We step into the school gymnasium lined with the Sadie Hawkins posters Emily slaved over. Inside, the large open room is decorated like a night sky. Long black fabric drapes the walls and thousands of twinkling lights float across the ceiling. Cardboard cutout trees in the fashion of Van Gogh’s Starry Night are displayed around the room, and swirling clouds adorn the walls. A yellow moon painted with a gallon of gold glitter is suspended from above, accompanied by a smattering of gold stars. Spotlights shine from the ceiling, making the girls’ dresses sparkle.
But the corners of the room remain out of the spotlights, with only the delicate glow of the twinkling lights to illuminate them. In one such corner, swathed in shadows, I spot Gideon.
At first I don’t recognize him because a girl’s arms are looped around the back of his neck—an accessory I’ve never seen on him before. But we near them, and the two dark figures emerge: Gracie’s head on Gideon’s shoulder, and his hands on the small of her back, his chin tucked into the crown of her head.
A horrible sensation grabs me. It’s like parts of my body have plummeted to the floor, leaving room for my heart or soul to tumble straight through. I stand in the doorway staring while Peter makes his greetings. I can’t pry my eyes off them. Part of me wants to tell Gracie myself that I let her sister down. To get it out in the open, once and for all. I heard her sister’s pleas and did nothing about it.
And part of me wants to tell her to stay far away from Gideon Hollander.
When Peter returns, I have no choice but to lift my silver kitten-heeled pumps from where they seem fastened to the floor, one at a time. I take his hand as he escorts me out to the dance floor.
The first song is slow and easy, and I worry I’ll never perk up enough if something more upbeat pulses through the speakers. I ask Peter if we can get punch.
“You’re not tired already, are you?” That lopsided smile lights his face. “I was worried about you, because of the mermaid stuff. I can’t imagine you’re very accustomed to dancing.”
“I’m fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Just thirsty. Even mermaids need to drink.” He follows me to the punch table, where I scoop myself some of the red drink, gulping it down as Peter chats with a boy in our grade whose name I don’t know. He nudges Peter and whispers in his ear. Peter nods before leaning toward me.
“You might want to slow down a little with the punch. Someone already got to it.”
I stare blankly at him, and he raises his eyebrows a few times, nodding toward the plastic cup. And then it hits me: someone spiked the punch. I glance bemusedly at my empty cup and toss it into the trash. I guess the punch tasted a bit off. Still, I don’t hate the tingly sensation coursing through my body when Peter leads me back onto the dance floor.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I’ve somehow acquired the boldness to direct Peter to a better spot. One with a clear line of sight to Gideon and Gracie. Where maybe they’ll have a clear line of sight to me. With Peter.
It’s another slow song. Gideon and Gracie are dancing closely and effortlessly, like they’ve been dating for months. It pressures me to make the same sort of display, and the punch is rallying me on.
My hands begin on Peter’s shoulders, and his rest loosely on my back. He’s making light conversation, joking about how we should’ve had the dance outside if we wanted a night sky theme—which would’ve been ludicrous due to the outdoor temperature. I laugh and slowly inch my fingers behind his neck, drawing myself closer to him in the process. I don’t look around for Gideon, but simply will him to see us as I gaze into Peter’s eyes. My face hovers inches from his, with a demure look I hope will encourage his fingers to move somewhere a little less safe.
As though controlled by a puppeteer, Peter’s hands wander to the small of my back, and then just a tad lower. My spine tingles. Then he does something surprising: he breaches the miniscule gap holding our faces apart, bringing his lips firmly to mine. I startle, but allow myself to lean into him, returning the kiss as warmth radiates through every inch of my body.
We part, smiling shyly back and forth. And I feel an undeniable tug—a need as real as breathing itself—to find out if Gideon saw. I excuse myself with a squeeze of Peter’s hand, mumbling that I need to say hi to someone. Really, though, I’m hoping to catch Gideon’s eyes trailing after me. I tiptoe on sore feet toward the punch table, worried I won’t find anyone to talk to.
With relief, I notice Lena from my English class over by the punch. Might as well sneak a few more sips of red stuff in the process.
Lena’s short, with a severe black bob. Her hot pink gown is too big, making her look like a child playing dress-up. I focus on the punch, serving myself a bit. Then I step back from the table to face her. “Oh, hi, Lena!”
