23
I wait until after school to approach Peter. There were plenty of opportunities earlier in the day, as Emily made clear by repeatedly tugging on my sleeve. But I’d rather do it when I’m free to run home and hide under my covers if he turns me down. Emily assures me he won’t, but the dance is only three days away; he must’ve been asked by now.
I spot him by the fountain in front of the school, which is only a fountain in name. Water never flows from it—it was shut down years ago after one too many giant bubble bath pranks gone wrong. So it’s just a gray stone statue of our mascot, Maribel the Mermaid, surrounded by a circular concrete wall. Students usually sit here, waiting for the morning bell or for their rides after school.
Peter waves in the brisk but affable way people do when they expect the other person to return the salutation and continue walking. But I stop in front of him, so he’s caught off guard. His intensely focused eyes broaden the slightest amount.
“Hey, Peter.”
“Hey, Cassidy.” The end of my name drifts upward, like a question. He scoots over on the wall, making room for me. Sitting down is clearly not an option in case this conversation ends abruptly and unfavorably for me; however, standing before him at the entrance of our school makes me feel like an enormous attraction.
My gaze sinks to his sneakers. Stop it. I bring it back up to focus on his green eyes instead. But his eyes make my head swirl. “I just wanted to ask really fast if you had a date for Sadie Hawkins.”
His eyes widen and narrow again. Just when I’m sure I’ve made him uncomfortable, he answers, “Nope, nobody asked me.” He shakes his head, slowly. “That’s why I’m sitting here, waiting for one of your kind to come to her senses. I figured if I did a little posing, modeling out here by the stunning Maribel”—he gestures to the statue behind him—“some pretty girl would have to stop and think, I need to be the mermaid who gets to go to the dance with that model guy. So far, no girls have experienced such a revelation.”
I try to restrain the smile stealing across my lips. “Oh, okay, well, I was just wondering. Hope it works out for you. See you later.” I wave and stride toward the steps leading to the parking lot.
“Seriously?” comes the deep voice behind me.
I laugh, whirling back around to see Peter wipe fake tears from his eyes. I take a couple steps in his direction. “You know, when I woke up this morning, I had no intention whatsoever of going to the dance, but when I saw you next to the mermaid…” I shrug, wielding a look of incredulity. “I just… I want to know. Can I be that mermaid, Peter?”
He tilts his head, resting it on an index finger. “I think that might be okay.” His grin is subtle and crooked, and my heart quickens. “Pick you up at six?”
“Yeah, sounds perfect. You’ll have to do some searching for a corsage to match a long green flipper, though.” I practically skip down the steps as he calls after me.
“I’ll start looking today!” I have the most ridiculous smile plastered across my face as I fly to my bike. Maybe Emily is right. Maybe this is exactly what I need.
* * *
Poor Emily was right about one thing: her Sadie Hawkins’s prospects. I never did find her a date. I asked two guys, but one laughed in my face and one heard the name Emily Greer and just looked at me like I was lost. Then he practically ran away. Emily said it was fine and would free her up to help me get ready for the dance. After all, there’s a lot to do in just two days.
We work after school on Friday, getting the last bits of my ensemble together on Saturday morning. I skip lunch to hang Emily’s posters before the rest of the committee shows up to finish the decorations. I sneak in and out of the gym, heaving the enormous ladder all around the room, without running into a single babbling committee idiot.
In the afternoon, Emily curls my hair into loose, polished waves and does my makeup, painting smoky gray eyes and glossy pink lips to create a version of me that looks out of place above my jeans and T-shirt.
I slip into the short, blush-colored dress we found at a little boutique in Rosedale, its color like an extension of my own pale skin. Emily says Peter won’t believe his eyes when he sees me in the dress, with its spaghetti straps and form-fitted bodice that flows into a bouquet of tulle. The hem kicks slightly outward, forming a splash about my thighs. I secretly hope it will make that impression on another guy at the dance.
When Peter rings the doorbell, Emily sends me on my way with a smile.
Before the dance, we go to dinner at a small but fancy Italian restaurant thirty minutes from Maribel in the middle of nowhere. Inside, candles illuminate a dimly lit room. This amplifies the whole “date” aspect of the experience, it being just the two of us sharing a cozy meal with a single red rose displayed on the table between us. In the spirit of Sadie Hawkins, I inform Peter I will be paying. To this, he simply laughs and responds, “We’ll see.” The challenging edge to his tone reminds me of Gideon, momentarily coating our outing in a gloomy film.
We settle in and place our orders, and Peter’s upbeat nature eventually puts me at ease. “So, you and Laura seem like you’re on really good terms.” He smiles slyly behind his water glass.
“Is it that obvious?” I make an embarrassed grimace. “Have you ever seen The Omen? Not the remake—the original?”
“No,” he says, letting the word trail. He stares at me, the corner of his mouth inching upward. “Isn’t that movie, like, a hundred years old?”
“Well, yeah,” I say, “but Gid—my brother and I have something of an affinity for classic horror.” I make a twirling gesture with my hand, knowing how nerdy I sound. “Anyway, there’s this old hag lady who’s actually a demon sent from hell. And, I swear, Laura reminds me of her pretty much on a daily basis.”
Peter’s mouth drops open for a moment. Then he bursts into laughter. “Wow. So you like her a lot then.”
“Yeah, I really hope she comes tonight. I’m sure she’ll find a way to make my first school dance more memorable. You know, by introducing the Antichrist to the masses of dancing students. Or by letting us all take part in whatever evil plot she’s working on to destroy the universe.”
Peter tries to compose himself, shaking his head like he can’t believe me capable of such remarks.
“Sorry, I should shut up now. You probably think I’m horrible.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.” That little corner of his mouth is still raised. Heat fans out across my face, like wildfire. “I hope her news,” he says, adding air quotes, “wasn’t anything too terrible.”
The waiter comes with our plates, and I see it as my window of escape from answering his question in any manner of detail. “Oh, of course not. Laura just gets her kicks out of trying to make everyone else believe their problems are worse than hers. This looks great.” I motion to the plate before me.