“Hey,” he says, voice low.
I absently trace the outline of the tiara I took off and put on the table. “Hey.”
“So… are we staying? Am I still taking you home?”
“I don’t know, Anderson,” I say tiredly.
“Do you have to check with your boss?” he asks, his tone faintly sharp.
I look up at him, dead-eyed. I’m just about to respond when Sherlock bumps into him.
“Oh, shit, sorry, Milner.” He smirks, shaking his flask and offering it to Anderson. “I think I’m pre-gaming a little too hard. Want some?”
Anderson shakes his head. “I’m all right.”
Sherlock points at me. “Congrats on your crown, Bishop.”
“Thanks,” I say, frowning. Ryden Sherlock has never spoken to me.
“You kids have fun,” he says before wandering away.
“Fun,” Anderson remarks. “Is that what we’re having?”
I shake my head, looking at the crown again as I play with it. “I think we should break up.”
“Yeah.” He looks down at the gymnasium floor. “I kinda figured.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, looking up at him. My hand stills on the crown and flattens against the table. “It wasn’t my intention to jerk you around. I really did think getting back together that day was the right choice. I had all these stupid thoughts you probably don’t want to hear about at this point.”
Anderson pulls out the chair across from me and sits down. “Nah, might as well.”
I smile faintly, looking at the table. “Hunter and I have this thing, I guess you could call it an inside joke, but… have you ever read The Hunger Games?”
Anderson shakes his head. “I saw the movies.”
I nod. “Well, in middle school I made him read the books. And I had these very enthusiastic opinions about the love triangle that runs throughout the series. See, in the beginning it’s just Gale and Katniss, and they share this bond, they understand each other, they’re completely attuned to one another, they work together to survive and look out for one another. They were a team, and I just loved them. But then Peeta comes into the picture, and he’s not like Gale at all. Gale is… more…” I stop, trying to think how to word it. “Maybe dominant is the word I’m looking for? More brutal? More aggressive and take-charge? He challenges Katniss more. They’re comfortable and familiar with each other, but in a sense, Gale’s the less comfortable choice.”
“All right,” he says, watching me.
“But Peeta, he’s softer and kinder. I wouldn’t say he understands Katniss the way Gale does, but he’s always there for her. He’s a really good guy, and he really… he’s good to her.” I look down, too self-conscious to meet Anderson’s gaze when I say this next part. “In middle school, I developed this massive crush on Hunter Maxwell. It wasn’t for any of the reasons the other girls in our class did, though. I stumbled across him in the woods behind his house one day and we ended up developing our own secret connection. In my mind, he became my Gale.”
Anderson nods, starting to catch on. “Am I the Peeta in this comparison?”
I look up. “Yes, but not in a bad way. After that night at Valerie’s party, I started thinking maybe I was too hard on Peeta. He was a nice guy. I think I was only mad at him for being in the way. I probably wasn’t entirely fair to him. If I reread the trilogy now, I don’t think I’d have as many problems with him. I’d probably still want Katniss and Gale together, but that day when we had the picnic in the park… I understood how she came to have feelings for the guy who was there for her when she really needed him to be. When she’d given him every reason in the world not to be, and he was still there anyway. And I really did think maybe I had it all wrong, and maybe… maybe we were the right answer.”
Anderson doesn’t say anything right away. He looks at the red linen draped across the table, lost in thought. Finally, his lips curve up and he says, “I was your safe choice.”
I can’t deny it. That would be a lie. “There’s nothing inherently bad about the safe choice,” I say instead.
His lips curve up even more with a cynical hint of humor. “You don’t believe that. Maybe you wish you did, but… you don’t want the safe choice. You want the brutal asshole who ‘gets you,’” he says, rolling his eyes.
I want to deny it, but I can’t. “I think it’s the friendship that appeals to me. I’m really not into assholes, I just… I’ve never connected with someone the way I connect with him. It’s effortless. Even when I want to resist it, even when we both do things to try to break it… it’s like we can’t. It’s unbreakable.”
Anderson leans back in the chair and sighs. “Well, I think you’re making a mistake, but I guess I’m supposed to think that.”
I look at my crown on the table. “We’re not together. I just… It doesn’t matter. I can’t give this a shot when I’m still so wrapped up in him. I’m not really available, so there’s no sense in stringing you along.”
“Well,” he says, playfully indicating the crown on his head. “Before our reign officially comes to an end, should we share one last dance?”
I smile up at him. “I’d like that.”
___
The night wears on and still there’s no sign of Hunter.
That is, until I start to notice the crowd thinning out. There are fewer people packed in the gymnasium, and when I look toward the door, I realize it’s because people keep leaving.
At first, I think maybe they’re leaving early because they’re eager to get to Hunter’s after party, but it doesn’t entirely make sense. There’s still about a half hour left of the dance, so Hunter’s after party shouldn’t begin until after that.
But as I slip out the doors myself and go to investigate the case of the disappearing homecoming attendees, I realize they’re not missing at all. They are all outside, gathered in front of the school.
I frown, pushing the heavy exit doors and walking outside to see what’s going on.
I make my way to the front of the crowd, then stop, my eyes widening as I take in the sight of Valerie’s car, coated in a gooey orange-ish substance and covered with white feathers.
I might actually be amused, but there is a second car pulled up behind hers, also tarred and feathered: Anderson’s.
I’m too stunned to pay much attention to the movement of the people behind me, but when someone steps up beside me, I don’t have to look to know it’s Hunter.
“It wasn’t pig’s blood,” he says. “It was thicker, stickier. Maybe some kind of honey mixture. Seems like she tried to dye it red, but it didn’t really work out.”
“What did you do?” I shake my head, looking at the cars. “How is Valerie’s car even here? She rode here in a limo with you.”
Before he can answer me, I’m shoved aside as Valerie explodes through the crowd and stops to stare and horror at her car.
She huffs in clear outrage, then turns to look at us, her blue eyes as wide as can be. “Seriously?”