How that special someone asks you to prom sets the tone for everything. Does he go for something cute? Sweet? Whimsical? Or did he shrug and say, “Hey, I don’t have anything better to do. Want to go?”
If you get that last kind of invite, feel free to wear the highest heels you can find, because you probably won’t be dancing in them. You and your date are going to be the sideline couple.
—from “Preparing for Prom,”
by Lisa Anne Montgomery
Published by The Smithsonian
“I thought school went pretty well today—all things considered.”
I stared at Spencer in disbelief. My brain did not want to compute all the possible interpretations of that sentence. Was he trying to needle me with his sarcasm? Did he actually think that was funny? Or was he so removed from the geek lifestyle that he had no idea just how royally he had screwed me over?
Every ounce of frustration that had built up from having spent an entire day with whispers dogging my footsteps blasted through my system and I felt my reserve . . . crack.
There was no holding me back.
“Yeah? Did you have a good day? Glad to hear it. I didn’t. Funny, but I don’t remember writing have the entire school speculate on sex life in my daily planner. Here, why don’t you double-check.” I grabbed my agenda and shoved it in his face.
“You have really tiny handwriting.”
“And you have a really messed-up idea of friendship. Did you honestly think I wanted our farce to go that far? Here’s a newsflash for you, hotshot: I didn’t.”
Spencer nodded, but one corner of his mouth was creeping upward. He was trying to smother his laughter. At me. I saw red—and it had nothing to do with my bedroom decor.
“What’s so funny?” I snapped. “Fill me in. I could use a good joke.”
“Sorry, it’s just that you’ve called me ‘hotshot’ twice now. It . . . distracts me.” He shook his head and his expression sobered. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. I saw you talking to Steffani and thought you could use some backup. The rest was pure impulse. That’s it, I swear.”
I looked at him skeptically. “You swear?”
“Yeah, I do. And my word is solid, ask anyone.” He seemed to remember that I couldn’t exactly call up his hockey buddies for verification, and tugged on the collar of his shirt as he tossed out an alternative. “Ask Logan or Mackenzie if you want.”
“I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Because you trust me?”
I considered that longer than I probably should have. It was one of those questions that people ask when they expect the other person will tell them exactly what they want to hear. Kind of like when a friend asks if their new haircut makes them look like a ferret. What they want is a short, concise answer that leaves their worldview intact.
But did I actually trust the King of the Notables to be upfront with me?
Surprisingly . . . yes. I had heard girls crying in the bathroom because he had ended their relationships before they could even change their Facebook status to “it’s complicated,” but never that he had lied to them.
In fact, I distinctly remembered a rumor that Spencer laid out his rules of engagement before anything happened. That he never hooked up with anyone who had been drinking at his parties. That he never made promises he didn’t keep.
And yet he still left a trail of pissed-off girls in his wake.
“I believe you were trying to help,” I said at last. “But you didn’t have to take it that far. You could have walked over without pretending there was something going on between us.”
Spencer rubbed his temple, and it was only then that I noticed a red bruise that was only deepening in color on his jaw. “I thought you needed backup,” he repeated. “Do you mind if I sit down? I got kind of banged up in hockey practice today.”
“What happened? Did you get, uh . . . body checked?”
Spencer’s eyes seemed to brighten with amusement as he looked at me, and I could feel my cheeks begin to flush. I quickly scooped up a pile of textbooks that were sprawled out across my bed and moved them to their rightful place on my desk as Spencer sat on the side of the bed and idly rubbed his knee. He winced briefly, but instantly tried to mask the pain.
“There was a skirmish on the ice. Patrick got in a lucky swing. Or two.” Spencer folded his arms and you didn’t have to be a body-language expert to tell that he was still pissed off that he had been caught with his guard down.
“Do you need frozen peas or something?” I jolted to my feet. “I could—”
“Don’t worry about it. Although I should probably warn you, I think your dad wanted me to declare my intentions on the porch before speaking to you.”
I rolled my eyes. “My parents can be a bit on the overprotective side.” Understatement of the year. “But I’m surprised you didn’t make up some story for my dad. You’ve already got the entire school whispering about us.”
“Those girls were going to talk about us no matter what I said,” Spencer informed me with perfect calm, as if being the focal point of the school’s gossip didn’t faze him at all. “All I did was make sure they know I’m the one doing the chasing.”
I crossed my arms. “How is that supposed to be comforting?”
“Because if they thought you were pursuing me, they’d ridicule you nonstop,” he said bluntly. A chill began to creep down my neck as I soaked in the truth of his words. “It’s a shitty double standard, but I didn’t want you to be diced to pieces for doing me a solid.”
Is that going to be so much worse than what I faced every day already?
If my high school experience was a rollercoaster, it would probably be called “Crap Mountain” and involve a lot of gut-wrenchingly sharp twists and turns. It was a shitty experience, but at least it was a familiar ride. Even if the suckitude increased proportionally to the amount of time I spent at Smith High School, I could still make it out with my sanity more or less intact. But all of those calculations had been made before Spencer triggered a Mount Vesuvius–level explosion on my social life.
“I changed my mind.” My chest clenched tighter until I felt like I couldn’t breathe. “I can’t do this.”
Spencer nodded absentmindedly. He seemed preoccupied surveying my room; from the Einstein poster, to the autographed promo shot of the band ReadySet, to the rich red color of my bedroom walls. My parents had been skeptical of the color choice when I had first broached the idea, but when I promised to do all of the work myself, they had eventually caved.
I still had a worn tank top in the bottom dresser drawer that was speckled and splotched with crimson paint.
“Earth to Spencer!” I snapped. “I. Can’t. Do. This.”
“Yeah, I heard you the first time. I’m just not sure what there is to say. We’ve passed the point of return. Even if we said that I was joking earlier, I doubt anyone would believe it.”
I sank down numbly on the bed next to Spencer, too overwhelmed with the dire reality of the situation to pay attention to the fact that our limbs were mere inches away from touching.
“What have I gotten myself into?” I murmured. “I must have lost my fracking mind when I suggested this.”
“To be fair,” Spencer said reasonably, “your reputation will probably get a boost now that people think we’ve gotten”—he seemed to rethink his choice of words when I glared at him—“closer.”
“That’s not the kind of reputation I wanted!”
He gently nudged my shoulder. “Lighten up, Belle. It’s only high school.”
“Easy for you to say. People aren’t exactly insulting you on a daily basis. Why would they? You’re Spencer King.” I let the sarcasm roll heavy off my tongue but was surprised to feel him stiffen beside me before he cranked up the intensity of those piercing green eyes.
“Is Alex still bothering you?”
I instantly regretted saying anything. The last thing I needed was another rumble in the cafeteria. I’d much rather let the subject drop entirely.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said evasively.
Spencer nudged my shoulder again, but this time there was nothing gentle about it. “I thought we were going to be friends. That’s the deal we both agreed to yesterday.”
Yes, it was. But I’d already begun regretting the offer. Maybe Spencer needed a girl in his life who didn’t have an endgame, but the last thing I needed was an arrogant, annoying, absolutely impossible—
“Well, as your friend, I want to help. And I know how we can make everyone shut up.”
I eyed him nervously. Spencer’s smirk was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have something entirely inappropriate in mind. With a guy like Spencer, you could never be too sure what he had in mind.
“C’mon, Belle. Live a little. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I hoped I wasn’t about to find out firsthand.