Love Storm (41 page)

Martin wolf whistled when we got into the car. "Wow, I think I have the most beautiful date of the whole school," he grinned at Eva as she slid into the passenger seat next to him. I was stuck in the back by myself.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Eva laughed, kissing him on his cheek. "Ready?"

"Oy, what about me?" I complained good-naturedly from the back seat.

"Hmm," Martin said, glancing at me thoughtfully from his rearview mirror. "I take it back. Eva, I'm dumping you for Winter, just look at her, she's absolutely gorgeous –"

"Hey!" Eva said, pretending to be offended, slapping him on the arm. "What kind of a boyfriend are you?" I could tell she was hard-pressed to keep her smile in check.

Martin chuckled and brushed a kiss on her cheek and whispered something in her ear while I looked out the window, slightly uncomfortable to be in their presence when they were so girlfriend-boyfriend-ish, humming a nameless tune under my breath. When it took more than sixteen measures of my new musical composition to be hummed out before we took off, I risked another glance at them, only to find they were in the middle of quite a long lip-lock. And let me tell you, if you've never experienced it before, it gives you the
weirdest
heebie-jeebies to see your best friend making out with her boyfriend.

"I think we're going to be
late
," I said loudly, emphasizing the last word.

They both visibly jumped, and Martin's hand flew to the ignition, already inserting his keys. Eva cleared her throat gently, glancing out the window, apparently embarrassed, if her flaming blush was any sort of indication.

It turned out that the dance was not as cheesy as I had originally thought it would be – the leadership class had actually quite outdone itself this time around. They had utilized the whole Hampton recreation center; there was something in every room. For those people who liked going to dances to hang out with friends but easily got bored from the one-genre music (
cough
– me), they had set up a casino room and pool tables, both of which I was eager to try out. When we first stepped in, Martin's eyes immediately became trained on the refreshment area, and Eva wanted to take pictures before she got mussed up from dancing and partying. With the three of us torn in different directions, we chose the most sensible to do first, which was, not surprisingly, Eva's idea.

"We're early," Martin remarked as we stood in the line for pictures, which was relatively short since it
was
early. "And I'm hungry." He gave Eva a significant glance and nudged my side with his elbow.

I rolled my eyes. "You're always hungry. Tough it out for another two minutes, I'm sure you can do it."

"It's not very nice to put the food so tantalizingly close to the picture line," he moaned, glancing over at the table longingly.

My best friend laughed and slipped her arm into his. "Another two minutes, like Winter said, and then I promise we can go eat. Didn't you have dinner yet?"

"Yeah," Martin replied, gaze still lingering on the refreshments. He sighed heavily. "What can I say? I have a fast metabolism. Athlete's curse."

I grinned and said, "If it makes you feel any better, out of the things we want to do, we're doing mine last, because
obviously
pictures and food are more important –" I sent Eva a small mock-glare – "and also my athlete's curse is this stupid sock tan." I lifted my skirts and let him look at my feet.

Eva gasped when she saw. "Why aren't you wearing the shoes I told you to wear?
Flip flops?
Who wears flip flops to a formal dance?"

Martin was laughing so hard he had to bend over at his waist slightly. I smiled sheepishly. "Well, I figured my dress was long enough to cover it, and…and it just seemed like I would have to go through so much pain in wearing heels…" I wiggled my toes, clad in their comfy black flip flops from Old Navy. "Oy," I said, giving Martin a look, "You didn't even
glance
at my horrific sock tan."

He looked. "That is pretty bad," he agreed. "Probably because you tan so easily."

"Lucky," Eva said jealously. "I always lobster and peel."

I smiled at her. "I know," I said.

"Hey, can we keep the line moving, please?" the picture man yelled at us. "We got a long ways to go, kids, so keep moving forward. Step up, step up! Come on, you three are next, we haven't got all night –"

I let Eva and Martin take their picture first, and then took my own with Eva. I think the background was meant to look like we were out on a balcony on a castle, but I can't say the photography company quite succeeded. Perhaps it looked better on paper than in real life – I hoped so, anyway.

And of course, due to Martin's silent begging and small nudges and meaningful glances, Eva and I trooped dutifully to the refreshment table behind him. Having satisfied his appetite (for all that complaining, he had only taken a cup of water and a tiny bite of some chocolate cake), we followed the crowd to the dance room. The DJ was in his booth and we could hear and feel the music even from the picture area. The lights were gone and there were already people dancing.

Eva can dance. I'm not even joking. She can
really
dance, quite contrary to my situation. I'm the one who's always standing off to the side, looking quite fabulous but barely reacting to the music. I'm the one who's usually making some new friends at the dance and having conversations with others whose friends had likewise dragged them to said dance. Today was no exception.

"Come
on
, Winter," Eva whined. "You didn't just pay twelve dollars to get into this dance and not dance." We had just stepped onto the dance floor and already her body was moving slightly to the beat of the music.

I shook my head, grinning a little. "See, that's why they made the casino room – for people like me, who can only slow dance."

Martin laughed from Eva's other side. "Well, Eva and I here," he placed his hands on her hips and drew her to him, "will be getting our freak on while you go gamble for fake money."

I laughed. "Go ahead," I said. "Get your 'freak' on. I'll hang around here for a little while more, then I'll go gamble."

After about ten minutes of watching my best friend and her boyfriend dancing, I got bored and tapped Eva on the shoulder to let her know I was drifting off. She nodded and smiled, and told me she would find me later. The last I saw of them, she was definitely making Martin sweat quite a bit.

I wandered against the huge tide of people moving steadily towards the dance floor, occasionally waving to people I knew, and slipped into the casino room. It was relatively empty compared the throngs of party-goers outside, but the dealers were already set up and simply waiting, chatting and calling across the room to each other if their table was cold. All in all, there were a total of about 15 people in the large room, playing craps or blackjack or poker.

