Will Work for Prom Dress (12 page)

He pulled my hand close, and I felt his warm lips graze my palm before resting his arm between us, still holding my hand. Beta Eridani, Eridanis, Rigel, Orion Nebula … I didn’t think I would ever forget those names now. If only I had studied in a setting like this, Anne would have had some serious competition at school.

“The Lakota people think the constellation represents a great chief who was very selfish. The gods made the Thunder People rip out his arm to teach him a lesson. His daughter offered to marry anyone who could return her father’s arm. Fallen Star, a young warrior whose father was a star and mother was human returned the arm and married the girl, symbolizing unity between the gods and humans. You know, with a little help from a couple of kids in love.”

“That’s so romantic.”

Zander laughed out loud and squeezed my hand.

“Sure. Some guys might use lines. But for me, talk of dismemberment always gets the girl.”

“Such a player you are.”

“Indeed.”

“So what’s the Greek version?”

“Hmm. Now that I’m thinking it through, neither of these stories seems particularly appropriate for the situation.”

“Well, you already started. Can’t leave a girl hanging.”

Zander sighed.

“Well, there was this poor shepherd. A couple of guys came over and he didn’t want to be rude to his guests, so he killed his only animal, an ox, to feed them. He didn’t know it, but the guys were really gods, and they rewarded his generosity by offering him anything he wanted. What he wanted most was a son. So they told him to take the hide from the ox and bury it. And every day for the next nine months, he should go out and, well … urinate on it—”

“Ewww!”

Zander sat up. “See? I told you!”

“No, no. Go on,” I said.

“So anyway, a boy was born in that spot—”

“So much for boys being made from frogs and snails and puppy-dog tails.”

Zander laughed. “I suppose at this point in the story, you’ll tell me you’re an animal-rights activist and vegetarian.”

“Well, I do love animals. But I also love bacon cheeseburgers, so you’re probably safe.”

“So the kid was this awesome hunter.”

“Thus the bow …”

“Thus the bow. He was so good, the king hired him to kill all the beasts on his islands. And he kind of got too into the animal slaying and announced he would kill all the animals in the world.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yep. Didn’t go over so well with the goddess of the animals, so she sent a giant scorpion to sting him to death. Giant scorpions trump swords and strength, so Orion made a run for it. And there he is, running today.” Zander lifted my hand, pointing at Orion, and then shifted to the right a bit. “And come summer, there’s where the scorpion will appear in his place, still chasing him.”

“That’s so cool,” I said, wondering what summer would bring and hoping that Zander was more “Fallen Star” than “Orion.”

“You, my dear, are easily entertained.”

“So what
don’t
you know?” I asked.

We cranked our seats back to upright. I considered faking trouble with my twisty-knob thing to smell his cologne again, but I didn’t want to seem desperate.

“Hmm. Well, I don’t know how to draw very well, though
I am diligently working on that with the help of a very talented tutor. And I also don’t know how to ask this without making the last half hour seem like a pathetic attempt to disguise my ulterior motive.”

“Ask what?”

“Which I swear it’s really not.”

“Ask what?”

Zander squeezed my hand and looked up. “Quigley, do you think I could maybe kiss you?”

I couldn’t really breathe, so I just nodded. Zander’s hand smoothed the wisps of hair over my ear and gently pulled my face toward his. Our lips touched so softly I almost couldn’t tell we were kissing until he leaned in against me. I felt his mouth curve into a smile against my cheek, which he also kissed, and then rested his forehead against mine for a second. “Thanks,” he whispered.

I still wasn’t doing so great with the breathing and talking thing, so I just nodded again.

He stared at me for a minute in the dark. I could see his smile as he turned the ignition. “We’d better get you home before Ms. Parisi calls to check how you’re feeling and your parents freak out.”

Click. Click. Click
.

“Quigley?” Mrs. Albertt raised one eyebrow and looked pointedly at my shifting stool.

“Oops, sorry,” I said.

“You’re on duty supervising the developing lab after school. You might want to work on your focus,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I’d been staring at the same spot on the floor in front of me for most of class, avoiding David’s attempts to catch my eye. When Anne and T-Shirt sat down at lunch, their company made it easy to scam my way out of dealing with the David talk, but in three short hours we’d be alone in the lab.

“I thought I showed all of the slides, but it appears there is one more,” said Mrs. Albertt.

The titters from the class made me jump. I glanced at the
wall and then almost fell off my stool. The 5×8-foot image of David’s smiling face above what looked like a dozen roses would have been shock enough had the foot-high letters
PROM, QUIGLEY?
not adorned the bottom of the shot.

A sinking feeling hit me as I turned to see David, standing at his table and pulling the identical roses out of his backpack.

“Well?” he asked with a cocky grin that let everyone in the room know he already knew my response would be yes. Before I could open my mouth, the class burst into applause and laughter. David took a little bow with a hand flourish. One of the guys got up to slap David on the back in congratulations. Even Mrs. Albertt smiled and offered David a little golf clap for his cleverness.

I felt a sudden rush of sisterhood with every woman in the world who has ever cluelessly attended a major sporting event, only to be surprised during halftime or the seventh-inning stretch by an unwelcome and very public scoreboard proposal. And like so many of my sisters, I caved to the peer pressure of what seemed like a thousand expectant faces and plastered on a fake smile while tightroping around how to pass without destroying the asker and ruining the enthusiasm of everyone involved.

