Awkwardly Ever After (21 page)

I
sprinted for my car with my heart lodged firmly in my throat.

I couldn't shake the feeling that this must be what it was like for a rabbit when a pack of bloodhounds locked in on the scent of fear. I wanted to tell myself that it was stupid to be afraid. That the worst that could happen with all those cameras rolling was that I'd be forced to shove strangers away from me. And then I would be stuck explaining to my parents, the school board, and anyone else who would listen that,
No, I do not have violent tendencies.

But the truth was that the cameras and the microphones couldn't stop a bullet.

And it would only take one crazy with a firearm to make it a very different news story.

I unlocked the driver's door, climbed inside with my head down, and mumbled, “No comment,” until those two words slurred together into something else entirely. Neither of the girls was close enough to notice. Instead, Jane and Mackenzie were doing their best to distract the paparazzi by taking some of the heat themselves. I knew it couldn't have been easy for either of them to get involved with that level of craziness. Not when they had worked so hard to regain a semblance of normalcy in their lives after their own experiences with the press.

But if Tim was serious about crashing prom and moving to Portland, all of us would have to adjust to receiving this level of scrutiny.

My breathing hitched, so I rested my forehead against the steering wheel until it steadied. I could handle being photographed freaking out in my car. I didn't like it—but I could cope.

But if I barfed on the dashboard, the tabloids would mock me forever.

I tried to distract myself by focusing on the fuzzy blue steering wheel cover that Jane had given me as a birthday present. It tufted and clumped in places, and I was willing to bet that within another month or two large patches of it would wind up caught in the lint tray of the dryer. Still, it was almost peaceful to sit there and imagine all the places the blue fibers could explore by clinging to my jacket.

These reporters weren't all that different from the fuzz.

Except the steering wheel case didn't have an agenda. It didn't invade my privacy or try to interrogate me about my personal life. And no amount of lint would ever prevent me from leaving a parking lot by boxing in my car.

But if you could overlook those tiny, insignificant little details . . . yeah, they were practically identical. Cut from the same cloth.

It was a weak pun, but it gave me a reason to smile as I waited to hear the sirens of my approaching police escort. At this point, I was kind of surprised that the nearby station hadn't placed a patrol car nearby to keep watch over the school at all times. It wasn't like this was the first time the media had gotten out of control. Maybe they were simply waiting for my parents to either start homeschooling me or to ship me off somewhere. Either way, the local precinct would probably be happy.

And . . . I might be too. There were times when starting over somewhere else sounded nice. I would miss Mackenzie and Jane, of course. But the same could not be said for the majority of the Notables who ranged the hallways, especially Alex Thompson.

Although now that I knew Tim planned on relocating the band to Portland . . . well, that changed everything. I winced as I tried to imagine telling Tim that my living arrangements had changed.

Hey, babe. So you know how you decided to switch zip codes for me because you were sick of the whole long-distance relationship thing? Well . . . I've decided to leave. It's not you. Okay, it
is
you. It's the paparazzi you bring everywhere with you. So, um . . . good luck in Oregon!

If Tim's diehard ReadySet fans heard even the barest whisper of a rumor about that conversation, I wouldn't only have to worry about death threats coming from the homophobic sign holders of the world. Groupies would be sending me thousands of threats for breaking his heart.

That wasn't simply idle speculation on my part either.

When Tim had come out of the closet and confirmed to the nation that he wanted to date me, I'd been inundated with messages that said,
If you hurt him, I will end you.

And those were on the sane end of the spectrum when it came to the letters.

The weird ones included requests for pictures of Tim's feet, or at the very least, that I pass on their cell phone number so he'd know exactly what he was missing by dating me.

Oh, and there was one that simply said,
I want your face.

I wasn't sure if that was meant to be a threat or a request for a plastic surgeon, but it definitely creeped me out.

