Layne shook her head. “No. The voting is anonymous to make it fair. The committee doesn’t want anyone to have an advantage. You know, like people with massive social media followings already.”
She turned her laptop to show me, but I wasn’t really paying attention when she started rattling off the rules and regulations. I was too busy staring at the screen name she was using on her profile.
Under her photograph, bio and real name, was one little word that made my heart beat faster than anything ever had.
@PennyLayne24
“What?” she asked, finally noticing the smile that I couldn’t seem to get off my face.
“Your screen name. You used my nickname.”
Her cheeks turned that gorgeous sunset pink color that I wanted to bottle. “Yeah, um, I . . . Is that okay?” she asked.
“It’s more than, okay,” I replied, working hard to keep my voice from sounding so gravelly.
This was even better than seeing her in my jacket. This was her, using my nickname. A name I’d given her. It was uniquely ours and something about the fact that she’d just shared it with the world made my hopes for us suddenly real.
The feeling was a mixture of sheer terror and joy—and I didn’t want it to end.
Layne was sitting so close her knees were pressed into mine. I ached to move my hands from my thighs to hers. She was wearing a corduroy skirt and knee socks today, along with her glasses. The nerdy schoolgirl look had nearly gutted me when I first saw her this morning, but now, sitting so close . . . the temptation was killing me.
I took a deep breath, my eyes looking anywhere but at the lips I so desperately wanted to kiss. My gaze landed on a calendar on Layne’s fridge. Saturday was circled in red pen. Today was Monday.
I sucked in a steadying breath. Five days, I reminded myself.
I could wait for five more days.
Then I’d make her mine.
That thought steadied me. I looked back at Layne, feeling more focused now. “Well, I guess there’s only one thing left to do.”
She swallowed hard. “What?”
“Shall we press submit?”
She gave a nervous nod. “Together?”
I placed my hand over hers. “Together.”
We clicked submit and her grin lit up my world. I shook my head, wondering if she had any clue how much one song could change the world.
Her voice had turned my world upside down. And as I grinned back at her, I sort of hoped I’d never find right side up again.
“So,” I reminded her. “Don’t forget I can’t take you to school tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She looked down at my boot. “Tomorrow’s the big day. Are you nervous?”
I shrugged. “No big deal. I just find out if I get to show off my dance moves at prom or if I’ll still be lugging Frankenstein’s footwear around.”
“Well, I hope you get good news tomorrow.”
“You do?”
“Of course.”
“Any particular reason?” I teased.
“Can’t I just want the best for my partner?” she asked with a flirty twinkle in her eyes.
I loved when she played coy. “Sure, sure. Absolutely.”
“Why? What did you think I meant?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I mentioned prom, so . . .”
Her hands flew to her hips. “So, what? You assumed I’d swoon and beg you to take me?”
Her voice was still teasing, so I shrugged and gave her my best conniving grin. “You wouldn’t be the first girl to beg for a prom date with Nashanova.”
“Believe me, I know,” she muttered.
I cocked my head, not liking her tone. “What does that mean?”
She pressed her lips together like she just realized she’d said too much. “Nothing.”
“Oh, no way. You can’t say something like that and then say it was nothing.” I mimicked her movements and crossed my arms. “You know I’m going to get it out of you so you might as well save us some time and just spill.”
“Okay, fine.” She sighed dramatically. “But this never leaves this house, you have to promise me.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“I’m serious, Wyatt.”
“As am I.”
She rolled her eyes. “Prom may or may not have been the reason the I Hate Wyatt Nash Club was formed.”
I gasped in mock horror, but then I realized she wasn’t joking. “Wait. Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Did I . . .” I trailed off, trying to read the expression on her face. “There really is an I Hate Wyatt Nash Club?”
“Was,” she said softly. “We don’t hate you anymore.”
“We?” My mouth fell open as my mind struggled to catch up. “Who else hated me?”
Layne shrugged, unable to meet my eyes. “Lola might have.”
“Why?”
“Do you really not know?” Layne asked, disapproval in her voice.
“Do I look like I have any idea what in the world you’re talking about?”
She exhaled her frustration, muttering to herself, then finally collected herself enough to speak. “You were flirting with Lola last year about prom and I guess you made it sound like the two of you would be going together, and . . .”
I finished her sentence. “And we didn’t.” Guilt stabbed me as I realized how awful this must’ve made me look to her. “Layne, I never asked Lola to go with me.”
“Maybe not, but whatever you did say made Lola turn down everyone else who asked her. She bought a dress and everything, thinking that you were going to make some grand gesture and ask her. And when you didn’t . . . Well, let’s just say you ruined two girls’ proms that night.”
“How?”
“Because I ended up skipping prom to stay home and console her.”
“Layne . . . I didn’t know.” I found myself at a complete loss. “I mean, I don’t stand people up. I wouldn’t do that. Tell me you at least know me that well.”
“I do, but you have to admit, you do flirt a lot.”
“Yes, but flirting is just flirting. It isn’t hurting anyone.”
“It can.” Layne’s cheeks flamed again as she looked down. “I know joking and being flirty is your personality, but it can be hard to know when you’re being serious or not.”
I stood up from the barstool I’d been occupying and began to pace Layne’s kitchen.
“Wyatt, I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” Layne said, coming over to stop me.
“I didn’t!”
“I know,” she repeated, softly.
I heard the words she was saying but it wasn’t enough. I needed to make this right. I shoved my hands through my hair in aggravation. “Can you give me Lola’s number, please?”
“What? Why?”
“I need to apologize.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because, it was a long time ago. She said she’s over it.”
“Well, obviously not if there’s an I Hate Wyatt Nash Club!” I shouted.
Layne grabbed my hands, which I hadn’t noticed were flailing about. “Wyatt, there’s not really a club.”