Rolling Dice (29 page)

“Whatever,” I mumble, and Jenna gets the hint.

“So how are you guys all getting there, did you say? You didn’t rent a limo like we all did?”

“No, Bryce is driving us. Most people are driving, actually, I think. It’s not as though anybody will drink there. The teachers all made sure to set very strict guidelines on that one. We’ll meet the rest of them there.”

Jenna nods. “Sounds good. Make sure you send me pictures, though, all right?” She sounds so demanding and forceful, for a second I think she could be our mom when she’s in one of her rare bad moods. “I want to see
tons
of photos of this.”

I laugh, shaking my head and smiling helplessly. “Sure, Jenna. Sure thing.”

She sits back and grins broadly at me. “Great! And you’re doing your hair like we talked about, aren’t you?”

I roll my eyes. Jenna had put more thought into how I should wear my hair than I have. I figured I’d do it as I normally did, since it’s too short to do anything with, even curl. Jenna, however, spoke to Mom, and they decided I should buy cute little silver hairpins so it looks a little more special. I agreed without complaint because that was the easiest thing to do, and quite frankly, I didn’t mind.

“Yes, I am wearing those fiddly little silver things.”

“Good.” Then she pauses before saying, “So are you and Bryce going to … you know …” She pauses again. “Has he booked a hotel room for you guys or anything like that?”

My forehead crinkles in confusion for a moment or two until I realize what she’s getting at.

“Oh! Oh, no. Yeah, we’re not doing anything like that. At least, not as far as I know. Besides, there’s an after party that everyone’s going to. But even so. No way.”

Jenna nods and says bluntly, “Good. Don’t. I know loads of girls think it’s really special, and maybe it is, depending on who you are and how your relationship is, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m just looking out for you here. You know, doing my big sister duty and all that. Safe sex, condoms—you know the drill, Mads. But I know what you’re like, and you’ve only been with the guy a couple of months. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you.”

I don’t blush; Bryce might make me blush sometimes, but this sort of thing I can handle, and I bite the inside of my lower lips slightly while Jenna talks. She’s quite open and frank—she always has been with me, so I should’ve been expecting this. But it’s still caught me off guard a little.

I haven’t even properly thought about … about actually having sex with Bryce yet. Sure, it crossed my mind a couple of times when we were making out in his room, but I discarded the idea because I knew I wasn’t ready. And I’m still not.

And that’s what I keep telling him whenever he asks. He’s always a little hard to read, so I can’t tell whether he’s okay with it or not. He always
says
he’s fine. And he’s going to
have to be—I’m not about to go rushing into anything. If that’s all he’s after, then he isn’t worth my time. But he says he loves me, so I guess he doesn’t mind waiting for me.

So I say to Jenna impassively, “Okay.”

“Are you even paying attention to me?” She frowns slightly, like she’s not sure if I’m just saying okay to shut her up, or if I mean it in solid agreement with her.

“Of course I am.”

She continues to frown at me on the computer monitor before finally saying, “Good.”

I hear Mom yelling up to my room—“Dice, dinner’s ready!”—so I yell back “Okay!” before telling Jenna I have to go, and I’ll send her pictures, probably on Sunday.

“I’ll text you tomorrow, before you go, but have an awesome night, okay, Mads?” My big sister grins at me widely, with such an earnest look on her face. She’s genuinely excited for me—more excited than I am, actually.

“Thanks,” I say, and disconnect the web-call.

I make my way down to dinner; Mom puts a plate of beef casserole down for each of us (Dad’s working late) and asks, “What did Jenna have to say?”

“Oh, she was just going on and on—
and on
—about the dance tomorrow,” I tell her with a laugh. “She’s more excited than I am.”

Mom laughs too, but then she hesitates a second and says, “You are excited, though, aren’t you?”

“Of course!” I reply instantly. I am. Not quite in the same bubbly, nonstop-chatter way the rest of the girls are, but I’ve had a smile on my face most of the day because of this dance. I’m actually getting to go to a dance, with my friends and my boyfriend, and I’ll be able to kiss him and have a slow dance at the end of the night, and then I get to go to an actual after party …

But I’m nervous—and a little scared too—so that’s sort of balanced out the excitement and resulted in apparent indifference.
Kind of like what my Physics tutor was talking about with destructive interference in wave diffraction
, I think distractedly—and I want to laugh, but I stop myself, because it’s the kind of joke I’d want to share with Dwight, only we’re not talking, and he hates me.