My breathing stabilized, even as restless anxiety began to well up inside of me. And the longer I sat motionless in the car, the more I wondered if Alex had lied. Given the way he enjoyed bullying people, I wouldn't put it past him to make some prom-related hiccup seem like a sign of the apocalypse.

But the media wouldn't have flocked here if there wasn't a story to cover.

There was no way I'd be able to move my car until the police made their guest appearance, so I decided to check out the Internet headlines Jane had mentioned only minutes ago.

There was no way the rumors could be worse on the page than all the possibilities that whirled around my head.

I was wrong.

My disbelief as I stared at the tiny screen of my cell phone was soon eclipsed by rage. The very notion that Tim would
ever
hurt anyone made my hands shake with fury. I knew from firsthand experience that he wasn't as perfect as some people thought—he could be thoughtless and ambitious, and he believed that he could bring everyone around to his way of thinking eventually—but he also possessed a bone-deep core of integrity. My life would have been so much easier if he was a danger to random high school students.

Because then I would be able to tell him that I wasn't cut out for life in the spotlight without the breath-stealing certainty that breaking up with him would be one of my biggest regrets. I could move on without hating myself for bailing the second the “for better” part of our relationship took a turn for the worse.

Not that I ever pictured marriage for us.

Mostly.

Still, my insecurities didn't make it acceptable for my high school to act as if he had appeared on a special celebrity episode of
To Catch a Predator
—and not as the host. So there was a
slight
age gap between us. Nobody would blink twice over a junior bringing a freshman to the dance . . . if they were straight. Okay, and as long as the guy was older than the girl; otherwise, she would be on the receiving end of snide cradle-robber comments.

Apparently the idea of having two boys show up together was out of the question. Too risky. It might even give impressionable students the idea that it's okay to be gay, or transgender, or asexual, or whatever felt most like them—and the school couldn't be seen doing anything that controversial. Oh no. It was a much better idea to pretend that teenagers were incapable of understanding the consequences of their actions whenever their opinions differed from the perspective of the administration. The school could even claim that according to science our brains weren't developed enough for us to
really
see the delicate nature of the situation.

It was discrimination, plain and simple.

Except there was nothing clear-cut about my reaction to it. Anger, obviously. Indignation, mostly on Tim's behalf. And yet there was a tiny part of me that was almost . . . relieved.

Because if the school administration forbade Tim's attendance, then I could go with my friends. I could pretend to be normal for a night. I wouldn't be the center of whispers and controversy. No screaming or crying fans would try to bulldoze a path through me in order to reach Tim.

I could experience a thoroughly typical prom without being the jerk who asked his boyfriend to stay home. Tim might've been fine letting the world document our every move, but it actually made me miss the privacy we'd had when he was in the closet.

At least people hadn't openly speculated about my sex life in the tabloids back then.

My phone vibrated and I nearly tossed it onto the back seat without so much as glancing down to identify the caller. The whole
if I don't see it, it never happened
knee-jerk reaction was a childish one that I probably should have outgrown, but lately the impulse had only grown stronger.

I had always been willing to pull the covers up over my head and keep repeating,
The monsters are not in the closet. I repeat, there are no monsters in the closet,
until I could almost believe it.

Speaking of coming out of the closet . . .

I glanced down at the phone and wasn't surprised to see Tim's face looking back at me. I had snapped that particular picture when Mackenzie and I had joined the band for an impromptu trip to Los Angeles. Tim looked exhausted in a wrinkled shirt that he had picked up off the floor and tugged on without even a moment's consideration. There was a coffee stain on the bottom left side that wasn't visible in the photo but that made me smile because
I
knew it was there.

That's also why I refused to change the photo even when Tim had gotten a glimpse of it and wrinkled his face in distaste. He didn't look like America's hottest rock star, and that smile wasn't meant to make thousands of tweenage girls buy out his concerts.

It was a private look meant just for me.

I answered the call. “Hey, Tim, are you—”

“I'm fine,” he said before I could even finish the question. “I'm headed over to you now. Are you home or at school?”

