Geek Girl (27 page)

Once the cheerleader heard of my plan to go to Homecoming, she arranged to be home both the weekend before, for dress shopping, and the weekend of because she claimed her “older sister’s right” to do my hair. She ignored my arguments that she isn’t much older than me. I was grateful she was there.

She helped me find a dress that was feminine and pretty, not frilly whatsoever. She totally ignored my horrified protests when she pulled out multiple hair curling implements and insisted that I trust her. She wouldn’t even let me watch in the mirror.

“You can wash it and start over when I’m finished if you hate it,” she promised, which is the only reason I capitulated.

When she was finished, it looked . . .  elegant. Not a word I’d ever thought would apply to me.
If only Carol could see me now,
I thought.

Now I’m standing in our living room next to Brian, who looks pretty cute in his tux, or at least a few degrees less nerdy, while my mom takes about a thousand pictures. I finally drag Brian out the door because I believe he would be content to stand here and pose all night to avoid being rude to my mom—and because Tamara is here. Cute college girl fawning over him? He’d stay.

We drive to the State Capitol building, which has been rented for the night for the occasion. I have to admit that the hulking, historical beast is not without its charms. Lit up the way it is now, it’s a perfectly romantic backdrop for what I expect will be a completely romance-devoid night.

Jane and Charlie have already arrived and saved us a place at their table. I would have to be blind for it to escape my notice of how joyfully happy Brian is at this development. It’s a large table, which means we won’t be sitting alone, and my stomach churns at the thought of a particular someone who might join us.

I tell myself that I’m not looking for him, only admiring the beautiful building and the decorations as I look around. Why is it then, that as soon as my eyes land on him, they stop? As does my heart.

Trevor looks even better than I had imagined he would in his tux. And imagine it I had, from the moment Brian invited me.
That boy sure can clean up,
I think, pretending to be nonchalant. My heart, which had stuttered to a stop, begins pounding, and a flush spreads up my chest and across my cheeks, leaving a fiery trail across the icy surfaces. He hasn’t seen me yet, or if he has, he’s completely ignoring me. He stands with a group of the SBOs, laughing and sharing those great dimples with them. I’m insanely jealous of them.

I try to look away, aware that it’s rude to stare at one’s ex-boyfriend while on a date, but I can’t force my head to move. Jane sees my dilemma and rescues me by standing up and walking in front of me, blocking my view.

“Charlie and I are going to go dance. You and Brian should come.”

Because Brian is completely infatuated with her, he jumps up to follow her, nearly leaving me behind. She takes Charlie’s arm, and he leads her away, forcing Brian to come back for me. Unfortunately, this clears my view of Trevor once again, and I’m glad I’m holding onto Brian.

Trevor looks up just as he’s laughing at something someone said, and his gaze lands directly on me. The laughter immediately dies on his lips. His mouth snaps closed, and he swallows loudly. At least it looks loud since I’m too far away to truly hear it, and even if I were closer the blood rushing through my head would have drowned out the sound.

His eyes slowly travel over me, and I make a mental note to thank Tamara. As his gaze returns to my face, our eyes clash, and in that second I know that he isn’t as immune to me as he sometimes seems. Reality crashes down in the form of Mary Ellen, who is definitely not at all mouse-looking tonight. She sidles up to Trevor, eyeing me suspiciously. She pushes her arm through his possessively and says something to him.

He drags his eyes away reluctantly, his jaw ticking in agitation. I’ve never wanted to claw anyone’s eyes out so much in my life. Brian tugs lightly on my arm, and with a deep breath I blow my frustration out as best I can and follow him. I dance pretty unenthusiastically until I see Trevor and Mary Ellen are also on the dance floor, and Trevor is taking occasional glances at me. I see this because I’m totally watching him.

I pick up the pace and smile a lot. It feels completely false. I hope I’m fooling everyone else—or at least Trevor. Trevor and Mary Ellen do end up at our table, as do the rest of the lunch crowd and their various dates. This requires me to keep up the I’m-so-happy act until I’m nearly exhausted. I try to talk Brian into leaving, but he claims we can’t go until the king and queen are crowned. I’m guessing he cares about that even less than I do, and I don’t care at all. It’s Jane sitting across from us that’s holding him here.

