Blind Spot (11 page)

We laughed, and I found myself wishing I could joke like that with Jonathan. “I should probably go find my date. You guys seen Jonathan anywhere?”

Greg’s smile fell away. He and Heather exchanged a look I couldn’t see well enough to read.

“What?”

“It’s nothing, okay?” Heather said.

“Tell me!” My stomach turned. I knew I wasn’t going to like whatever it was.

“I saw Jonathan’s car at Missy’s last night,” Greg said. “After the game.”

“Missy?” My heartbeat quickened as jealousy pumped through my veins. “He was with Missy last night?”

“He could’ve just been giving her a ride home,” Greg said.

“Or not. If I were you, I’d go confront him.” Heather frowned at Greg. “What?”

“You should just forget him,” Greg said. “Come sit with us.”

“He’s her date,” Heather argued. “He at least owes her an explanation.”

Yes. He did. I looked around. “Where is he?”

“Whatever.” Greg sighed. “You two go search for Zeus, the king of all that is deceptive and fake. I’m going to get a table. Try Mount Olympus,” he yelled as he left, “or the Underworld, with Hades.”

“I don’t see him; try the hallway.” Heather hurried after Greg. “Greg, wait!”

I stood in front of the trophy case facing the gym’s double doors. I thought it would be the best vantage point to find Jonathan, but it was too crowded. In a crowd, it’s impossible for me to focus my dots on anything long enough to identify someone.

I moved toward the main foyer and found couples waiting in a long line. When I followed it to the front, I discovered the yearbook staff photographing the homecoming nominees. Jonathan stood front and center, looking fantastic in white shorts and an island-blue, Hawaiian-print button-up. Girls flanked him on either side, but after years of practice, my eyes were quick to spot one in particular. Long blond hair. Doe eyes. Island-blue bikini top. Island-blue skirt that tied at the hip.
Island blue.

I flicked back to Jonathan. He and Missy matched. A little too perfectly. As if they’d coordinated their outfits. Missy stood below him, head tilted up, skin glowing as though she’d just stepped off the beach, while he smiled down, eyes locked on hers, hand brushing her hair from her face.

That familiar ache of envy caught my breath.

“Have you been to a beach before?” Tricia was pulling her cloak off a few feet away. She handed it to the coat check girl and walked over to me. “Only losers wear black.” Grass skirt. Bikini top. Even Tricia blended in tonight.

I wasn’t in the mood for her insults. I shoved past her and into the bathroom. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. Jonathan didn’t matter. I didn’t like him that much anyway, right? I winced at my reflection. I looked like Rob Zombie at a luau. Who was I kidding? It
did
matter. Jonathan liked me. He called me Beautiful. He made me feel important, as if I belonged. And
I
was his date, not Missy. I headed back out to claim him.

“Hey, it’s about time!” Jonathan said when I walked out. He was standing with Liz Cobler and some others. “You have to pee so badly you couldn’t say hi?”

“Oh . . .” He was copping attitude with
me?
He was the one drooling all over Miss Island Blue! “I didn’t think you saw me—”

“You were looking right at us,” Liz said.

“Sorry, I was . . . distracted . . . by Tricia.”

“That freak!” Liz snorted. “God, did she wear her cape?”

“See?” Jonathan slipped his arm around me before I could respond to Liz. “I knew she wouldn’t dis me.” He kissed me—in front of them all—and then gave me that brilliant smile of his. “So, where’s your bikini, Beautiful?”

The way he kissed me, the way he stood up for me, telling them he knew me—he made me feel wanted and liked and . . . I couldn’t ruin that. I couldn’t ask about Missy. “Too cold for swimsuits.” I kissed him back. “Can we go dance?”

“Sure.” He led me inside the gym, but stopped at the refreshment table. “Hold on, I gotta talk to someone.” He disappeared into the mass of bodies.

I watched the gobs of faces, waiting for Jonathan to pop into my visual range again. When he didn’t, my eyes wandered over to the dance floor. Everyone was bouncing to a lot of bass. A flash of bright orange caught in my peripheral vision. Maybe it was because Greg was having fun while I wasn’t, or maybe it was because he was having fun with someone other than me. Whatever the reason, I suddenly felt envious.

I looked back at the refreshment table, this time focusing on clothes. I spotted Tricia’s grass skirt next to Jonathan’s island-blue shirt at the punch bowl. Eyes on Jonathan, I tried to push through the crowd toward them. But when I focus too hard on one thing, I miss what’s going on around me. Just as I was about to reach Jonathan, I tripped on someone’s foot.