Mom smiles at me. “I’m just happy for you, Dice. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I say with a smile. “I’m happy for me too.”

After swallowing a mouthful of casserole, my mom sighs and says, “I just wish you’d picked something a bit … well, a bit more colorful, than that black dress. Although it does look fantastic,” she adds hastily.

I shrug. “What can I say? It was love at first sight; that dress was The One; there could never be another one like it.”

She just laughs and shakes her head, and then tells me to “stop being so sarcastic and eat that casserole already.”

By Saturday I’m really agitated, my palms clammy from the anticipation of the Winter Dance. I finish all my Algebra II homework and answer a few Biology questions, and tidy my room, and play a video game, and read some of my book for English. But it still doesn’t pass the time quickly enough. Everything just drags and crawls until, after what feels like an eternity, it’s two hours until Bryce will be here, and I decide that’s late enough to start getting ready.

As it turns out, two hours was a little too long, as I realize just after I step out of the shower, so I prolong all the rest of my predance preparations: moisturizing, and doing my hair and makeup. But even so, I’m ready a good seventeen minutes before Bryce is due to turn up.

I sit on the edge of my bed, smoothing out the skirt of my dress. I have my shoes on, and all the fiddly little silver pins in my hair, and I used a subtle sweep of silver eyeliner and shadow to brighten up my features. I have a silver clutch purse too, and my shoes are silver. I wasn’t going to go
entirely
in black—even I drew the line somewhere.

When my clock finally ticks to just eight minutes left of waiting for Bryce, I head downstairs. I have my ticket, my cell phone, some cash … and my iPod. I couldn’t help it. It’s in the zip-up pocket inside my purse. I have another bag with a change of clothes for the after party.

I get to the bottom of the stairs and Mom springs out of the family room. I bet she’s been waiting to hear my footsteps.

“Oh, Dice, sweetie!” she gushes, and a huge grin spreads over her face. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

I smile for her, but my stomach is curling into knots. “Thanks, Mom.”

Dad walks out of the office and brandishes his camera.

“Careful I don’t break the lens,” I tell him, nodding at it. My parents laugh, and Mom adjusts one of the silver pins in my hair before holding me at arm’s length and smiling at me. I could be wrong, but for a moment I think she’s almost on the verge of tears.

I hug her back tightly when she hugs me, but she pulls away first. She sniffles slightly
and says, “Don’t want to crease your dress, do we?”

“When is Bryce supposed to get here?” Dad asks.

“Soon,” I say, and that’s when we all hear a car outside. I’ve heard him pull up outside enough times to realize it’s his. And suddenly the knot in my stomach contorts itself in the most nauseating way possible. There’s a ringing in my ears that blocks out the pounding of my heartbeat and I stare blankly at the cream wall in front of me.

Dad opens the door, and I hear them talking—the usual hey-how’re-you pleasantries. Then it occurs to me: I should probably turn around. He’ll think I’m being rude.

I snap myself back to life, out of my dazed state, and turn around to face Bryce, putting on a smile for him.

Before I can say hi, he greets me with, “Wow. You look … wow.”

I roll my eyes, but a warm blush spreads over my cheeks. I like this kind of blushing, which goes with a fuzzy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “You look pretty dapper yourself.”

He cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow.
“Dapper?”
I shrug, and he chuckles at me. “Well, thanks.”

He does look even more wonderful than usual in his tux. It’s black, of course, as is his bow tie. His white shirt fits snugly on his muscular chest, and if I thought he was out of my league before, he most certainly is now.

But he’s smiling at me as though I’m the only thing in the entire universe, and all I can do is look shyly back at him before dropping my gaze to his extraordinarily shiny and undoubtedly expensive shoes.

“Picture time, I think!” Dad announces.

“Oh, wait!” Bryce raises his hand, which up until now has been tucked out of sight. “I nearly forgot. Your corsage.”

