“Okay, all right? I won’t bring it up again, not even at prom.”
“Prom?” The word totally threw me, like it wasn’t even in English. I’d been so consumed with the play and Peter, I hadn’t given prom a single thought.
Glittery dresses, slow dances, standing in front of the house while Mom and Dad took pictures. It seemed so . . . high school.
“We’ll go with the whole gang. The guys are talking about renting a limo and everything.”
“I’m not going to prom.”
“Everyone’s going.” He said it like that was the only argument he needed to make. If only he knew how I felt about everyone.
“Not me.” I couldn’t even imagine how awful it would be. Dancing in the gym with Tommy, trying to keep his hands from drifting, while Peter stood in the corner with the chaperones, miserable. I’d spend the whole night trying to think of ways to talk to him and he’d hate it, afraid one of us would say too much, look too long.
I hung my head in my hands. “Some girls aren’t meant to go to prom, Tommy.”
The seat dipped as he slid my way again. As soon as I felt his thick fingers rubbing into my back, I sat up quickly. His face was a shadow full of hesitation and hurt.
“Get back, Tommy.”
“What did I do, Hattie? What did I do that was so wrong?”
His voice broke and I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing in the glow from the parking lot light. I couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t sit here listening to him cry for a girl who didn’t even exist.
I yanked open the door, grabbed my purse, and jumped out.
“Where are you going?”
“Anywhere I want.”
His expression turned bitter. “Everybody told me not to go out with you, that you were just a freak who wouldn’t give it up. I guess they were right.”
“Then go find someone else to take to prom, Tommy. I’m sure there’s some little junior out there who’ll be happy to let you fuck her.”
I slammed the door and headed to the dark edge of the parking lot, where the trees were waiting to swallow me from sight. I heard a window open behind me.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“New York,” I yelled, without turning around. “Get lost, Tommy.”
I ran into the weeds and found the trail, then waited until the truck’s engine fired up and spun out of the parking lot, gravel flying from the tires. My stomach was rolling from yelling at him and being so mean, but it was better this way. He wouldn’t try to make up with me on Monday now. He would tell Derek and all the other football guys what a bitch I was and they’d trash me and feed Tommy some beers and that would be that.
As the roar of the truck faded, I started noticing other noises. The first of the spring frogs sang in the lake. Last year’s dead weeds rustled in the breeze and somewhere not far off an owl was hooting. It might have been coming from the barn. As the night settled in around me, the bad feelings all disappeared and I realized I was free, finally done with that awful role I’d created for myself.
I floated down the trail as the moonlight bounced off the water, guiding my way. The stars were out and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I’d miss this. You probably couldn’t see the stars in New York City, not even from Central Park, but here—where the only interference was the tiny glow from the parking lot behind me—I felt like I was standing on the edge of the solar system. There were thousands of lights, winking and shining, pulsing in the night. I could see satellites and planets and the only thing breaking the horizon was the barn in front of me. It was spectacular, a feast of light, the whole universe laid open, and I felt the way I’d always felt looking up at it, like I was huge and tiny at the same time. Yes, I would miss the stars.
Inside the barn I lit the lantern I’d left in the corner and checked the time.
10:17. Still early. Peter could be just locking up the school now.
I didn’t mind waiting: it gave me the chance to rehearse what I was going to say. I wasn’t playing a part anymore—I was all done with that—but it didn’t hurt to be prepared, to know that the words coming out of my mouth were exactly the ones I wanted to say. The last time I’d tried being open and honest with Peter, everything had come out wrong and I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Not when this was our last chance.
After I finished rehearsing, I started dancing around the floor, partly to stay warm, because I hadn’t brought a sweater to put on over my sundress, and partly because Tommy had put that prom idea in my head. What would it be like to go to a formal dance—not the Pine Valley High School prom in the gymnasium—but a real one in a ballroom, with a beautiful dress to wear, escorted by a man in a tuxedo? I started waltzing, holding my arms out around an invisible partner, one-two-three, one-two-three, just like Dad taught me in the living room after we saw The Nutcracker when I was ten years old.
I got so caught up in the thought, watching my shadow twirl and shift along the walls, that I almost screamed when I turned toward the broken window and saw the outline of a person.
My heart raced and I dropped my arms, tripping over a loose floorboard. After a pause, the figure drew forward, and I saw it was Peter. He stared at me with the strangest expression. I would have thought he’d laugh to see me acting so silly and young, but his face was transfixed. He walked out of sight and came around to the door, stepping just inside. Our eyes locked and held.