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Tonight, however, here we were at Homecoming.

From the start, it seemed I was destined to remain on the periphery of Sarah’s—I mean, Queen Sarah’s—enchanted evening. She’d been crowned at the football game, as had Dirk. The only alone time I was able to get with her lasted all of about ninety seconds, right after we’d arrived at the dance. Of the five couples sharing the packed limo, Sarah and Dirk were the last to file out, behind Kip and me. The other three who’d ridden with us didn’t hesitate to make their way into the dance. Dirk and Kip asked for a minute and stepped away from us to have a few words, something about planning the smoking of some Cuban cigars. During this tiny moment, I had the Queen to myself. 

She was in the agave dress, and I quickly looked away to minimize the flush rising to my cheeks at the sight of her, unflanked, having emerged from the previously packed limo and standing up to her full height (more, in her heels). Sarah, whom I hadn’t seen since the night before when she dropped me off at my house without saying a word. Sarah, who filled my waking thoughts and restless night. Sarah, in this phenomenal dress exuding high-octane sensuality and magnetism. She turned to me with a boys-will-be-boys eye roll as Dirk and Kip made their secretive plans.

I regarded her nervously, a million thoughts churning through my mind. What did I say to her? Should I compliment her? Compliments weren’t really my thing, but I was okay with stating the obvious. And the obvious was that Sarah was gorgeous. Should I tell her how pretty she was or would that sound lecherous? Were we still friends? Was she regretting having invited Kip and me along? Did she hate me?

God, I wouldn’t be able to handle that.

Sarah didn’t take her eyes off mine, the cinema that was my face giving her ample entertainment as I cycled through my worries. Of all my concerns, one kept bubbling to the surface: fear. I was so afraid of losing her, so afraid of what she’d become to me, my chin started quivering and my eyes pooled. I was never more obvious or vulnerable with another human being and couldn’t comprehend what it was about her that brought out this annoyingly desperate side of me. We continued to regard each other in silence, with me doing my darnedest to keep my tears from tumbling over. I was pathetic and frustrated with myself.

Sarah’s expression turned from amused and questioning to concerned and tender. She lightly grasped my forearm.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “We’re here to have a good time tonight, remember?”

I nodded and focused on the ground.

“You don’t seem like you’re having such a good time.”

I looked up at her and wondered if I should acknowledge the truth in that statement. Then I figured my eyes had already answered for me. I shook my head.

“What can I do to make it better?”

My relief was so great I let out something halfway between a sob and a laugh. I couldn’t help but give her a half-hearted smile. Sarah was making me feel better by letting me know she still cared about me. But my relief was fleeting—Sarah was a kind person and would probably be asking the same thing of anyone who appeared the least bit upset.

I quickly chastised myself for that ungenerous thought. Here she was, trying to lift my spirits, literally and figuratively reaching out to me, and I immediately responded by making it out to be a bad thing, like she didn’t really care about me. I certainly wasn’t deserving of her warmth or concern if that was going to be my reaction to this girl who had consistently been there for me when I needed her.

We couldn’t get into anything too personal, given that our dates were expected back at any moment. I put my hand on top of hers where she was still holding my forearm.

“Forgive me.” As soon as I said it, I knew it could be taken to mean different things. I meant it as something between “forgive my moodiness” to “forgive my emotional reaction,” but now that the words were out, it could mean I was asking for her to overlook my actions from last night. Was that subconsciously what I meant?

Sarah narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side, a puzzled look on her face. As she was about to respond, Dirk called out. “You ladies ready to rumba?” He clapped and rubbed his hands together enthusiastically as he and Kip sauntered toward us with big smiles.

I let go of my hand on Sarah’s and she removed hers, then held my gaze for another moment before turning to Dirk. Following an exaggerated bow, he extended his hand to her. “Shall we, m’ lady?”

She beamed up at him and curtseyed. “We shall.”

With that, my brief connection to Sarah the night of Homecoming vanished.

