Love Is in the Air (20 page)

•  •  •

There's not much time to prepare for the dance after dinner, so Riley and I finish eating early and head to the dorm immediately. She forces me to take a shower before she does, convinced that it will take me extra time to make myself presentable. Which is probably the truth, seeing as she's going to be the one dressing me. And doing my hair. And my makeup.

If I make it to the dance without looking like a clown or having purple streaks in my hair, it will be a small miracle.

She's already laid a few dress options on my bed by the time I've stepped out of the shower. I reiterate Tyler's earlier question when I see the three choices: “How much clothing did you
bring
?”

“Barely enough,” she says, sounding sad. She hops off the bed with her towel in hand. “Try them on while I'm in the shower. I expect you to be ready for hair and makeup by the time I'm out. Unless you choose poorly. Then it's back to the drawing board.”

She pats me on the shoulder and bounces into the bathroom.

The dresses she picked out are definitely Riley. There's just enough of a clash in colors and patterns to edge on gaudy, but she has a keen enough fashion sense that they actually, miraculously, work.

Option one is a slinky lime-green sundress, paired with a leopard-print belt and a sheer yellow shawl. She even set a pair of giant plastic bauble earrings beside it—they look like pink grapes.

Option two is a long pink-and-purple plaid skirt with a white blouse and a purple jacket that looks like a short ringmaster coat. She's paired it with a studded pink belt and a necklace made of thick silver squares.

Finally there's a relatively plain cream-colored sundress with a delicate blue embroidered hem. It would have been the sanest of the options, but she's paired it with a rainbow-tie-dye shawl and multicolored plastic bangles. It's the only option that has shoes to go with it. Apparently, if I'm to wear this, I have to also wear her pink, marker-covered, knee-high sneakers.

I decide to try on the green sundress first. I'm lucky Riley is my size—the dress just barely fits, but it doesn't really mesh well with my skin tone. As I stare at the ensemble in the mirror, I can't help but wonder how in the world she manages to pull this off without looking like a Christmas advertisement. The green with her red hair would be a color clash waiting to explode.

The cream dress is next, mainly because I think my eyes need a rest from all that intense color, and the plaid dress just screams
disaster to my relatively conservative fashion sense. But looking in the mirror, fully decked out, I can't help but think it's almost a little
too
plain. I thought I would have settled on this one, but it doesn't scream “Jennifer, Juggling Circus Star.” It just whispers “Jennifer, Still Too Scared to Take Chances.”

So, almost a little regretfully, I slink out of the cream dress and try on the pattern explosion of option two.

Of course, that's the moment Riley gets out of the shower, a towel wrapped around her and another around her wild hair.

“That one,” she says, casting me the briefest glance. “Definitely that one.”

“You didn't even see the others,” I say.

“Don't need to. You look too daring in that to even try the others on. Besides, I think you'd look good with a little punky pink eye shadow.” The grin she gives me is kind of frightening. “Oh yes, I'm going to have a lot of fun painting your face.”

“You scare me sometimes,” I respond, giving myself another once-over in the mirror. I hate to admit it, but she has a point. I do look pretty daring in this. Seeing as this is my last night, I want to make an impression.

I work on my hair while she dries off and gets into her own outfit—it's a long black skirt with red carnation trim, along with a white blouse and red ringmaster coat that matches my own.

“Twinsies!” she shouts when she puts it on. We stand in the mirror together and admire ourselves. Our bright red and pink and purple clash like none other, but we do sort of match, and it looks
pretty darn good. I'd never really wondered what a circus-themed dance would be like, but we definitely look the part.

She quickly throws some product in her hair and poufs it out into jaunty spikes, then expertly applies her own eyeliner and red and black eye shadow. When she's done, she looks like a punked-out pinup model, complete with bright strawberry lips and fake eyelashes. I didn't even try to do my own makeup while she got herself ready. I just watched her work and tried to remember what she did, in case I ever got the desire to try it myself.

“Okay,” she says after twenty minutes of primping. “Your turn.”

She brandishes her eyeliner brush like a weapon and gives me a devious grin. “Don't worry, this won't hurt a bit.”

She kneels in front of me and brings the brush an inch from my eyelid. “Wait,” she muses, “I thought that sounded wrong. This won't hurt
me
a bit. Yeah, that's right.”

Then, with a giggle, she sets to work.

Chapter
Twenty-Five

I
thought that I knew
what “nervous” meant. After a week of training and performing in front of my peers, I thought I had a grasp of what going onstage entailed. But nothing was as bad as waiting for seven o'clock to roll around. Waiting for the dance was like waiting for a different sort of debut.

After all, it would be my first real dance with a real date. And if Luke decided to kiss me? My chest fluttered with the thought. Sure, maybe he wasn't Branden, but he was a pretty good guy. There were definitely worst first kisses out there.

“When does your boyfriend get here?” I ask Riley. She's doing what she always does when she has time to kill: She juggles.

“Sandy?” she asks.

“Yeah. Do you have more than one?”

She shakes her head. “One boyfriend is more than enough for me, thanks. He said he'd be here at seven, on the dot. So I guess I meet him down on the dance floor. I can't wait to get my boogie on.”

“I don't think people actually say that anymore,” I say. I examine my makeup for the millionth time. My eyes look
huge
with all this eye shadow. In a good way. Riley even pinned strands of my hair up.

“Well,
I
say it, and that's good enough for me.” She chuckles. “You know, if you keep staring at your face like that, your makeup might just melt off.”

I scowl at her.