I glanced at the paparazzi still swarming my car. “I'm sort of stuck in between.”

Which described my life in more ways than one.

“Okay, I just scheduled a meeting with Principal Taylor. Your parents are on their way, right? It never hurts to have a lawyer or two present.”

“Funny, most people would not agree with you,” I quipped weakly.

“Most people also aren't going to press charges of sexual discrimination against a high school. I'm not opposed to their legal advice.” He sounded so focused and determined—if he'd been discussing how much he wanted to spend some alone time with me, it would have raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Too bad lawsuits didn't get my heart pounding.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” There was a burst of static over the phone and I wasn't entirely sure he heard me. “Maybe we could just, y'know . . . stay home? And by ‘home' I mean go to a hotel room?”

“See . . . Taylor . . . Soon . . . Bye!”

Great. So that was a big fat no to the hotel room plan and a huge new complication to add to my life.

Because apparently my high school life wasn't crazy enough already.

I
debated driving off into the sunset by myself.

All I had to do was press the horn and start backing up my car. If the paparazzi didn't move out of my way . . . well, the consequences wouldn't necessarily weigh on my conscience for very long. They knew the risks when they swarmed me. If they refused to consider my safety, I wasn't going to become overly invested in theirs.

But instead of bolting, I watched the police start flashing their badges as they pushed the press far enough back that I could open my car door without getting a microphone to the face. They escorted me to Principal Taylor's office, hustling me inside past all the gawking students and away from the sympathy radiating from Mackenzie and Jane.

I was a little too distracted by my armed guard and my upcoming face-off with my school principal to do more than wave halfheartedly at my friends. I knew they wouldn't take it personally. Not when I also had a pissed-off rock star and two outraged parents to reassure. Still, it was hard to refrain from snidely pointing out that Principal Taylor's office had become my own personal homeroom. I probably spent more hours bouncing between this office and the guidance counselor's room than all the other students at Smith High School
combined.

Exempting Sam, of course.

That girl managed to get more face time with every member of the administration than their spouses probably achieved. So comparing our track records was like listening to a hoarder protest that his home wasn't a health hazard . . . yet. Maybe it was true, but the bar was set so low most people could trip over it.

The beleaguered administrative assistant, Sally Murphy, gave me a little finger-wave when I walked into the office and offered a smile that looked strained around her eyes. “Hi, sweetie. He's expecting you.”

I nodded, then paused with my hand on the door handle. “I've got it from here, guys,” I told the police officers. “But thanks for the assist.”

“No problem, kid. We'll wait out here for you.”

Yeah, I wasn't surprised that the bearded man with the slight paunch was already moving around the coffee table and heading straight for Ms. Murphy's desk. His partner seemed perfectly content grabbing a copy of
People
magazine and settling in to wait. By the time they frog-marched me away from school, he'd probably be caught up on all the most salacious rumors about me.

I strove for an air of nonchalance as I opened the door. “Principal Taylor, we've got to stop meeting like this,” I said, instantly noting that Principal Taylor looked every bit as exhausted as his administrative assistant. There was no way he could've been prepared to take the helm at Smith High School this year. I could picture him on a golf course with his friends, bragging about his plan to ease into retirement.

Instead, he had been saddled with America's Most Awkward Girl and her misfit group of friends. It almost made me pity the homophobic jerk.

Almost.

“Hi, Corey,” he said. “I'm sure your parents will be here any minute. Would you care to take a seat before—”

The door jerked open and Tim strode in, looking every inch the rock star who graced the covers of magazines. His hair was sexily disheveled, as if he had raked his hands through it a few times.

“Thanks for making time in your schedule to see me, Mr. Taylor,” he said smoothly. “I'm so glad we're getting this taken care of right away.”

“As I was just saying to Corey”—Principal Taylor gestured at me and Tim spun around and shot me a sizzling smile that had adrenaline racing through my system—“we should really wait for his parents to arrive.”