I’d forgotten all about the whole tradition of corsages.

It’s beautiful, though—a white rose with white ribbons. I take off my silver bracelets and he ties it around my left wrist, and then kisses the back of my hand, which makes me giggle. Then he pulls me close and slings an arm around my waist, and we smile for the camera as my dad takes a couple of photos.

“Got your tickets?” Mom asks us.

“Right here,” Bryce replies brightly, patting what I assume to be a pocket inside his tux jacket.

“Good. Now remember to call if you want a ride home from this party afterward, okay?”

“Yes, Mom, I know,” I sigh. She’s only told me about a billion times. And I’ve told her a billion and one times that it’s fine because I can stay over at Tiffany’s with the rest of the girls.

I pick up my small overnight bag and then turn to Bryce with a grin. “Ready?”

“Yep. Goodnight,” he says to my parents as I begin to herd him out of the door.

“Bye!” I call to them.

“Bye! You kids have fun!” they yell back. “Madison, text us when you’re back at Tiffany’s.”

“Okay!”

And then we’re in Bryce’s car and the front door closes, and the silence of my anxious anticipation floods through me. With a heavy sigh, I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes.

“You okay?” Bryce says. “Your parents aren’t that embarrassing, Mainstream, don’t worry.”

I laugh and go with that, because it’s better than explaining that I’m really freaking out about this. I’m enthusiastic and happy and anxious and scared all at once. My hands are moist and my stomach is full of butterflies and my heart is fluttering erratically. The thing I’m most scared of is being awkward and not knowing what to do—and looking so out of place that everybody will find out that I’ve never done this before.

And I really, really don’t want that to happen.

Bryce squeezes my hand and I look over at him, putting on a smile. “Yeah?”

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, totally fine,” I assure him, broadening my smile to a grin. “Sorry, I’m just … a little spaced out today, I guess. Excited.”

He looks at me warily for a moment, but then leans over to plant a soft, long kiss on my lips. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

We kiss once more before he puts the car in gear and pulls off. The dance is at the school—which, considering Midsommer High is a pretty darn fantastic school, isn’t as lame as it sounds.

“You do look absolutely incredible tonight,” he tells me.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Thanks.” There’s a pause, and then he clears his throat before saying, “Listen, Madison, I was thinking earlier … Well, my parents are chaperoning the dance and the
school till really late, so I thought, maybe, if you wanted to go back to my place for a bit instead of the after party … We could go back to the party after if you wanted, but …”

Oh, man.

This again
.

I have to admit, he is being kind of romantic seeing as it’s the Winter Dance, but …

Well, that’s exactly it.
But
.

“Bryce, I’m still not ready,” I tell him bluntly.

I catch his sigh. It’s barely audible, but I don’t miss it. I don’t comment on it. I don’t want to spoil the night.

He says, “It’s fine, Mainstream. Don’t worry about it. I’ll wait.” And he sends me a fleeting smile before turning back to look at the road, then reaches over with one hand to squeeze my thigh in what’s meant to be a reassuring way.

I want to ask him if he really
does
have a problem with it—with me—but I don’t want to spoil the night. I can ask him another time. Maybe.

The school assembly hall looks absolutely incredible. It’s reserved for formal assemblies—of which we’ve only had two in the entire time I’ve been here—and holds about a thousand people. So it’s not exactly a squeeze to fit in the tables and the stage for the band and the two hundred-odd students.

It’s decorated with blue, silver, black and white balloons. They flood the floor and hang in bunches from the walls. The table centerpieces are simple vases with blue or white artificial flowers. At the entrance there’s a balloon arch, with a professional photographer taking photos of the couples as they go in. The music isn’t too loud, either, which is nice; it fills the room over the chatter, but you don’t have to yell to be heard.

“I have a hunch that the dance committee has a fondness for balloons,” I murmur in Bryce’s ear as we join the small line of people waiting to have their photos taken.

Bryce laughs loudly, causing a few heads to turn our way. “Last year it was all streamers. I swear to God we were drowning in them. People kept tripping over them too: they ended up all over the dance floor because they were too heavy to stay tacked to the ceiling.”