*

By Monday, I was aching for some one-on-one time with Sarah. We had a lot to talk about. Rather, I had a lot of unanswered questions. We hadn’t spoken to each other since the Homecoming dance, which meant we’d been unable to debrief on our evening together at her house. As much as I preferred to avoid conflict, by Monday morning, having slept only a handful of hours during the past three nights combined, I was such an exhausted mess I felt willing to confront Sarah just to get some clarity and move on.

Well, not move on, exactly, but at least get an understanding of where we stood. No matter what happened, I would never be able to move on from Sarah.

Our assigned seating in English and Earth Science meant we wouldn’t have any time to converse during our shared classes, so we wouldn’t be able to connect until snack, lunch, or after school. We never saw each other during snack because our classes beforehand were at opposite ends of school. Sarah usually shared lunch in the quad with half a dozen friends, so that was out. And after school, we had tennis. My only opportunity would be right after sixth period before either of us had to show up for tennis shortly thereafter.

As I entered the quad, Sarah and Olivia slid into opposite bench seats at one of the picnic tables. Olivia was on the tennis team, Homecoming court, and had been part of the limo clan. They each pulled a textbook out of their backpacks and started conversing. An uneasy calm settled over me and I decided it was now or never. I strode purposefully over to them. Sarah was the first to notice me. The trepidation in her eyes as I approached made me wonder if she was afraid I’d tell Olivia—and others—about our night in her bedroom. Or maybe she was anxious about hurting my feelings and ending our friendship. Or perhaps she was afraid of what she felt for me.

That last thought was so hair-brained I couldn’t believe I’d conjured it. For God’s sake, this was the same girl whose adorable and adoring boyfriend had been crowned Homecoming King and was majorly crushed on by nearly all unattached—and some attached—females at Claiborne. Feared what she felt for me! Give me a break.   

I tried for nonchalance as I approached. “Good afternoon, Princess,” I said to Olivia during a lull in their conversation, watching Sarah watching me. As Olivia looked up, I offered a wobbly curtsy.

“Good afternoon, my loyal subject,” Olivia responded good-naturedly.

I nodded and turned to Sarah, offering the same curtsy. “Your Highness.”

Sarah rolled her eyes in Olivia’s direction, pretending to be bored, but delivered a smile.

“Chemistry?” I nodded toward their textbooks, knowing they were in that class together.

“Ugh. I’m at a complete loss as to how she understands any of it,” Olivia said, tilting her head in Sarah’s direction. “She’s helping me cram before our match. You don’t need her too, do you?”

If you only knew.
I bit back the honest reply and couldn’t help but be amused by Olivia’s unwittingly loaded question. I gave Sarah a mischievous smile and watched as she arched her left eyebrow. Though curious, she also seemed wary. Thankfully, Olivia read my playful look as relating to schoolwork and she answered her own question.

“Never mind. Of course you don’t, seeing as you two are neck-and-neck for the top smarty-pants award.”

Given my apprehension of two minutes ago, I didn’t know why Olivia’s commentary struck such a funny bone, but I bit my lip as I delivered another frisky smile, inwardly laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Yes, I could imagine being neck-and-neck with Sarah
.
In fact, I suddenly envisioned just that, and it gave me a little rush of delight. I glanced at Sarah, who was now studying me with concern, probably wondering what had gotten into me.

“Don’t you look like the cat that ate the canary. Do tell.” Olivia wagged her eyebrows at me.

I shook myself out of my reverie and got back to the business at hand. I needed to know if Sarah and I were still friends. As wonderful as it was, daydreaming about her wouldn’t give me an answer.

“No, no, no,” I said. “Don’t be silly. I promise not to steal your study partner.” I shifted my eyes to Sarah. “But I was hoping I could borrow you for a minute?”

“If this is about Kip, you better not be holding out on us, girl,” Olivia warned playfully.

“Nice girls don’t kiss and tell,” I replied with a wink, trying to silently communicate to Sarah to relax, to convey that I didn’t intend to share our secret.

“If I wasn’t freaking out about this midterm, you’d be so busted right now. Get out of my face before I slam this shut and tickle it out of you,” Olivia said with a mock threat, closing the textbook around where her fingers marked the current page.