If anyone had the strength to outright refuse the offer while surrounded by so many witnesses, well, it wasn’t me. Instead of verbally accepting, which would have been too much like lying, I walked over and gave David a little half hug and took the flowers, setting off a chorus of “Woooooooo”s until Mrs. Albertt admonished the class to bring our attention back to photography.

How had I spaced this? It had long been a tradition for seniors to compete in outdoing the rest of the class by coming up with crazy schemes to ask their crushes to prom. Just that morning, the letters on the backlit school sign at the parking lot entrance had been rearranged by a hopeful prom-goer asking her boyfriend to the dance. I never expected something like this from David so soon.

I kicked myself for not calling Anne and filling her in on the Zander developments immediately; she could have stopped this mess for me. I’d been so swept into the romance and thrill of Zander’s kiss and declared interest, I wanted to protect the feeling and savor it untarnished before risking my best friend “Anne-alyzing” it. Big mistake. As it was, she’d probably encouraged David through T-Shirt, thinking she was doing me a favor.

I practically flew out the door when the bell rang.

“Quigley, wait up,” David said.

“English exam,” I called over my shoulder and kept moving.

It was a good thing David didn’t know me better, or he’d never have bought my eagerness to get to class. As it turned out, neither did Mrs. Desmond.

“Quigley? What a surprise, you’re early. This is good, I needed to have a word with you in private.”

I walked in the classroom and slumped into a desk in front of her podium, stuffing the roses under my seat.

“Look, you’re a good kid. You come on time and never miss an assignment. But you’ve got to start pulling your academic weight in this class. If you don’t do well on the final, you’ll be dangerously close to failing the course. I don’t know what school you have in your sights, but it is not unheard of for universities to uninvite already accepted students.”

“Yes, Mrs. Desmond.” I decided not to point out that being uninvited wasn’t a worry in my case. I wasn’t exactly the queen of prefixes, but I knew enough to see it was hard to get uninvited when you were never invited in the first place.

“I normally don’t do this, but I want to give you a break. Would you be interested in some extra-credit work?”

I stifled a groan. “Sure, thank you.”

“Don’t look so worried. This is actually more creative than the technical work we’ve been doing lately. I’ve heard you have quite the talent for art, so maybe this will appeal to your right-brain mind-set.”

She handed me a little booklet.

“Every year, the local Rotary Club invites each school in the state to submit one motivational speech from a student.” She pointed at the teetering stacks of jumbled paperwork covering her desk. “I happen to be organizationally challenged, which is why this one slipped past me.”

I smiled. It was refreshing to have a teacher admit a weakness.

“Unfortunately, the deadline is Friday. I know it doesn’t give you much time, but I really won’t be able to hold a contest to find this year’s applicant in so short a period. If you’re interested, I will just submit yours. What do you say? Knock this one out of the park, and it might significantly raise your grade and keep you from failing.”

I wasn’t much of a speechwriter, but with my records I could hardly turn down the offer. “Okay, sure. Thanks.”

“By the way, nice flowers. This must be the magic day of madness. I had a costumed Puck singing telegram show up in my fourth-period AP lit class. Put to shame yesterday’s
student jumping onto his desk to perform the opening of the
Romeo and Juliet
balcony scene—so trite. Ah, iambic-pentameter prom invites—what will you kids come up with next?”

The rest of the day went by in a blur. I had several conversations with imaginary David in my mind during current affairs and trig, while ducking corners and jogging up deserted back staircases to avoid the real one. The dialogue went pretty well, but I wasn’t so sure how the discussion would go
out
side of my head. Anne stopped by my locker for a brief end-of-the-day check-in. She wore a bright yellow, too small T-shirt with a giant
YES!!!!
across the chest.

“Do I even want to know?” I asked, pointing at her outfit.

“Present from T.”

“Of course.”

“Did I hear my name?” T-Shirt strolled down the hall, stopping just long enough to swing in and kiss Anne for about thirty seconds longer than was comfortable to stand watching.

“Ah,” I said, pointing to the
YO, ANNE—WE GOING TO PROM OR WHAT?
across his back. “Nice.”

T-Shirt came up for air with a smile. “Thanks! I heard David did the deed. Done deal. You girls pick out the grub spot; we’ve got transpo covered. I know a guy.”

“I’m sure you do.”

T-Shirt gave Anne an endearing good-bye swat on the butt and continued down the hall.

“Excellent!” Anne squealed. “This is so great! Isn’t it great?”

I checked to make sure T-Shirt was out of earshot. “No. We need to talk.”

The locker next to me erupted into a woman’s sultry voice loudly singing a suggestive chorus of “Say Yes,” startling the girl spinning in her combination, as well as everyone within ten feet, except for the guy holding a little MP3 remote, and the cluster of his buddies high-fiving his success halfway down the hall. She opened the door to the little player wrapped up with a big bow and her own friends’ “Awww”s.

“I’ve got to get out of here.” I pulled Anne into the bathroom for enough privacy to fill her in and debate my options on getting out of the mess.

“I’m just going to be honest with David,” I said for the third time.

This made her roll her eyes, for the third time. “I’m telling you, guys don’t want to hear they are getting ditched over some other guy.”