Finally, the time comes to crown the unlucky suckers, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He won’t have an excuse to stay after this. Our principal, Mr. Handlin, gets up to the podium. He’s not such a bad guy. I can read him for the complete geek he was in high school, and since I have a thing now for geeks, I can’t really dislike him.

“Okay, everyone,” he wheezes into the microphone. “It’s the time you’ve all been waiting for. Let’s find out just who your Homecoming King and Queen are this year.”

I glance over to where the cheerleaders and jocks huddle in anticipation, glancing suspiciously at one another to see which of them will take the crown. I roll my eyes.

“Your king is . . . Trevor Hoffman.” This gets my attention like nothing else could have. I sit up straight from my slouched position. Trevor looks shocked, but I can’t say I really am. I mean, he’s dressing much less geekily this year, and he was voted Student Body President. Plus, with those dimples and amazing green eyes, he had to be a complete shoo-in.

Everyone at the table is congratulating him, Mary Ellen rising up to kiss him on the cheek. I burrow my fingernails into the palms of my hands and grit my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t break. His eyes flick to mine when she does this, and I try to give him a smile that says I don’t care. I can feel, though, that it’s a tight grimace, and I have no doubt that my eyes are burning. He holds my gaze for a few seconds, then makes his way to the front of the crowd where he takes his place on the low stage.

I glance at the jock table and see that none of them seem disappointed at this. It says a lot for Trevor that those who expected to win are happy for his victory. A few of the cheerleaders look pleased at the prospect of joining Trevor for the traditional King & Queen Dance.

“And now, the queen,” enthuses Mr. Handlin. I feel my stomach clench. I don’t think I can stand to sit here and watch Trevor hold yet another girl in his arms because I’m more than positive that no one would have voted for the mouse. Not that it would be any better to see her in his arms, but dealing with another girl being held by Trevor is more than I can handle right now.

“I’ll be back,” I whisper to Brian as I stand. I figure I’ll just go hang out outside for ten minutes or so. Brian nods, barely listening.

“The queen is . . .” I hurry faster.

“Jennifer Grant.”

I close my eyes against the name. I don’t know her, but I don’t want to have to . . . My walking slows as the name sinks in. I turn around, stunned. That’s
my
name. Some people are actually applauding (with the notable exception of the cheerleaders), and Jane is positively beaming, waving me toward the stage. There’s no way . . . then I see the conspiratorial look that passes between Jane and Brian and realize they somehow rigged this. I just can’t quite figure out how.

Anger suffuses me, and I consider turning around and continuing my exit—until I look up, and see Trevor standing there, crown on his head, happiness at winning gone out of his face.

I feel the pull of him, drawn toward the stage whether I want to go there or not. People are congratulating me, touching me as I walk past them, but I can only focus on him. Too soon I’m on the stage next to him, having a cheap plastic crown placed on my head. I only have eyes for Trevor, though, who refuses to look at me.

Mr. Handlin comes between us, shaking both our hands.

“And now, I give you Trevor and Jennifer for the King and Queen Dance,” he announces loudly, and my heart jolts. The dance. I had momentarily forgotten about that, but the dance means . . . me in Trevor’s arms again.

The music begins, and for a long moment Trevor stands frozen. Mr. Handlin nudges him with a murmur, and he turns stiffly toward me. His inbred politeness won’t allow him to leave me standing here alone like I know he wants to, and I am soaringly grateful for this.

He holds out a stiff hand, and as I place my hand in his, a molten blaze begins in my stomach.

He doesn’t look at me, stiffly formal as he leads me down the steps to the dance floor. The lights are dim with a slightly brighter spotlight highlighting us. He forces a turn toward me and takes me into his arms. In that moment, I see it. His eyes are burning as scorchingly hot as my stomach.

He leads me into a dance, rigid and proper, holding me at a distance that would please the stoutest of Puritans. It’s such a stark reminder of the first time I danced with him that I can’t stop the smile that curves my mouth. Trevor stumbles a little at my smile, but in true courageous fashion, he holds my gaze, not turning away.

Soon other couples have joined us on the floor, but my focus has narrowed to the point that it seems we are alone. Once we are surrounded, it’s as if something gives within Trevor. I can actually sense the capitulation flowing through him, and suddenly he pulls me close, never breaking eye contact, though in his I read something much different, something I haven’t seen since
before
.