“Nervous?” she asks.

“Obviously.”

“Don't be. I have no doubt Luke is an excellent dancer. And after all the moving you've been doing this week, you will be too. As hard as it is to believe, you might actually, you know,
enjoy
this.”

“That's just ridiculous,” I say with a laugh. “You haven't rubbed off on me that much.”

“Don't worry, there's still time.” She pauses juggling and checks her checkerboard watch. “Speaking of, looks like we're on.”

I look to my alarm clock. My stomach knots with fear. 6:59.

“Okay,” I say. I take a deep breath and stand. “Let's do this.”

•  •  •

Once more, the gym is completely transformed. Everything is cast in purple light and disco ball stars. Streamers hang from the
rafters, balloons float in bunches along the wall. There are a dozen tables draped in white cloths and covered in candles on the edge of the dance floor. But no one's sitting at them, not like all the school dances I've attended. Everyone's already on the dance floor. My gut drops another level. Looks like there's no sitting this one out, even if I wanted to.

We stand in the doorway for a second, taking it all in. Then Riley gives a squeal and darts off toward the dance floor. She makes a wild leap and lands in the arms of a boy I immediately recognize as Sandy. Just like in the pictures Riley showed me, he's got mousy brown hair and a plethora of freckles. Only now he's wearing a suit that looks like it's a size too big. It makes his gangly frame appear even skinnier.

I glance away while they kiss. When I look back, she takes him by the hand and half drags him over to me.

“Sandy,” she says, putting his hand in mine, “meet Jenn. She's my newest protégée. And also my best friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says. His handshake is surprisingly strong. I have a funny feeling he's one of those lithe guys, the ones who can secretly outlift most guys at the gym. “Riley's been telling me all about you.”

I actually blush. “Really?”

She just shrugs. Then she grins, looking at something past my shoulder.

“Anyway,” she says, bringing her attention back to me. “I believe you have someone waiting for you. Sandy, shall we dance?”

“But of course, my lady,” he says. He bows to me, then guides Riley back to the dance floor.

I look to where Riley was gazing. Luke walks toward me, now only a few feet away.

“You look stunning,” he says when he gets near. He's not in a suit like Sandy, but he's in smart black jeans and a lavender ­button-down shirt. His hair is slicked back, a few strands dangling at the side of his face.

“We match,” I say, because being smooth around guys has never been my forte, and talking with Luke will probably never be seamless.

“I'm just going to pretend I planned it that way.” He holds out his hand. “Care to dance?”

I take his hand and hope my palm isn't clammy from nerves. He grins at me and guides me to the dance floor.

The first few song are upbeat pop songs, and I do my best to move like I'm not an awkward girl who's only danced in public half a dozen times. For his part, Luke bobs along with me, barely taking his eyes off me. I can't help but blush every time I meet his gaze, so I try to focus on the people around me. Riley and Sandy are doing some silly dance moves to my left—pretty certain the one they're on now is called “the sprinkler”—and I spot Megan and Branden dancing together farther on. As usual, she's dancing way too close to him for my comfort, so I keep my eyes moving. Tyler and Kevin are dancing on my other side. They're both grinning and wearing button-down shirts and dark
jeans. Kevin's in gray, Tyler's in blue. Luke follows my gaze.

“It's cool,” he says over the music.

“What?” I ask. I look back to him.

“Them,” he says, nodding to Tyler and Kevin. “You don't normally see that around here. It's nice that there's a place where they can be themselves.”

I smile at him. He suddenly just won himself a dozen cool points in my book. “Agreed.”

We dance for a few more songs, until I'm practically out of breath from all the bouncing. Riley comes over just then and takes my arm. “Mind if I steal her?” she asks Luke. “I need to go . . . what do they call it? Powder my nose.”

Luke laughs. “Sure thing. Want something to drink?”

We both nod. “Yes, please.”

Then Riley pulls me away, toward the bathroom, while Luke goes to the punch bowl.

•  •  •

“Okay,” she says. “Damage report.”

We're standing in front of the mirrors in the girls' bathroom, making sure no makeup has run since we started moving around.

“Damage report?”

“Yeah. Are you into him? Is he a crappy dancer? Do you need me to run interference?”

“Whoa, calm down,” I say. “He's . . . actually pretty okay.”

“So . . .”

“So,” I say, shrugging, “we'll just see where the night goes.”

“What about Branden?”

“What about him?”

“I saw you looking at him.”

“I was trying not to.”

She pats me on the shoulder. “Ignore him,” she says. “Just enjoy your time with Luke. It's your last night.”

My last night.
The words are bittersweet. After tonight, there's no more practice, no more stress. No more Megan.

But also no more Riley or Tyler or Kevin.

“Promise we'll stay in touch?” I ask, because suddenly, keeping her as a friend seems much more important than Luke. She holds out her pinkie.

“Promise.”

•  •  •

As we're heading back toward the gym, I run into the one person I really don't want to run into. Literally. Megan steps in front of me as I walk past, shoulder-checking me. I stop and spin around to face her. She doesn't look at me with any venom, though. In fact, the smile she gives is sickeningly sweet. She looks like a Parisian model, her hair pinned up and her bright-silver dress barely halfway down her thigh. I hate her for many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that she manages to pull that skimpy outfit off.

“Enjoying the dance?” she asks. There's so much sugar in her voice I could become diabetic.

Riley grabs my arm and tries to force me to move, but I don't. I'm going to fight fire with fire.

“Very much so. Luke is a perfect gentleman.”