According to Jane (15 page)

I make no such claim. But, Ellie, there is a purpose behind everything.

And yet, your part in being in my life remains a mystery. Why won't you tell me what you know? Why do you keep me guessing?

Because,
she said,
what I know will not satisfy you.

Try me.

There are lessons, Ellie, that we both must learn
.

I stifled a sigh. Again with the lessons. Like I didn't get enough education at school.

These are lessons we must learn from each other
, she added.
And I fear they will not be mastered quickly
.

Really?
I said, delighted by the idea of getting to instruct Jane on something for once, and praying I'd finally convinced her to answer one of my most pressing questions.
What are they?

But she changed the subject.
It is at last time for "Hamlet."

I sighed.
I wish you'd just be open with me and stop treating me like a child
.

If the shoe fits
...Jane murmured.

It doesn't. And while you're at it, you can damn well leave off the Cinderella references
.

So, prom night came.

"Whoa. You look sweet," Jason said when he picked me up, dressed in his black tuxedo with tails and carrying a red-rose corsage for me. He briefly eyed my traditional white dress and sent me an absentminded nod of approval.

I handed him his boutonniere and said, "Thanks. You look great, too," but I thought,
Sweet?
Even as a synonym for lovely, I didn't want to look sweet. That word had such overtones of
nice
. I wanted to summon to a man's mind something more memorable, something like spicy. Sweet was nice, but you
remembered
spicy.

I continued to mull over this distinction as we muddled our way through the Mocktail Hour, the first of several pre-prom events. Held at prom-court member "Princess" Amy's house, this affair (complete with fake pina coladas, olives-n-wienies on toothpicks, annoying "royalty" and endless small talk) was about as much fun as sticking my hand in a meat grinder.

It was followed by dinner at Chez Alexander's with Terrie and her boyfriend Matt; Jason's buddy Steve and his giggly girlfriend Krista; Terrie's kid sister Sabrina, a junior, and her date Nate, a nice but intensely quiet senior. While I had no complaints about my chicken Kiev, my wedge of key lime pie or even my watered-down iced tea, the event itself was worse than the mocktails.

Why?

Well, because Jason--although unfailingly friendly toward me in the manner befitting a date who was "just a friend"--seemed awestruck by the cleavage of every other girl in attendance, from the tiara-wearing Princess Amy to the incurably ditsy Krista to the envy-inspiring Amanda Roberts.

And while on the subject of Amanda, I kept running into her. Every-fucking-where. At the mocktail hour. At the dinner. With Sam trailing her heels and gazing at her as if she were the only female in the entire state of Illinois. She wore some sleek and dazzling outfit, of course. And though it wasn't as short or as slinky as the purple dress with the fringes that I'd loved, it was, painfully, the same color. Naturally, Amanda looked amazing in it.

I
tried
to relax and have fun. I
tried
to catch the prom-night spirit. I
tried
to at least appear as though I were enjoying myself, especially when I'd spot Sam, Amanda and their friends having a rollicking good time. I wanted Romance and True Love so much that night I could've cried. And I thought maybe, if I acted the part, it would happen for me.

It didn't take long to realize I'd need decades to master any such social charade. My heart wasn't in it, and all the fake grins and fake drinks in the world wouldn't convince my soul otherwise.

By the time we slid into the white limo to go to the dance, I could feel myself beginning to lose it. The dejection, discouragement and frustration had built up, leaving me seething with an anger I couldn't justify or control.

On the road, Jason grabbed for my fingers. The other couples were all holding hands, so I didn't pull away when his hand covered mine. But I did curl my fingers into a fist and, a few times during the drive, I squeezed it tight, letting my nails bite into my palm. Marking it the way I'd once marked Sam Blaine's wrist.

You are not thinking of coming to blows with someone, are you, Ellie?
Jane whispered, her humored voice rising above the roaring in my head.
It is most unladylike to consider striking another person. However well deserved
.

