I’ve ordered this fettuccine here before with my family, so I know exactly what it will taste like.
“Yeah, it does,” Peter says, blowing on a forkful of noodles. “So, tell me. What else should I know about you, other than your unique taste in movies?”
I used to have a starting spot on the volleyball team. I used to have a best friend. I’m responsible for one death, maybe two. I take a sip of water, eyes planted on my plate. “I’m pretty boring. You know I play volleyball?”
He cocks a brow. “Small school, remember?”
“Sorry. You go first. What should I know about you, Peter?”
“Easy. I order a double chocolate milkshake from Gina’s twice a week, even when it’s snowing outside.”
I frown dramatically. “That’s very disappointing.”
“Well, it hasn’t won me any awards or anything, but is it really that bad?”
“I’m afraid it is.” My eyes travel up to his, a grin inching over my lips. “To a Daisy’s Ice Cream fanatic. Gina’s milkshakes have got nothing on Daisy’s.”
Peter laughs and I take a bite of my fettuccini, trying not to choke as I chew through giggles.
“Battle of the milkshakes might make for a decent second date,” he says, halting my laughter. “I’m glad you asked me to this thing tonight.”
I go back to staring at my food. As if twisting the noodles onto my fork is the highest form of science, requiring my full concentration. “Well, I was kind of forced into it, remember? Maribel the Mermaid made me do it.”
“That’s right. Well, I take it back then. I’ll just thank her on Monday.”
I don’t want to look up because my face is probably as red as it feels, but I venture a glance. Peter has stopped chewing. His emerald eyes peer at me through those slits, a smile cracking beneath.
The flutter I felt at the fountain returns. I nod. “I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank-you.”
We make our way back to Peter’s car after dinner, and I realize things are going quite well. Maybe because Peter never explicitly asked me about Gideon, and also because Peter’s personality is a lot like mine. And it’s easy to get along with yourself at first, having so much in common and everything—that is, until the dark things nestled deep within emerge, and you find that you might not like yourself as much as you thought.
On the car ride to the dance, our bodies seem to be drawn together despite the armrests between us. The game of sideways glances back and forth out of the corners of our eyes is exhilarating. By the time we make it to the school parking lot, one of Peter’s hands has drifted from the steering wheel to rest dangerously close to mine.
Part of me wants to know what will happen if we stay in the car together another minute. But the other part bolts from the passenger seat the second he hits the breaks.
“Hey! I was supposed to open the door for you,” he scolds, coming around to meet me. “Mermaids,” he mutters, eliciting a laugh from me. As nervous as I was leading up to the dance, being with Peter is fun. Thrilling, even.
I might not even have to pretend to like him.
24
We step into the school gymnasium lined with the Sadie Hawkins posters Emily slaved over. Inside, the large open room is decorated like a night sky. Long black fabric drapes the walls and thousands of twinkling lights float across the ceiling. Cardboard cutout trees in the fashion of Van Gogh’s Starry Night are displayed around the room, and swirling clouds adorn the walls. A yellow moon painted with a gallon of gold glitter is suspended from above, accompanied by a smattering of gold stars. Spotlights shine from the ceiling, making the girls’ dresses sparkle.
But the corners of the room remain out of the spotlights, with only the delicate glow of the twinkling lights to illuminate them. In one such corner, swathed in shadows, I spot Gideon.
At first I don’t recognize him because a girl’s arms are looped around the back of his neck—an accessory I’ve never seen on him before. But we near them, and the two dark figures emerge: Gracie’s head on Gideon’s shoulder, and his hands on the small of her back, his chin tucked into the crown of her head.
A horrible sensation grabs me. It’s like parts of my body have plummeted to the floor, leaving room for my heart or soul to tumble straight through. I stand in the doorway staring while Peter makes his greetings. I can’t pry my eyes off them. Part of me wants to tell Gracie myself that I let her sister down. To get it out in the open, once and for all. I heard her sister’s pleas and did nothing about it.
And part of me wants to tell her to stay far away from Gideon Hollander.
When Peter returns, I have no choice but to lift my silver kitten-heeled pumps from where they seem fastened to the floor, one at a time. I take his hand as he escorts me out to the dance floor.
The first song is slow and easy, and I worry I’ll never perk up enough if something more upbeat pulses through the speakers. I ask Peter if we can get punch.
“You’re not tired already, are you?” That lopsided smile lights his face. “I was worried about you, because of the mermaid stuff. I can’t imagine you’re very accustomed to dancing.”
“I’m fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Just thirsty. Even mermaids need to drink.” He follows me to the punch table, where I scoop myself some of the red drink, gulping it down as Peter chats with a boy in our grade whose name I don’t know. He nudges Peter and whispers in his ear. Peter nods before leaning toward me.
“You might want to slow down a little with the punch. Someone already got to it.”
I stare blankly at him, and he raises his eyebrows a few times, nodding toward the plastic cup. And then it hits me: someone spiked the punch. I glance bemusedly at my empty cup and toss it into the trash. I guess the punch tasted a bit off. Still, I don’t hate the tingly sensation coursing through my body when Peter leads me back onto the dance floor.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I’ve somehow acquired the boldness to direct Peter to a better spot. One with a clear line of sight to Gideon and Gracie. Where maybe they’ll have a clear line of sight to me. With Peter.
It’s another slow song. Gideon and Gracie are dancing closely and effortlessly, like they’ve been dating for months. It pressures me to make the same sort of display, and the punch is rallying me on.
My hands begin on Peter’s shoulders, and his rest loosely on my back. He’s making light conversation, joking about how we should’ve had the dance outside if we wanted a night sky theme—which would’ve been ludicrous due to the outdoor temperature. I laugh and slowly inch my fingers behind his neck, drawing myself closer to him in the process. I don’t look around for Gideon, but simply will him to see us as I gaze into Peter’s eyes. My face hovers inches from his, with a demure look I hope will encourage his fingers to move somewhere a little less safe.