should have,” Meg murmurs through gritted teeth. She checks her mirror and then pulls away with an angry screech, faster than she’s driven all night. I don’t ask what’s wrong — I can’t find it in me to care. All I can do is lean my head to the window, the glass cool against my cheek as we speed back through town. I turn the remote over in my hands, tracing every smooth surface and pointed edge as I pull myself back under control.

“So, how do you know Dante?” Bliss finally asks from the backseat.

The streets rush by, dark and blurred. I close my eyes. “He’s just a boy I used to know.”

The industrial park is dark and deserted, and even I feel a flicker of unease as we roll to a stop, half a block away. The streets around here are full of warehouses and wire fencing; no warm houses or neat front yards to help me pretend this is just a crazy teen stunt we’re pulling. No, here there are only flickering streetlights and dirty concrete, and the low feeling in my stomach that this is somehow a mistake.

“You both stay here.” I decide suddenly. I’d planned to drag at least Bliss along for backup, but she’s put herself on the line already for me tonight. I’d rather not reward her with a misdemeanor charge. “I’ll check in on my cell and call if I need any help.”

“You’re sure?” Bliss looks fearfully around. “I mean, you’re sure you want to do this?”

It’s not so much a question of wanting to do this, as needing to get it done. I give her a smile, full of false confidence. “Are you kidding? It’ll be fun.”

She frowns. “Then, good luck, I guess.”

“Luck is for losers.” I switch on Eli’s remote, setting it to jam any surveillance. “This is all about skill.”

I grab my backpack and jog quickly toward the buildings, keeping to the shadows and out of sight. As much as I can, at least. I wish I were dressed better for this — some black clothes, boots I can run in — but maybe this is a good thing. You can’t claim innocence when you’re caught trespassing looking like a cat burglar.

McKenna Imports is on the far side of the lot, a modern, glass-fronted building with plush animals frolicking in every window and a cutesy cat logo above the door. Stuffed animals. I’d never have figured they were a booming market, but clearly, there are plenty of people willing to pay a hundred bucks for a giant pink bunny rabbit, if this place is any indication. I peer through the window and see dark reception area, full of potted plants and sleek couches. No sign of life.

There are two security cameras trained straight on the door, but I don’t have time to second-guess Eli. I pull out the key ring I swiped from the office back at the house, trying each in turn until both locks are open. I step cautiously inside. There’s no sound of sirens, so I cross straight to the alarm panel on the side wall, blinking red at me.
62–34–62.

Nothing.

I enter the numbers again, trying not to panic, but the system doesn’t disarm.
62–34–62.

Oh, crap.

A warning beep starts up. I’ve probably got another thirty seconds or so before it dials up the security company, then starts wailing so loud that every cop in the neighborhood will hear. Heart racing, I keep hitting the numbers, not even wanting to think about bailing before —

“You have to press
star
for it to register.” An arm reaches across me, inputs the numbers, and then hits the last button. The beeping stops, and the light turns green.

I exhale.

“Details, Jolene. What am I always telling you?”

“I don’t know.” I turn to him, pulse still speeding in my veins. “You don’t tell me much of anything these days.”

Dante doesn’t respond. He looks older than I’ve been remembering him: a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, broader in the shoulders. Smarter, too, like he’s finally grown out of those grungy T-shirts and beat-up sneakers I used to tease him about.

God, I’ve missed him.

“Are you going to help, or are you going to stand around bitching?” I manage to sound casual, pulling a slim flashlight from my bag and closing the door behind me. He must have followed us from the Loft in that beat-up Camaro.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

I ignore the soft resignation in his tone. Switching on the flashlight, I sweep it across the room. “It should be in his office, in the back maybe.”

“The Lorenzo?”

Of course he’d know what I’m here for. I don’t answer, crossing behind the reception desk and heading deeper into the building. The beam of light swings out in front of me, cutting through the dark and landing on neat rows of stuffed animals lining the hallway.

“Creepy.” Dante sounds amused, pausing to pick up a three-foot elephant. He wiggles it at me. “Your dad knows that half his customers are guys with weird fetishes, right?”

I keep walking, checking every room as we pass.

“Furries, I think they call them,” he muses, tossing the toy up in the air. “Or is that the people who like to dress up in bear suits? Maybe it’s plushies. Either way, his product isn’t getting tucked in at night with the kids, if you know what I mean.”

I don’t even break a smile at his joking — that would be too easy. He might think that we’re OK now — that he can just come back and throw some of that charm around, and I’ll forgive him, but he’s wrong. It doesn’t work that way.

I reach the end of the hallway and a door marked with a fancy metal animal plaque. The blinds are down, but I know this is the place; I just know it. I grab for the door, but it’s locked. I try each key in turn, but nothing works. I slam against it in frustration.

“Hey, calm down.” Dante reaches to stop me, but I step back, already looking around for other options. We’re deep enough in the building that I risk turning on the light, flooding us with harsh fluorescent from the strip above.

“Do you think there’s an air vent going in?”

“Not unless you’re starring in an action movie,” he jokes in reply. “And I don’t know if those ruffles will fit. . . .”

“Fine then.” I hoist a fire extinguisher down from the far wall and take a few practice swings toward the glass partition. Dante lets out a strangled yell and snatches it from my hands.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting in.” He stares at me as if I’m insane. “You could do something, you know,” I add, bitter. “Instead of following me around and lurking in the shadows. Can’t you bust the door down?”

“Bust it?” Dante takes a sharp breath, like he’s trying to keep control. “What do you say we just get out of here,” he says instead. “I’ve got Xbox back at the house; we can go kill a few thousand zombies and drive my mom crazy, the way we used to.”

I feel an ache at the reminder, but it’s not enough to shake me. “I have to do this.”

“No, you don’t.”

I glare back. “Since when do you care what the hell I do?”

I’m expecting a fight, but Dante simply looks at me, his jaw set.

“You’re right,” he says eventually. “I can’t do this anymore.” He stares for a moment and then turns to leave. Because he’s so damn good at it.

“Fine.”

He stops.

“Fine?” Dante gives a twisted kind of laugh. “Jolene, we’re a lot of things, but we’re not fine.”

“And whose fault is that?” I whirl on him, anger hot in my chest. “Who just up and left without a single word? Don’t you dare make like this is my fault!” I’m shaking, a year’s worth of insecurity and anger pumping through me. All those months seeing his silent icon up on my chat window, before I broke and deleted him for good. All those months expecting him to call, and the bitter disappointment every time it wasn’t him on the other end of the line.

And all because of a stupid kiss I didn’t see coming.

“Did you care so much I turned you down?” I yell. “Did our friendship mean that little to you?”

There’s silence in the hallway, lights glaring overhead.

“You think it was about that?” Dante stares at me, a curious expression on his face. “You think I cut you out over . . . ? Jolene.” He stops, like he can’t even find the words.

“Then what?” I demand. “What did I do that was so bad, you couldn’t even send a damn e-mail? We were friends! You were everything!”

I catch my own words too late. Trust me to only realize what I’ve got when he’s gone, to ache for a boy I came so close to having. “Look, you don’t want to be here. You’ve made that clear,” I add, before he can register what I said. “Why did you even come?”

“Because someone’s got to keep you from screwing up your entire life.” Dante flings the words at me, accusing.