I clenched my fist tighter.
If I could decide who to punch out first, you might have something to worry about
, I told her in my snottiest silent voice.
But as it stands, I'm mad at too many people to single out only one of them
.

Ah
, she said.
So the list has lengthened beyond the irredeemable Sam and his lady friend, the inattentive Jason, the Princess Amy, the frivolous Krista, the dreary Nate and the irksome Steve? You have had much to occupy your thoughts, I see
.

I grimaced. She knew very well that would've been plenty, but I was also mad at myself. While self-loathing was never pretty, it wasn't the only emotion I felt. Sadness, anxiety and resentment kept playing musical chairs inside of me, making it impossible to decide when I was feeling lonely versus furious. And of course, as usual, Jane wasn't making matters easier.

Just imagine
, Jane told me,
all the sparkling moments ahead for you at this ball. The dancing and the
--

Prom. It's called PROM.

Ball. Prom. Similar events,
Jane replied. I could almost feel her shrug.
Regardless, there will be much to experience and observe, Ellie. Keep your fists at your side and your eyes open.

I squeezed my fist even tighter and pressed my eyelids closed.

My, you are a defiant one, are you not?
Jane said, her parting words to me before I slipped out of the limo and entered the glittering "ballroom" of our high school.

As Jason and I danced, I was rocketed back in time to sophomore year, seeing him as I had that long-ago night. Seeing the possibility of a relationship between us. Maybe. Someday.

Then, just like that night, I saw Sam. Only this time he was watching us over Amanda's shoulder. Our gazes collided seconds before the DJ shouted "Switch Dance!" into his microphone.

A gleeful shout went up. Chaos swirled around me, a flurry of pastel taffeta and ivory lace. Sam and Amanda stood toe-to-toe with us.

"Wanna switch?" Amanda asked me cheerily. Then she grinned at Jason.

"Um," I said.

Jason said, "Yeah!" at the same time, staring with obvious appreciation at Amanda's low-scooping neckline. He dropped my hand and reached for hers.

Sam remained silent, but he held out his palm toward me in an unlikely invitation. Freaky deja vu.

How unfortunate
, Jane murmured.

I reluctantly put my hand in his and, for the first time, I decided Jane might've had a point with her "ball" references. This must've been how Elizabeth Bennet felt at the Netherfield Ball, dancing with an aloof, impassive Mr. Darcy.

Sam wound one arm around my waist. I shivered at his touch. Wait! What was I thinking? Sam was a Wickham type, not a Darcy. Wickham wasn't even
at
that ball. Remember that, I told myself. And remember those were
book characters
. This was real life.

Nevertheless, in his tux, it was impossible not to notice how gorgeous Sam looked. Unfair, because it reminded me I wasn't exactly indifferent to him. Although, God knew, I'd tried to be.

As we swayed together, something recognizable sparked between us, but it wasn't love or even lust. It was awkwardness. For a split second, Sam seemed as uneasy and uncomfortable as I was, which must've been a first in Glen Forest history.

"Having fun?" I managed to murmur.

"Yep," he answered, not quite believably, as the music changed to "Sister Christian" by Night Ranger.

"Um, well...good," I said, not knowing what else to say.

Comment on the weather or on the number of couples
, Jane instructed helpfully.

I smiled.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, his eyes lighting up a bit, as if the prospect of a joke made dancing with me more bearable.

"Nothing much."

"So," he said as he shot a look in Jason and Amanda's direction, "is Bertignoli behaving himself?"

"Yeah." I stared into those mocking blue eyes. "Are
you
behaving yourself?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Sure. So far." Then he did something he'd never done. He winked at me. "But the night's still young."

"What? Planning Amanda's deflowering later?"

A dangerous grin played at the corners of his lips. "Been there, done that, no T-shirts necessary."

"Great," I said, noticing the predatory way he looked at me.

He laughed. "Don't worry, Ellie. There's plenty of sin and debauchery to go around."