She squints a little, struggling to recognize me beneath the extra makeup, before smiling. “Hi, Cassidy!”
“Who are you here with?”
She giggles, pointing to a gathering of boys that now includes Peter. I turn my back to them, hiding my punch in front of me. “David Townsend,” she says in a squeaky voice, still giggling. Her face is redder than the punch, which she’s clearly been consuming. “I didn’t want to ask him. But he kept following me around school, so finally I just figured…why not? You know?”
I nod, though I definitely don’t know. She seems to have invited her stalker to the school dance. Still, I laugh and add dramatic gestures while we speak. It has to look like I’m enjoying myself. “And how is everything going so far?” I ask with an inquisitive raised brow.
“Not as well as it seems to be going for you,” she says approvingly. “Peter McCallum is like…the most gorgeous guy at school. And you two were getting very close out there.” Suddenly uncomfortable, I take a giant swig of my punch, downing it in one flick of the wrist. “I guess that means you and Gideon Hollander broke up. He looks pretty cozy out there too.”
“Oh no, we were just friends.” But the mention of Gideon is just the excuse I need to steal a glance. They’re still out there, dancing now to an upbeat song, smiles wide. Gideon spins Gracie, whose blond hair seemingly flutters about her in slow motion. His hand is on hers—the hand that led me to so many adventures when we were kids. The hand that led me to the log when we were fourteen.
A wild thought crosses my mind: I should just march over there and take that hand back.
I reach in front of Lena to scoop up some more punch, gulping it down until the tightness in my stomach is eased by fiery warmth. “Well, I’d better get back to my date.” I toss my cup into a nearby trash can along the wall and veer toward the dance floor.
I’m soon met by the unforeseen obstacle of a spinning, hazy room. It was difficult to navigate before, when it was simply dark and flickering. Now, as I stagger dizzily through the maze of people, I repeat a command to myself: Do not fall and look like a drunken idiot.
Fortunately, Peter intervenes. He takes my hand and brushes a stray hair out of my face with a gentle stroke. “You okay?”
“Yeah, let’s just dance.” I lead him toward the throngs of swaying, jumping, and convulsing students. The toasty, fuzzy sensations are accompanied by a feeling of invincibility that makes me want to move until I can’t recognize myself.
So I do, and Peter dances with me, surprise blooming across his face. He laughs and watches me with fascination.
“I didn’t think smart girls could dance like that.” He pulls me close as the tempo of the next song slows.
“Well, you’re a pretty good dancer for a smart guy yourself.” The world spins faster by the second, so I rest my head on Peter’s shoulder. I don’t dare close my eyes; this causes the nausea to roll in like the tide. Instead, I hold on to him with my eyes slightly open, watching the room rotate with Gideon at its center—a distant, beautiful figure, twirling and floating to the vibrations pounding in my brain.
A twinge of guilt about Peter has been growing steadily as the night goes on. He’s a nice guy who deserves my attention. If things with Gideon weren’t caving in on me, I may have found myself falling for Peter and his intellectual charm.
Instead, I’m selling this fake smile and this fake fun girl who dances, and I can tell by his face he’s buying every second of it. And he’s probably thinking that this is his moment—dancing to this cover of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” and me holding on so tightly—when he finally gets the girl and the rest will be history.
With this thought, the nausea finally courses its way high enough in my throat that I panic. I tear myself away from Peter and attempt to locate the nearest exit. My kitten heel turns sideways and I stumble, nearly falling onto the squeaky wooden floor.
“Cass, are you okay?” Peter calls, trying to catch up.
“Yes, I just need a minute. Be right back!” I shove my foot back into the silver pump and do my best to dash through the whirling dresses and arms that fly about, despite the rocking of the room.
Bursting into the crisp night air, I’m blinded by the streetlights lining the parking lot. These blaze in comparison to the dimly lit gymnasium. I can’t find a trash can to vomit into, so I weave toward the bushes that flank the lot. I bend over and empty the contents of my stomach, heaving and moaning as my body convulses and my mind becomes darker and cloudier than the sky above.
I feel a hand on my back and jump. Humiliated, I back away from the disgusting scene, its odor already filling the air. “I told you not to follow me,” I mumble.