“Sorry,” I said to the jeans and floral-print shirt—nowhere near as gaudy as Greg’s.

“It’s rather crowded, Miss Hart. Commandeering a glass of punch?”

“What?” I frowned, my concentration broken. I’d lost sight of Jonathan.

Mr. Dellian said louder, “Punch?” As he handed me a cup, Tricia appeared.

“Don’t forget your umbrella!” She dunked one into Dellian’s punch.

I looked behind her for Jonathan. He wasn’t there. Was he
trying
to ditch me?

“Do you have an umbrella for Miss Hart?” When Tricia said nothing, Dellian held his cup out to me. “You can have mine.”

“No!” Tricia slapped his hand away. “I’ll get her one.” She reached through the mob for an umbrella and threw one at me.

I took the tiny toothpick umbrella and clomped over to an empty table, my back to the dancers. What the hell was I doing here? Homecoming was supposed to be fun! I glared down at the umbrella. The thin paper had caved in on one side, crushed, no doubt, by Tricia’s violent handling. I poked at the paper to pop it back out. It didn’t work. The fragile item was broken. I abandoned trying to fix it and instead twirled its wooden toothpick shaft between my fingers, mesmerized by how beautifully the colors swirled together the faster I twirled it, despite it being broken.

The tempo changed to a soft slow dance. The DJ announced that the homecoming nominees would lead everyone in the first slow dance of the night. Bodies scurried by in search of dance partners. I slumped in my chair, aware that Jonathan would now surface, but he’d be dancing with a future queen, not me.

“Can I sit with you?” a familiar voice said behind me. “Or are you and that umbrella too engrossed in conversation for company?”

“We
are
having a pretty heavy conversation, but I don’t think he’ll mind. Where’s Heather?” I asked after Greg sat down.

“Bathroom.” He peered over at me. “You don’t look as though you’re having fun.”

His soft tone made my throat catch. I waved my hand. “I’m fine. Just bored. You want to dance?”

He shook his head. “No, I—”

“Right, you and Heather. Say no more.”

“No, that’s definitely not what I was going to say.” He leaned forward. “Why did you want me to come with her?”

What was he talking about? “I wanted you to come with Heather?”

“That’s what she said when she asked me.”

I started to protest—to say I didn’t suggest it, never would, not in a million years—but that would’ve opened up another conversation. One I wasn’t quite ready to have. “I . . . just did.”

“Just did?” He acted as if I’d spoken in tongues.

“I thought you’d have . . . fun together. You’re a lot alike.” The words sounded false, and I knew he didn’t believe me.
I
didn’t believe me. They were nothing alike.

“Are we?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought you and I . . .” He leaned in really close. So close I could see his face, his expression, his eyes. “Roz—”

“Hey, Beautiful,” Jonathan said somewhere behind me.

I whirled around, feeling guilty. Caught. But Jonathan wasn’t there. I frowned back at Greg.

He sat back in his chair, arms crossed against his chest, now too far for me to see his face, his expression, his eyes. But I didn’t need to. I heard it all in his voice. The disgust. The pity. “Over there,” Greg snapped. “Dancing with Missy.”

I didn’t need this humiliation. I fished my cell out of my clutch purse and headed to the coat check.

“Where’re you going?” Heather asked as I was putting on my jacket.

“Home.” I dialed Mom’s number. No answer.

“They haven’t even announced the royalty yet!”

“Jonathan . . .” My voice cracked. I tried Mom again, and then slammed the phone shut. “My mom isn’t answering.”

“I’ll take you.” Greg came up behind Heather.

“But you can’t come back in once you leave,” Heather said.

“She’s right. Stay. I’ll call a cab,” I said to one of the neon-green trees on his shirt. I couldn’t look at him.

“I don’t want to stay,” Greg said. “Heather, I’ll pick you up after the dance.”

“No!” Heather glared at me, and then spotted Jonathan. “Zeus!”

Greg and I both grabbed at her arm. “Heather, don’t.”

She ignored us. “Roz wants to go home.”

“Home? Why?” He slipped his arm around my waist. When I pulled away from him, he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Heather pulled a reluctant Greg away as I whirled on my date. “If you weren’t going to acknowledge my existence at this dance, why’d you even ask me?” I demanded.