Tim glanced disdainfully at the mountain of paperwork stacked on the nearby chairs. Or maybe it was the empty bag of potato chips crumpled on the ground that earned his disgust.

It was kind of funny coming from a guy who could live in squalor for weeks at a time on a tour bus. But if it was a ploy to distract Principal Taylor into tidying up while he mouthed,
“Are you okay?”
to me, it worked.

I nodded, unable to put into words everything I was feeling.

Confusion. Stress. Panic. Nervous anticipation. A tingly rush of excitement at his presence.

There was no way to admit any of that in front of Principal Taylor without being forced to hear his not-so-subtle recommendation for homeschooling. Again. That would make his job so much easier. Then he wouldn't have to think about . . . oh, I dunno, hiding his blatant homophobia from the public eye.

No gay, no problem.

And okay, it wasn't like I was the only member of the LGBTQ club on campus. Just the one most likely to make national headlines.

The anger that had surged through me in the cafeteria reignited.

“Shouldn't we have the rest of the school board on speaker phone?” I suggested. “That way we can get a clear ruling right now.”

Principal Taylor paused in his halfhearted cleaning efforts to adjust his tie. “I don't think that's necessary yet.”

Maybe he picked up on my barely leashed outrage, but Tim crossed the room to stand at my side. “So . . . this might not improve your parent's impression of me, Corey.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “You've already met them and they
loved
you.”

“Yeah, but that was before I landed their son in the principal's office.”

I grinned, slipping my hand into his, as I tried to ignore the way Principal Taylor flinched at even that small display of affection. “Don't forget about all the paparazzi that swarmed my school. Or the death threats that have been mailed to my house. Or the—”

Tim winced. “Okay, I've got it. Feel free to stop anytime now.”

“They
loved
you.” I lowered my voice and leaned in so that I could murmur the last part in his ear. “Almost as much as I do.”

I pulled back a little to see if he had caught on to the fact that I wasn't joking. I wasn't tossing out the “L” word just to calm his nerves. I meant it. Absolutely.

That was one of the few parts of our relationship that I didn't question.

Whether or not I could handle the fame and the intense public scrutiny and the
huge
life decisions he was making . . . Yeah, those questions kept me up at night. But when I closed my eyes, I always wanted him to be right next to me when I opened them.

Tim squeezed my hand and for a moment I could almost pretend that we were alone.

Until Principal Taylor cleared his throat. “Ahem . . . would either of you like some water? There's some right next to the—” His face momentarily relaxed with relief when my parents picked that moment to enter the room. He was probably afraid that Tim and I would start kissing. In his office. And
then
what would he do?

Perform a religious ceremony with a priest, a clove of garlic, and some holy water to rid the room of its gay vibes, probably.

“Would someone please explain why our son has been banned from attending his own prom?” I half expected frost to issue from my dad as he pinned Principal Taylor with an arctic glare.

I enjoyed watching the relief melt right off Mr. Taylor's face and the fear of my parents slide into place instead.

“Um . . . well, I can understand why you're upset, but Corey hasn't been banned from prom. He's free to attend with all of our other students.”

My mom looked at him suspiciously. “Then why were we hounded by reporters?”

“Me,” Tim said simply, before he released my hand. “They're here for me. They want to know why I can't accompany my
boyfriend
to his school dance.” He glared at Principal Taylor as if daring him to take issue with our relationship.

Apparently, Mr. Taylor hadn't become a high school principal without developing a sense of self-preservation. He carefully chose his words. “It's against Smith High School policy to allow unenrolled individuals to attend functions intended for our students.”

I rolled my eyes. “Chelsea Halloway doesn't go to this school anymore and she's been nominated for
prom court.
Want to explain to me how she meets those rules of yours?”

Mr. Taylor cleared his throat. “Chelsea only recently changed school districts after spending three years as a student here. We consider that an extenuating circumstance.”

“Well, my boyfriend is a rock star who never got to attend a prom of his own,” I snapped. “That seems like an extenuating circumstance to me.”

