Promposal (2 page)

I sucked in a shaky breath. Released it. Looked down at Zach. My throat was squeezed so tight I wasn't sure I could speak; frustration mingled with disappointment in my gut. I bit my lip and simply nodded my reply, tried to blink back the tears that threatened to burn my eyes.

The hallways exploded with applause, and the newscaster turned to the camera and began speaking. Zach stood and stepped toward me, his eyes bright with joy.

“It's going to be great,” he whispered. “I can't wait for the end of May.”

The newscaster came over and thrust a mike in our faces. “So, Zachary,” she said, “how did you come up with the idea for this . . . ‘promposal'?” She beamed us a smile, her white teeth perfect and straight.

Zach talked for a few moments, but I didn't hear what he said. All I heard was the dull roar in my head. The heated words that battered my brain. I'd said yes to Zach, had agreed to be his date because I'd been peer-pressured into it. There was no way I could turn him down, not with all these people looking at us.

And with a friggin' TV crew on hand, for crying out loud.

No hadn't been an option for me.

“Camilla,” the woman said, “so what do you think you'll wear? Will you two coordinate your outfits?”

I mumbled some generic response and tried my best to give her a smile, though it felt like my face was cracking apart. I just wanted to go home, curl up on my bed, and cry. I hadn't envisioned my promposal happening like this. Not with a guy I barely knew.

The woman turned her attention back to the camera to finish up her segment, and several girls came up to me.

“Oh my God, that was the most romantic thing I've ever seen in my life,” one freshman said. She pressed her hand to her heart and practically swooned right there. “I hope
my
senior promposal will be that amazing. You are so, so lucky.”

I gave a weak nod, and they scampered off.

The hallways cleared out. Zach walked over to the newscaster and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”

Oh God.
Seriously?
His mom. I should have known.

She and her camerawoman packed up the gear and left too.

Zach turned toward me, self-congratulation evident in the warm flush of his cheeks, the glow in his eyes. “Well, I'd better get going.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

I guess my tone wasn't as upbeat as I tried to make it. His brow furrowed, and some of the sparkle left his eyes. “You
do
want to go with me, don't you?”

The weight of the roses was making my arms tired. I shifted them a bit and glanced away, guilt twisting in my chest. What did I
say to that without sounding like a total jerk? Despite his proclamation, I barely knew the guy. I sat in statistics with him this year, and on the rare occasion, we shared the same lunch table.

But that look on his face when he'd asked me . . . that flare of hope in his eyes . . . He'd taken a lot of time to set this up.

I forced a smile to my face. Mom would be proud. “I'm sure it'll be a lot of fun.” When in doubt, deflect.

He didn't seem to notice I hadn't answered his question. He smiled and squeezed my arm. “Get those flowers in water before they start to wilt.” Then he leaned close to me and brushed a small kiss across my cheek. “I'll see you on Monday . . .
date
.
”

With that, Zach sauntered off with more than a little swagger, like a guy who always wore a tuxedo to school, and turned the corner out of sight.

I was left alone in the hall now. Stomach knotted. Head swirling with doubts. What did I do now? I was totally stuck going to prom with someone I didn't have any feelings for. The secret fantasy I'd had in my head of Benjamin asking me to prom was now dead and gone for good.

Yeah, I'd known it wouldn't happen, but the hope had still been there.

With a heavy sigh, I plodded to my locker and then headed outside. Maybe my bestie, Joshua, would have some advice for me. God knew I had no idea how I was going to dig myself out of this hole.

M
y breath huffed out in small clouds as I walked down the sidewalk with Camilla, who filled me in on her promposal disaster.

“Boy, did you get yourself into it good,” I said with a low chuckle as I eyed her. She squinted in mock consternation at me. “I'm impressed, actually. Somehow, drama always seems to find you.” I dug my gloved hands deeper into my coat pockets. Early April in Ohio was still far too cold, despite spring coming soon. I was counting the days until warmer weather.