Sarah turned to Olivia with a shrug and stood. “Be right back.”

We walked into an empty corridor and each leaned a shoulder against a locker, facing the other. Sarah crossed her arms and spoke in a stony voice.

“What
did
happen with you and Kip?”

I looked at her like she was from Mars. “What does that matter?”

She took a moment before responding. “It matters.”

“Nothing. Nothing happened with me and Kip. I don’t care about that. I care about—”

“Did he kiss you?”

“For God’s sake, Sarah, I don’t care about that. I care about us. I care about where things stand between us.” I thought it would be harder for me to say that, but she was making me angry. My exasperation made it sound as though I didn’t care about us at all.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Why was she playing dumb? Did she somehow forget what we did at her house three nights ago? Was it so unimportant that it failed to register? So run-of-the-mill? So unexciting and ordinary? Suddenly my gumption to have this conversation wavered. Just because I hadn’t been sleeping because of it didn’t mean she wasn’t sleeping like a baby. Maybe kissing girls was something she did. Often. I dialed it back a notch and took a deep breath.

“With study groups and midterms and our tennis schedule this week, we’re not going to have any time together, and I…and I guess I just wanted…some. Time with you. To maybe have a conversation.”

“Are you saying you’re not coming on Saturday?”

Saturday? Oh, right. The fund-raiser. “Do you still want me to?”

“There you are,” I heard Dirk say from behind Sarah. “Olivia said I’d find you here.” God, this guy really had crummy timing.

Ignore him and answer the question!
Not that it’d make me feel any better. Sarah was so friendly and practiced at the art of socializing, she’d never renege on an invitation, even if she desperately wanted to.

Sarah turned her back to me so she was facing him as he approached.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hiya, sweets,” he said as he gave her a quick kiss on the lips. He peered past Sarah to me. “Hey, good lookin’,” he said with a smile as he casually rested his arm across Sarah’s shoulders.

“Your Majesty.” I gave him my unpracticed, off-center curtsy.

“You coming over tomorrow?” Dirk asked Sarah. Before she could respond, he enlightened me. “Precalc study group. You’re invited if you want to help your underachieving classmates.” He grinned, having alluded to my being in Calculus. Dirk’s grades were top-notch and he was in two AP courses. He was no slouch in the classroom or on the football field. I didn’t want to contemplate other ways in which his performance wasn’t lacking.

“You’re in Calculus, too,” I told Sarah, wondering why she’d be in that study group.

“I got suckered into helping the underachievers.” She playfully poked Dirk in his side.

My, aren’t they cute?

“Lucky you,” I said, offering Dirk a weak smile. I glanced at Sarah before taking my leave. “See you in the locker room.”

So much for quality time.

Midterms week was hell and not because of the course load. I was coming out of my skin. Each school day passed at the speed of quicksand, slowly swallowing me, allowing me no respite. If Sarah and I were okay, couldn’t she simply say that? She was so good at reading me—couldn’t she see how miserable I was in this limbo? Couldn’t she give me a smile and a wink? Or put me out of my misery by telling me to go to hell? Why was she making me feel so unhinged?

The few times we shared looks that week, it was like she was silently questioning me. And since that was what I was doing to her, we were stalemated. It was awful. Part of me longed for the days when I didn’t let anyone get close enough to hurt me. Another part knew this girl had irrevocably changed me, and that if our friendship was over and memories of her were all I’d be able to take with me into the future, I would do it all over again.

It didn’t help that days passed without the details she’d promised would arrive before Saturday’s fund-raiser. Friday afternoon, with still no word from Sarah and no understanding of what I was to wear the next night, I began to wonder if I’d imagined the invitation. After my mom picked me up from school and we got home, a nondescript package sat waiting for me from a return address I didn’t recognize. It was a sizable cardboard box, which held a large black apparel box, a small apparel box, and a shoebox. A handwritten card with my name on it was attached to the largest of the boxes. I opened and read the card.

A car will be by at 6:30
PM
to pick you up. If the shoes don’t fit, call my father’s assistant, Carol, at (323) 555-1100, and another pair will be couriered to you.