“Trev,” I sigh, only meaning to think it, not say it aloud.

“Don’t call me that,” he murmurs. He lowers his head to mine, not demanding as he kisses me, lips gentle. My mind is a riot of emotions and questions, but I push them all aside, refusing to waste one precious second of this unbelievable moment on thought.

My world twists and tilts as he lets go of my hand and his arms come around my waist, pulling me even closer. I slide my arms up past his shoulders, twisting my hands in the nape of his hair as he deepens the kiss, becoming urgent.

Time passes slowly, and much too quickly. Almost in tandem, Trevor and I become aware of our surroundings, just where we are and what we’re doing. His mouth abruptly hardens on mine, and he pulls away as if burned. Emotions shoot across his face while he tries to find one to settle on. I still have my hands tangled in his hair; he reaches up and gently pulls them down, disengaging himself from my embrace.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have . . .” he trails off, chaotic thoughts tying his tongue.

He turns quickly, striding away. He comes up short when he sees Mary Ellen standing at the edge of the dance floor. It’s obvious she has watched the whole thing. Even I feel a little sorry at the hurt and betrayal I can see written on her face. I want to go after him but can’t move.

Tremors begin in my hands, and I can feel a panic attack creeping up my throat as he disappears. Suddenly Brian is with me, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close to his side as he hurries me from the dance floor and out the front door. I can hear the sounds of despair starting low in my throat, fighting for escape.

“Just hold on, Jen. We’re almost there,” he says urgently. Then he’s shoving me into the front seat of his car. He jogs to the other side and climbs in. I look at Brian, sorry for the humiliation I must have caused him, grateful to him for coming to my rescue, but unable to form the words. I don’t trust opening my mouth just now because I’m fighting the keening wails that are pushing at the back of my teeth. He seems to read all of this on my face, and he nods in acceptance.

A knock on his window startles him, and Jane peers anxiously in. He rolls his window down, and she leans in toward me, which puts her face directly in front of Brian’s.

“Jen, are you okay? Do you need me to come with you?”

I can’t answer; I can only shake my head. She looks to Brian for confirmation, like he’s suddenly my caretaker. He shrugs helplessly, stunned by the nearness of her.

“Okay, I’ll get Charlie to take me home so I can change, and then I’ll go right to her house,” she tells him, as if he had asked this of her. She gives Brian a little bicep squeeze in gratitude and then leaves to go find her date.

Brian watches her until she’s out of sight, then looks back at me. His feelings are on his face as clearly as if he’d had them tattooed there.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we? Pathetic, both of us.”

I can’t agree more as I lean my head against the cool window and close my eyes against the painful brilliance of the retreating Capitol behind us.

Trevor’s kiss centered me. I know it doesn’t make any sense. I should be shattered. If I’m telling the truth, on the night of the ball, I did shatter—into a million tiny pieces. Jane and Brian kept me together, with a little help from Tamara, of all people. When I finally fell into an exhausted sleep—or maybe I should say when I finally passed out because I was completely spent—I came to a kind of peace with everything.

By Monday morning, I’m back together again, unlike Humpty Dumpty, who couldn’t be put back together no matter how many horses and king’s men tried. I can’t really say why I feel so okay with everything now, but I have a theory.

I think that before the kiss I felt like there was no hope, that Trevor had finally seen the real me, and that meant there was no way to undo the damage. His kiss told me another story. Now I know that Trevor still loves me at least a little. I think this peace I feel is really a measure of hope. Genuine hope—not the hope I’d borrowed from everyone else, who kept trying to tell me how to get him back, not the hope I had tricked myself into believing. This hope is real.

Now I wait.

Trevor steadfastly ignores me—even more than before. I don’t stress about it, don’t hide from him. I feel a little bad because he doesn’t look very happy. The one thing I notice most of all is that he and the mouse seem to be on the outs. Oddly enough, instead of this wrenching up her antagonism toward me, she has relaxed, and while she doesn’t exactly treat me like a close friend, she doesn’t glare at me anymore. She sits closer to my end of the lunch table, and she’s even vaguely polite.