Camilla exhaled loudly and shifted the massive rose bouquet in her arms. Her backpack slipped, so I nudged the strap up her shoulder. “I know. And I can't back out now because then I'll look like a jerk after Zach went through all that trouble. He basically made it impossible for me to refuse him by asking me in front of God and country.”

“Well, I can't wait to see you on TV tonight,” I replied in a bright tone; the poor girl was so down in the dumps it was killing me. Camilla was never depressed like this, so I knew this situation was
hitting her hard. “Who knew Zach was such a romantic? Or such a schemer? I kinda wish a tux-clad boy would ask
me
to prom—does he have a cousin or a hot brother?” I gave her a broad wink.

“Very funny.” She elbowed me, but there was a hint of a smile on her face.

I wheezed and gripped my side. “Sorry. I know you're upset. Just trying to make you laugh.”

A streak of bright purple hair flopped across her brow. Camilla's shade of the month—her blond base usually had at least one other color layered in. She turned big, sad eyes to me, and my heart tightened in sympathy for her. “I just wanted one dance with Benjamin at prom,” she whispered. “Just one chance to show him why he should notice me.” Her cheeks burned a bit pinker.

“Honey.” I reached over and took the massive bundle of roses from her arms. She sighed in relief and stretched her arms. “Just because you're going with Zach doesn't mean you can't still get your man. This isn't the end. I promise.”

“Yeah, I bet he would be
thrilled
to slow dance with me and Zach.” Her tone was slightly sardonic as she gave a mirthless laugh. “Not to mention whatever lucky girl Benjamin takes to prom. Maybe we could double-date.”

“Seriously, don't write him off so quickly. I know prom is out of the question, but that doesn't mean you can't still date the boy otherwise. We just need to step up your game. Come up with a plan to win him.” My phone vibrated, and I dug it out of my pocket to glance at the screen.

Free to hang out tmrw night?

My heart slammed against my rib cage. Ethan. I whipped my glove off so I could reply.
You betcha! ;-)

Camilla's soft laugh wrapped around the two of us. In a singsong voice, she said, “Speaking of getting your man . . . I bet I know who that was.”

I rolled my eyes and crammed my phone back in my jeans. “You don't know shit.”

“Ethan Dreyfuss, age eighteen, hottie senior at our school who looks amazing in tight jeans—”

“Okay, okay.” I interrupted her with another eye roll. “Fine. I admit, you know some shit.” Of course she did. We only spent an hour or two every damn day commiserating with each other about Ethan and Benjamin.

“When are you gonna get off your ass and ask him out?”

“When are you gonna get off
your
ass and ask Benjamin out?” I retorted.

We turned the corner and headed down the narrow side street where both our houses were, just a block apart.

Camilla shoved that wayward lock of purple-streaked hair back under her black knitted cap. Her thick knee-high boots crunched along the snow-crusted edges of the sidewalk. “It's . . . different.”

“Sexist much? No, it's not.”

“This isn't about gender, you douchebag, and you know it. The difference is, you have a chance with your boy, whereas I don't.” She stopped and grabbed my arm. “Seriously, when are you going to tell him?”

I sighed and pressed the bundle of roses to my nose. Inhaled. Donned a big, fake smile and aimed the gesture right at her. “Tell him what, dear? That I've been madly in love with him since middle school and I've just been waiting for him to realize I'm the guy of his dreams?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Precisely.”

“I will when you tell Mr. Hotpants that you've had a dirty crush on him since freshman year,” I retorted.

She scrunched her lips. “Then I guess we're at an impasse.”

I chuckled. “At least we have each other.”

“Thank God for that. I'd go nuts without you.” She threaded her hand through my free arm. The smile on her face was genuine.

Despite how much we busted each other's balls, there was never any doubt of support. I appreciated that, depended on it. If I texted Camilla at one in the morning that I needed to talk, she'd sneak over and watch action movies with me while we stuffed our faces with ice cream and popcorn and sorted out my issues.

We proceeded walking. When we hit her house, a two-story white colonial with a neat lawn, she took half the roses from me. “The rest are for you.” She smiled and pressed a cool kiss to my cheek.