I considered this. I probably shouldn't have said anything, but my inquisitive nature and the strangeness of being in Sam's arms again made me bold. "Guys don't really want that, though, do they? They want to at least have the illusion of being the pursuer. They don't want a girl who'll give in too easily, right?"

He looked at me, startled, then narrowed his eyes at Jason's dancing form with surprising animosity. "Depends on the guy." He returned his gaze to my face. "And on the girl."

I didn't answer this time.

Jane
tsked
loudly and muttered a series of comments that included the phrases "appalling behaviour" and "unpardonable lout."

Sam's grip tightened around my waist. The weight of his fingertips pressed into me--a sensuous, seductive touch--and I felt the smooth glide of his thumb over my knuckles.

He stepped two inches closer as we moved to the melody, and I inhaled his scent. Pure masculinity. And probably his father's cologne. Or, did he buy his own now? The possibility made him seem so grown up. He pulled me closer still, and my heart began to thump. When did the arrogant Sam Blaine turn into someone other than the Brainiac Bad Boy I thought I knew? When did he begin to change into a man?

"Switch dance!" the DJ bellowed.

I stepped back so abruptly I made Terrie's sister, Sabrina, who was dancing near us, jump. Her partner-of-the-moment tripped.

"Sorry," I said.

He regained his footing, though, and asked, "Wanna switch?"

"N-Not this time. Thanks." Walking backward, I skittered away from them, my eyes still trained on Sam's face. "I need to get some water," I called out. "But, uh, you guys have fun."

Sabrina's partner shrugged and turned toward another couple. Sabrina slanted me an odd look. Sam just raised a brow and the corresponding corner of his lips. I ran off the dance floor, the newest INXS song--"Need You Tonight"--nipping at the heels of my white pumps. Then I hyperventilated in the hall. Alone.

Two minutes later, a familiar male voice whispered in my ear, "Are you okay, Ellie?"

I looked deep into Jason's warm, brown eyes and found the comfort I'd been seeking. I nodded, and he walked me back into the gym, his arm tenderly draped over my shoulder.

Jason was my
friend.
Okay, so he didn't fill me with wanton lust, but his less-demanding nature took the edge off my loneliness and off the haunting desperation I couldn't seem to let go of.

"When's the crowning of the king and queen?" I glanced at my watch, which read a depressingly early 9:23.

"In an hour. Once that's over we can blow outta here."

I infused high-voltage warmth into my grin and radiated it at him. "Sounds like a plan. Maybe we can liven things up then."

A perilous glint of interest--curiosity, I gathered, mixed with something I couldn't deduce--sparked in his eye. "You can count on it," he said.

Later that night, at the city's finest hotel, the Glen Forest Four Seasons, our gang was "Locked In" for the evening. With the limos gone and parent chaperones at the ready to guard exits, confiscate alcohol and prohibit lustful behavior, we were effectively trapped until morning.

Terrie, Sabrina, Krista and I parted company with the guys, agreeing to meet them soon for the Post-Prom Party. We then hopped into an elevator heading toward the girls' floor. With the coast clear, Terrie and Sabrina began whispering about which cover story to tell their parents and how the logistics of the evening ought to play out. It was decided that Terrie and Krista would sneak onto the guys' floor for the night while Sabrina and I would stay in our assigned rooms...but with our dates.

Thirty minutes later we were on the down elevator, and then in the dimly lit Winnebago Room. A strobe light illuminated the parquet floor with dappled streaks of color, and the piped-in strains of "(I've Had) The Time of My Life" from the
Dirty Dancing
soundtrack floated above us. The guys spotted us right away and marched in our direction, plastic glasses of punch in their hands.

Jason handed me one and winked. "I just fixed it for you."

I took a sip of the bright red drink and my tongue burned with the distinctive sting of cheap vodka. "Mmm," I managed to say before coughing. "Thanks."

He grinned. "You're welcome." He lowered his voice and added, "Don't worry. I got enough left to doctor everyone's second glass, too. Then we can break into Matt's Everclear."