“Yeah, but you didn’t mean it,” comes a deep voice that doesn’t belong to Peter. I try to turn my head, but Gideon has pulled my hair up into a temporary ponytail.
I scowl at the bushes but allow him to keep holding my hair. It’s too early to tell if I’m done expelling my insides. “Shouldn’t you be with your date?” A sardonic edge floats off my question.
“She’s the one who told me you looked like you needed help.” Great. So Gracie isn’t just a pretty little damsel in distress; she’s a saint.
I dry heave again, feeling slightly better afterward. Retrieving my hair from his grasp, I wobble a few feet away from where I just vomited. I sit down on the curb, straightening the skirt of my short dress as best as I can.
“What are you doing, Cass?” Gideon’s deep brown eyes, whose disapproval I’ve grown accustomed to, now reflect concern as well.
“Just having fun. This is supposed to be fun, right?” I throw him a silly face before burying my head in my dress. “Oh, that position is worse,” I groan, forcing my head upright and directly into his line of sight. We exchange glances in silence until I can’t hold it in anymore. “Why did you have to start going out with her, Giddy?”
“We’re just friends. She asked me to the dance.”
“You look like a lot more than friends.”
“I could say the same about you and my tutor.” His eyes avert to rest on the asphalt.
So he was watching. I should feel satisfaction. But the pain between us is too great. I can’t find the words to explain any of this, so I settle on an accusatory statement: “Yeah, well, Peter isn’t Melody Davenport’s sister.”
Gideon takes a breath. “It wasn’t on purpose, becoming friends with Gracie. I just…wanted to see her. To see if she was all right. We started talking, and I felt like I needed to be around her. Like if I couldn’t wind the clock back and save Melody, I could at least make sure Gracie was okay. I never told her about that day, though. I wanted to—want to. Being with her is nice, but you’re right. It hurts.” His eyes shut tightly.
I turn around to vomit again, remembering a moment too late that we had moved away from the bushes. Chunks vaguely resembling noodles splatter over the asphalt. I move farther down the parking lot, taking a seat on what appears to be a spot of clean curbside. Then, having lost all sense of timidity along with my dinner, I blurt, “Why did you kiss me on the log in ninth grade?”
Gideon lets out a faint, bitter laugh. “Come on, Cass. You really want to talk about this now? Things are so messed up. And besides—”
“Yeah, I know,” I cut in. “You don’t want to be with me because of Asher.” I wince as my whiny voice comes to rest on my ears.
“It’s not about that.” He doesn’t elaborate, so my mind is left to wander.
“You like her.” It’s a statement—one he doesn’t correct.
Instead, he scoots toward me again to gently rub my arms, which are plagued with goosebumps and frozen to the touch. “How are you doing?”
“Better than I was, I guess.”
“How many cups of punch did you have, anyway?”
“I don’t know. Five?”
“You could give that girl from The Exorcist a run for her money in a puking contest.” He peers down at me, biting his lip like he’s trying not to laugh.
I give him my best attempt at an irritated glare. “There’s the light at the end of the tunnel.”
He chuckles. “No, but seriously. You look worse than the time we ate that green lunch meat we found in the back of your fridge.”
I punch his arm weakly. “You were the one who said that nasty meat would be fine.”
“Never thought I’d see you at a school dance.”
“That makes two of us.”
He shrugs. “Kinda always figured if you ever went to one, it would be with me.” His eyes are distant now, perched somewhere off in the large trees bordering the school. I feel a pang in my chest. How many other hopes and dreams and firsts will pass us by while we remain stranded on opposite sides of this schism?
He pulls me to my feet and we wander away from the harsh streetlamps. He turns to face me, and in that second, beneath the faint moonlight, his eyes focus on mine the way they did on the log when we were fourteen. “Cass.” His voice is soft and low.
I hold my breath, wishing. “Yeah?”
He smiles. “Stay away from the punch.”
I force a smile in return, but my heart plummets. “I will. Giddy?”
“Yeah?”
“A minute ago, when you said it wasn’t about Asher. What did you mean?”
“Just forget it.”
“I don’t want to forget it. I want…” I step toward him, reaching out to place a hand on his firm jaw.
His eyes shut as my hand moves up his scruffy cheek. “Cass, stop.”