“Oh, you shouldn't have. If I were straight, I'd be all over you.”

“I know. I'm hard to resist.” She gave me a cheeky grin. “If you and Ethan hang out this weekend, I want
all
the dirty details.” She paused, and her blue eyes grew serious. “But really, do think about what I said. You know he's worth the risk. And with prom right around the corner . . . Well, don't be like me and get yourself saddled with the wrong date.”

On that depressing note, she spun around and headed into her house.

I gripped the bundle and made my way to my house on the next block. Poor Camilla. Despite my ribbing, I'd been more than a little shocked when she'd told me what had happened. I couldn't imagine how hard that had to be for her, forced to go to prom with some random guy who'd asked her out of the blue.

Maybe she was right. Maybe I should take the bull by the horns and get Ethan before someone else did. Even if I framed it as a date among friends. Surely he'd be down with that. I could bring the topic up tomorrow night. My stomach lurched in nervous excitement.

I swung a left onto my sidewalk. Old snow was still packed on the cement, up the two stairs to our front door. I needed to come out and shovel that—no doubt Dad, in the throes of drafting the newest novel in his thriller series, was drowning in words and had forgotten to even take a shower this morning.

I strolled through the front door, dropped my bag on the floor, and headed to the kitchen to find a vase for the roses. They really were pretty, despite the circumstances. I fluffed and arranged them as best as I could and put the bouquet in the center of the kitchen table.

“Dad, I'm home,” I hollered, and ducked my head in the fridge. My stomach was grumbling. I'd forgotten to pack a lunch, so I dug into the leftover Chinese takeout container and chowed down without bothering to heat it up.

“Joshua,” Dad called from his office, “want pizza for dinner tonight?”

I whipped the pantry open and checked out what we had left. “Um, how about I make something for us instead? There's still chicken in the freezer, I think.”

“If you want, sure.” I heard the soft clack of him typing on his laptop. “I just have to finish this chapter.”

Famous last words. I probably wouldn't see him before dinner. And no doubt after cramming in food, he'd run back to his computer to fit in
juuust
another page or two. I chuckled, set the
chicken out to thaw, and then settled down to do a bit of homework.

Which lasted all of five minutes before I tugged my phone out and flipped through my photos. I hadn't seen Ethan today, since he'd had an impromptu Spanish tutoring session during lunch—our only shared time together this year.

I pulled up a picture of him I'd snapped earlier this week during lunch when he wasn't looking. Dark brown hair just a touch too long that swept across his brow. Gray eyes, thick lashes, the sexiest mouth, tilted at the corners as he laughed at something a guy at our table had said. Slender body with lean muscles honed from years of swim practice.

My throat tightened, and that familiar ache welled up in my chest. Ethan was the perfect guy. Friendly, enthusiastic, funny, athletic but not cocky. Hot as hell. Everyone loved him.

He and Camilla were my two best friends—the three of us had clicked back in middle school, when we'd been assigned to work together on a book report. The moment eleven-year-old Ethan had suggested we do our report on
Flowers in the Attic
, a book he'd snuck from his older sister and read, I knew I was gonna love him. Not to mention the fact that the three of us had spent more than one Saturday checking out and ranking hot guys at the mall.

“Joshua,” Dad hollered from his office. “Which sounds scarier to you—being shoved in a tiny pitch-black room or in a metal-studded cage?”

“They both sound awful. But I think not being able to see would be worse. The fear of anticipation will get you every time.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That's true. Oh, maybe I can put the spiked cage
in
a pitch-black room. Yeah, that could really freak the
girl out and make her talk.” I heard his typing pick up again.

Dad had a disturbed mind. I still read all his books, though usually in a well-lit place and not near bedtime. Learned that lesson the hard way a few years ago.

My tabby cat, Milkshake, wandered up to the table and started rubbing her tiny gray head along my calf. I reached down and scratched her furry neck, and she purred in delight. Then I turned my attention back to the books. Shifted in my chair. Got up to crack open a fresh can of Dr Pepper from the fridge. Eyed my notes without really seeing them.