“I’m ack-whatevering you right now, aren’t I?” He leaned in, smiling that all-too-brilliant smile. “You look beautiful in that dress, by the way.” He tried to shimmy my jacket off my shoulders.

“As if you mean that.” I yanked my jacket back up. “I heard you call Missy Beautiful too.”

He cocked his head. “Well, she
is
beautiful. Can’t I give a girl props?” He put his palms on my hips and tried to pull me into him. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t beautiful.”

I stood sideways, unfaltering. “I know you were with her last night! Greg saw you!” I meant to be firm, strong, but I sounded whiny and childish and . . . pitiful.

“Yeah, he saw me give her a ride home.” His fingers traced a gentle path along my neck to my jaw line. “Come on, don’t be like this.” He carefully turned my face up to his. “Please?” He kissed my chin.

I felt myself weakening, and hated it. I balled my hands into fists, but still my head did not turn away from his touch. My anger seemed stupid now; somehow he’d made my body forget what my brain had been so sure of a second ago.

“Hey.” He pulled me toward him again, as if he knew my body was giving in and wouldn’t resist him this time. He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “You’re . . .”

His words were lost in a jumble of voices and shouts behind us.

“Can we go talk somewhere else?” I asked.

“After the dance we can head to the party, hang in the loft. I’ll tell everyone to leave us alone.”

“Can we just go now?”

“Now? They haven’t crowned me king yet.” The commotion behind us became really loud. We both turned to look.

“What’s going on?” Jonathan yelled.

“Mr. Dellian puked all over the place!”

“He . . . puked?” Jonathan echoed.

A teacher exited the gym with Mr. Dellian, a wastebasket clutched in his arms. “Go home, don’t worry about a thing,” the teacher was saying.

Dellian vomited into the trash can with such force, he couldn’t respond.

The teacher grimaced and eyeballed everyone standing around. “Someone go find the janitor, please. Who can drive Mr. Dellian home? He”—the wrenching sound of another round of puke interrupted her—“really shouldn’t be driving.”

“I will.” Tricia stepped through the crowd, brown cloak already on, ready to leave. “I know how to drive his stick.”

A few people snickered. The teacher stared at Tricia. “His what?”

“His Toyota’s a manual—you know, transmission?” Jonathan said with a grin. “Don’t worry, Miss Kelly. I’ll follow to make sure she gets home okay.”

“Thank you, Jonathan. That would be wonderful.”

I stared after them, stunned. He couldn’t leave with me because he hadn’t received his precious crown, but he could leave for Tricia? What the heck was going on? Okay, yeah, Dellian was sick, but Jonathan hated Dellian. Why would he miss out on his crown for him?

“Move along now! The dance is over!” Miss Kelly yelled at the bottleneck of students now forming in front of me. “We’re evacuating the gym.”

Evacuating? Liz Cobler gagged by me. I asked her what was going on.

“Mr. Dellian,” she said, eyes watering. “It really reeks in there.”

“Roz!” Heather called from the exit. “Greg’s taking me home. Unless you have a better idea?”

“There’s a party at Birch Hill,” I offered reluctantly. Like Greg, a part of me wanted to go home and just be done with the evening. Another part of me was obsessed with getting Jonathan alone. If we could talk the way Greg and I always seemed to, about nothing and everything, maybe that would somehow make things right between us.

“The dance got shut down,” I said to Jonathan’s voice mail. “Meet me at the party?”

Heather frowned. “Zeus left already?”

“He took Dellian home.”

“He drove a puking teacher in his precious Corvette?” Heather snorted.

Her attitude annoyed me. Everything about this night annoyed me. “Tricia’s driving Dellian in his truck. Jonathan’s following so Tricia has a ride home.”

“Why would she need a ride? She lives there,” Heather said.

“Maybe back to the dance?” I said, but she was right. It didn’t make sense. What was going on with those two? I had to talk to Jonathan. “Are you guys going to the party?” I asked. “I need a ride up there.”

Heather rubbed her hand on Greg’s arm. “Are we, Greg? It could be fun.”

“Why would you want to?” Greg’s scowl was directed at me. But before I could say “None of your business,” he turned to Heather and said, “You got so wasted last time, you were ashamed to come back to school.”

Ouch.

Heather dropped her hand and stared at the floor.

“Geez, you can be such a jerk!” I looped my arm in Heather’s. “Come on, Heather. I’m sure we can find a ride.” We turned to merge into the crowd.

“Wait.” Greg grabbed my elbow. “I’ll take you. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, Heather.”