“This can work. I know it can. And I spoke to Asher—”
He pries my hand off and steps back. “Cass, it’s not about Asher! It’s about the fact that I can’t even look at you anymore. I see you in the halls, and I can’t breathe. I see you in English, and I can barely find the strength to write my name on the paper. When I look at you, I go back to the day Melody disappeared and I didn’t help her. After everything that day, the way you kept things from me—from the cops, what you did to Brandon… I love you, Cass. I always will. You have this power over me. My mind isn’t my own.”
I don’t try to contain the tears. My legs feel weak, my head impossibly heavy as Gideon continues. “I used to think that one day we would be together. But now, I know it was all a fantasy. I’m looking at a total stranger.”
My vision blurs and I bend over. My heavy head sways in circles as I rest my hands on my knees. Black tears drip onto my dress. It’s over. Our moment beneath the lights was just that: a moment, ephemeral and fleeting. Our old times have as much chance of returning as Melody Davenport herself. I knew turning Seth in wouldn’t bring her back, but I thought it would bring back Gideon.
He puts his hands on either side of me. “Here, let me walk you inside.”
“Don’t touch me,” I snap. “Wouldn’t want you to fall under my evil spell again.”
“Cass, you can barely walk.”
“I’ll manage. I’m going to have to get used to doing stuff without your help.” I pull my head up, swallowing back the nausea, and whip around. I rush toward the side door of the gymnasium, praying I won’t pass out before I make it inside the restroom.
* * *
Though the queasy feeling subsides, I’m in no shape to remain at the dance. I can’t face anyone in there. After briefly entertaining the idea of walking home, I think better of it, due to the difficulty of the journey and the inability to ever face Peter again if I ditch him.
After cleaning up in the restroom, I head back out to Peter.
He’s no dummy, and immediately takes my hand and leads me to the exit. Judging by the glare he shoots Gideon on our way out, he also guessed who picked up the pieces during my absence. Or left me in pieces.
On the car ride home, I’m quiet. My shame and the ebbing effects of the alcohol push my now-tousled waves back against the headrest. Peter reaches over to smooth a strand of my hair. His fingers remain threaded there, tickling my ear for a moment before moving back to the steering wheel. “What happened back there?”
I shrug. “I drank the punch.”
“Right.” His silence is sharp and telling. I feel the need to explain myself, to try and salvage this relationship that’s about to end before it started. Peter wanted to come here with me, despite the whispers that follow me everywhere. Why did I throw that away for a chance with someone I’d already lost? “I did warn you about that,” he adds, playfully.
“You did.” I’m an idiot. We both know it.
“It seemed like more than just the punch, though. You looked upset. Was it Gideon?” There’s concern in his voice, but Gideon’s name comes out like it tastes bitter.
“I’m fine.” My face heats up, so I lean toward the window. I remember how Peter looked at me in the restaurant, the thrill I felt when his lips brushed mine and how, for a few seconds, I forgot about Gideon Hollander altogether.
Could I let go of Gideon and be happy with Peter? Maybe I could be content with Peter’s eyes, his deep laugh, those lips. If nothing else, he’s been my friend and savior since Gideon disappeared. I should try to fix this.
I twist around, an apology forming in the back of my throat. But Peter’s eyes are blank and focused on the road. His hand no longer reaches out to caress my aching head.
So that’s it then. Peter caught a glimpse of the real me—pathetically infatuated, hopelessly destructive. Sometimes lethal. After tonight, I’ll never hear from him again. It’s just as well. I doubt I could handle opening myself up to another person and getting rejected anyway.
Peter drops me off at home early enough that some of the lights are still on. I slip into my room and tumble onto the bed. I barely manage to kick off my pumps with my toes, leaving my dress and makeup untouched. Then, shutting my eyes so that the swiveling of the world around me becomes the swiveling of my own brain, I allow the darkness to take me.
That night, I dream that termites have infested the hobbit house, covering the wood walls in decay. The little creeping things made a home here in our absence. When I try to inspect the damage, my foot crashes straight through the rotted floor. The bugs crawl from their honeycombed walls toward me. My foot won’t budge. Frantically, I look around for Gideon to pull me out. To help me fix this.
But he’s gone.