“Easy, tiger,” Tim murmured in my ear, but when I looked at him in disbelief, his smile hitched up a little on the left.

“Smith High School policy also does not support the presence of, ahem,
older
individuals.”

My dad's eyes narrowed. “A three-year age gap hardly qualifies Timothy for a senior citizen discount. Unless . . . is there something you'd care to tell us, Tim? Are you secretly in your mid-forties?”

“No, sir.” Tim struggled not to laugh.

“Well, then, I don't see a problem.”

Principal Taylor sucked in a deep breath. “Smith High School policy—”

My mom crossed her arms. “I seriously doubt that no Smith High School student has ever brought a date from a different high school.”

“Yes, but Mr. Goff is
not
another student,” Mr. Taylor snapped. “He is a twenty-one-year-old adult who has no business attending a high school function!”

The room fell sickeningly silent as we absorbed his words. Tim instinctively took a step away from me, his shoulders rigid.

My mom's lips thinned. “It's
not
your place to judge my son's relationship. And if you prohibit either one of these boys from attending your school function, you will be slapped with a discrimination suit faster than you can say,
I'm not homophobic.
”

“But I'm not homophobic!” Principal Taylor protested indignantly.

My mom smiled coldly. “That wasn't very convincing. Don't worry, I'm sure you just need to practice saying it. That lie will come tripping off your tongue in no time.”

“This has nothing to do with Mr. Goff's, um . . . with his—”

“He's gay,” my dad said simply. “So is our son. And you can deny it all you like, but if Corey was a straight girl, this never would have reached your attention. You just don't want to get a reputation for being soft on gays.”

“Yes, it's much better to ride hard on gays,” Tim managed to say with a straight face. Everyone stared at him in disbelief. “Too soon?”

“Um . . .
yeah.
Way too soon!”

He shrugged. “Just trying to lighten the mood. None of us wants a lawsuit.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that,” my mom retorted.

“Prom would be over by the time we even filed the lawsuit. So I'm hoping we can come up with some kind of arrangement that works for everyone.”

Principal Taylor nodded vigorously, probably because he was picturing the kind of high-power attorneys that a celebrity like Timothy Goff could afford. “What do you have in mind?”

“Considering that my band was approached by the Smith High School prom committee, I'm assuming that the student body still wants me to perform.”

Yeah, that is a pretty safe assumption considering that his last U.S. tour had sold out in a matter of minutes—eighteen of them, to be precise.

“I was also under the impression that there was no age restrictions for the performers. So Corey and I will arrive together, I will play with my band, and then we will go. No Smith High School regulations will be broken, and I will get to enjoy prom with my boyfriend. We all leave happy.”

I had to admit, as far as compromises went . . . it wasn't the worst idea.

At least Tim would be able to go to the stupid event without any lawyers having to file briefs or take deposition statements or any of that crap. We would be able to attend my high school prom together—almost.

Since I still wasn't entirely sure
I
even wanted to go to the dance, having my boyfriend negotiate the terms of my attendance with my high school principal was . . . kind of weird. Especially because now I was even more locked into showing up. I could hardly have my boyfriend go through all of this trouble just to suggest that we do something else entirely.

“That sounds manageable to me.” Principal Taylor adjusted his tie once more. “I will be sure to update the school board and tell them that we've resolved the issue.”

“Great.” Tim glanced down at his watch and winced. “Corey, I've got soundcheck in an hour at the Rose Garden. But I'll see you on Friday. I'll be the one with the limo and the corsage.” He did a demented half wave to my parents so he wouldn't have to exchange any hugs in my principal's office, and tugged open the door.

Darryl was there in an instant.

Of course. We couldn't even discuss prom together without having Tim's security guard lurking right outside. Then again, there were two police officers hanging around the waiting room so that they could see me safely back to my car.

“Friday,” Tim repeated, shooting me one last sizzling look before he made his exit.

I could hardly wait.