conditioner. Mattie woke me up by pounding on the door and shrieking that she was going to pee her pants if I didn’t open up right away. The only way I was able to appease her was by letting her borrow my black scoop-neck sweater.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
Rollins shifts the car into reverse and backs out of the driveway.
I let my gaze flit from house to house, lawn to lawn, as he maneuvers through our neighborhood, toward the school. Gone are the leaves that littered the lawns months ago, when I was in love with Zane. Snow has been here and melted away, leaving the grass shyly green, the way it is in April, with flowers starting to push up toward the sun. I wonder if I’m taking too long to get over the hurt of Zane’s betrayal, the fact that he knew his mother wanted revenge on my family and let her move forward with her sick plan, even after he fell in love with me. Sometimes I wonder if he ever did really love me. Or if what I felt for him was true love. Because if it was, it just makes me really sad. I always thought that love was supposed to be this pure, renewing thing, but what Zane and I had turned out to be rotten on the inside.
Rollins’s voice slices through my thoughts, bringing me back to the moment. He’s got the White Stripes playing on the stereo, and the doors and floor of the car seem to vibrate with the sound.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“I’m sorry. What was it? Something about the radio?”
“I got the internship,” Rollins says excitedly. “At KRNK, the university station? They want me from ten to two on Tuesday and Thursday nights. It’s perfect because I’ll be able to—” He stops himself midsentence and glances at Mattie in the rearview mirror. I know what he’s worrying about: that he almost spilled his big secret, that he has to take care of his mother every night—make her food, give her baths, and even tuck her into bed. He needn’t have stressed, though. I peek in the backseat, and Mattie is thoroughly consumed with her cell phone, probably text-ing Regina, a freshman on the cheerleading squad who Mattie’s become close with in the last couple of months.
Rollins continues, “I’ll still be able to work at Eternally Vinyl on the weekends.”
“That’s great,” I say.
“Yeah. I’m starting tonight. You’ll listen, right?”
“Of course,” I say. “You need at least one listener for your big debut, right?”
Rollins reaches over and punches my shoulder playfully. I massage the place where he made contact and pout, pretending to be hurt. His eyes meet mine, and I hope he knows, despite my joking, that I would do anything for him. Ever since he pulled me out of a burning building last fall and confessed his feelings for me, there’s been this growing thing between us. It’s like neither of us wants to explore it just in case it ruins our friendship. And, truthfully, after the way my relationship with Zane ended, I’m not sure I can handle another heartbreak.
We pull into the school parking lot, and Mattie leaps from the backseat the minute Rollins cuts the engine. She’s been hanging out with Rollins and me more since her best friends were killed, but when she’s at school, she’d much rather be with the rest of the girls on the Pom squad. They all banded together closely after losing two of their cheerleaders, almost as if they’re grasping for some sort of normalcy during such an insane year.
I hoist my backpack over my shoulder and follow Rollins across the parking lot. As soon as I step inside the school, I freeze. The place looks nothing like it did when I left yesterday. Pink and gold streamers are strewn everywhere. Across from the front entrance, there’s a long, rectangular folding table. It, too, has been decorated with gold paper and pink balloons. Above it all hangs a sign that says IT’S THAT TIME AGAIN! BUY YOUR PROM TICKETS HERE!
Ugh. I totally forgot.
Mattie was yapping on and on last night about how prom tickets were going on sale today. She was all depressed because she was sure no one would ask her to the dance, which is totally ludicrous because not only is Mattie one of the most popular girls in the freshman class, but all the freshman guys are in love with her. Why wouldn’t they be? She looks like Cheerleader Barbie.
I used to be like her, naive and wrapped up in the delusion that my reputation was everything, relying on my looks to garner attention. But then something happened my sophomore year that turned my perception of the popular kids on its head.
My best friend at the time, Samantha Phillips, and I both had a crush on the same guy: Scott Becker, the hottest football player in our class. I was the one he asked to Homecoming. And I said yes, even though I knew how much it would hurt Samantha. The night was going beautifully until I felt myself get woozy in the middle of the dance floor. Scott asked me if I wanted to sit down, and I nodded. By the time he pulled me down the steps to the boys’ locker room, I had completely passed out. When I awoke, I found my skirt around my waist and Rollins punching Scott in the face. I never found out exactly what Scott was doing while I was unconscious, but I have a good idea.
After that, my so-called friends ostracized me. Samantha passed around a rumor that I did it with Scott (nicknamed Scotch after he threw up all over the dance floor) in the locker room. None of the cheerleaders would talk to me, so I dropped out. I dyed my hair pink in some sort of defiant gesture. It made me feel more like I was rejecting everyone instead of the other way around.
Since then, I’ve dyed my hair back to the original shade that matches my sister’s. I’ve even started talking to some of the cheerleaders again. But it’s not the same. Once I saw behind the curtain, I couldn’t go back to thinking that crowd was worth my time. But Rollins has been by my side through it all. Just as he is now.
“Look, Vee! It’s that time again!” Rollins says, grabbing my arm in mock excitement.
“Oh, joy,” I say, my face twisting into a grimace.
The long line of students clamoring to buy prom tickets is kind of surprising, really. I thought more people would be scrambling for dates at the last minute. But the way the guys are digging out their wallets and making small talk with one another while they wait makes me think that people have been obsessing about this stupid dance for weeks, if not months.
Prom.
Bah.
I’m about to push past the table and head to my locker when a familiar voice makes me freeze.
Scotch Becker.
He leans over the table, winking at Samantha, my ex–best friend, who is presiding over the money box. “Hey, Sam. What are you doing tonight? Want to go to the bonfire with me?”
Samantha bats her eyelashes. “I might be persuaded.”
“Awesome. I’ll talk to you at lunch,” Scotch says, spinning away from the table and running smack into me. His breath stinks, like he ate an onion bagel for breakfast. Or maybe he just forgot to brush his teeth. It makes my stomach turn.
“Get off me, Vee,” he says, leering. “You had your chance.”
“Screw you,” I spit.
“You wish,” Scotch says.
I feel Rollins’s hand on the small of my back. He leans down and whispers in my ear. “Come on, Vee. Let’s go.”
As we walk away, Rollins mutters, “Asshole.”
One minute, Mrs. Winger is at the board, scribbling the definition of motif onto the whiteboard, and the next . . . she isn’t.
There’s just nothing. It’s not like I fell asleep. I can still feel myself there, but somehow I’m not anymore. I’m