"How are we supposed to be betting?" I asked the man at the door.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" he asked in return. I gave it to him and he checked it off on his master list. Handing me a paper card, he said, "Here you go. It shows that you have two hundred dollars of credit right now. Do with it what you will. Good luck!"

"Thanks," I said, nearly tripping on my long skirt as I walked quickly towards the blackjack table. There were three other people at the table, and the dealer was just starting a new round. I slid into a seat at the end, giving the guy next to me a small grin when he caught my eye.

We did a few warm up rounds and I found I was fairly lucky – I got a few 20s, 19s, and 18s, and when we started betting for real, my chips just kept piling up. The same person who sat next to me was not as well off – he kept busting from getting 15s and 16s, and I laughed when he busted for the eleventh time that night, declaring grumpily that the table was cursed.

"Bad luck," I said sympathetically.

He stared at me. "Because you
stole
all the luck! What, this is like the seventeenth time you've gotten a 19 since you sat down." His eyebrows were furrowed over deep green eyes, and I laughed again at the discontent I saw there.

"I think I'm done," I said to the dealer, "Can I get my chips credited please?" I drummed my fingers lightly on the green felt of the table, tapping out a little rhythm.

"Sure thing," she said, smiling at my mound of chips and she counted them, quickly and accurately. "You are one hell of a blackjack player. I've been dealing tables for three years now, oftentimes at these high school dives, and you're the most successful blackjack gambler I've seen yet."

I grinned and thanked her.

"Can I get mine written up also, please?" the guy next to me said. "I'm done too." He put up a show of shaking his head dejectedly, but gave me a subtle wink.

Smiling slightly, I said, "Better luck next time."

"To be quite honest, I wasn't much of a gambler in the first place," he said, as we stood up at the same time.

I tilted my head slightly and looked at him sideways. "Do you go to Branner or are you here on a guest-pass? You look vaguely familiar." We strolled out of the casino room together – it was definitely more filled than it had been earlier, and as I glanced at the clock, I realized I had been in there for a little more than half an hour.

"I go to Branner," he said. After half a second of hesitation, he said, "I'm Gavin."

"Wow, that's a cool name. Gavin, like Gavin Newsom?" I teased him lightly.

He made a little face. "Yeah, like Gavin Newsom." He laughed a little. "You can call me Gav, that's what most people call me. You are…?"

"Winter," I supplied, with a ready smile. "Hey, I know where I've seen you before. You're in the jazz band – you played a trumpet solo improv at the teaser for the spring concert."

"Oh damn," Gavin groaned, "I was hoping I wasn't that memorable. That solo wasn't exactly the best."

"No," I said as we stopped right outside the door of the dance room, leaning against the wall as we chatted, "It was good. I thought it was really good."

"Thanks," he said, a corner of his mouth lifting up in a half-smile. His green eyes met mine again, and the grin filled out more. Gavin seemed like a nice guy. His smile was genuine, his brown hair was slightly wavy (albeit a little shaggy), and I couldn't help liking a person who had the daring to wear simply a white polo shirt with dark slacks to such a formal dance, when all the other guys were breaking out their dress shirts and jackets. I glanced at his feet and laughed.

He looked too. "Oh," he said, chuckling too, and shrugging a little. "I don't have dressy shoes. I figured no one would really be looking at my feet all that much, and my friend Ian is wearing shoes like this too, so…"

I smirked. He was wearing dark skater type shoes. "It's okay," I said, lifting up my long skirt to let him look at my feet in their flip flops. "I didn't want to go to the trouble either. Wait, what did you just say?" I started. "Did you say something about someone named Ian? As in, Ian Farrington?"

"Uh, yeah, why?" Gavin asked me. "We're pretty close friends, so watch what you say," he mock-warned me in a friendly way. "Otherwise I may just have to hurt you."

"Ooooh, man," I groaned. "Your best friend asked me to this dance."

Gavin paused. "So you're his mystery girl! Oh my god!" He started cracking up uncontrollably, clutching his stomach and laughing so hard his face was turning red.

I waited for him to stop, smiling uncertainly, until he looked at me, and saying, "Sorry, I'm not laughing –" he chuckled – "at you, it's just –" I gave him a moment to compose himself. There were tears of mirth sparkling in his deep forest eyes. "Ian is so…infatuated with you, you have no idea. He refused to tell me who you were, but he's always talking about you. It's hilarious. I can't believe
you're
the person he's been so into. I don't mean," he said quickly, "that I can't understand why he likes you, because I can totally relate to that aspect of it." He gave me a quick grin, and I smiled at the roundabout compliment. "It's just…" Gavin shook his head, smiling. "Of all people to play blackjack with, I ended up sitting next to
you
. And losing quite badly," he added on.

"Is he mad that I turned him down?" I asked.

Gavin laughed again. "You bet," he said, giving me a thumbs-up. "You're the first person who's ever rejected him. I'm glad you did."

I laughed with him. "Wow, you're a nice friend," I said, only half-sarcastically.

"Ian's just a little egocentric sometimes," Gavin replied. "Do you dance?" He gestured to his left, toward the entrance of the dance floor.

"Not much," I said, a little embarrassed.

He shrugged. "Me neither. So do you have a date?"

I shook my head. "I'm here stag, but I came with my best friend and her boyfriend. They're probably in there right now, dancing in positions that I never want to see them in."

Gavin chuckled.

"Are you here stag, or with someone?" I asked in return. We ambled towards the hall, where it was slightly quieter and a conversation could be held more easily. By now the doors to the rec center had officially closed and most people were on the dance floor, though a good many were still out here, milling about and having drinks or hanging with friends. The line for pictures had become noticeably shorter.