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No way. There’s no way!
Celeste fidgets in front of Mr. Kent, wringing her hands together, her skin flushed as red as her sheath dress. Overplayed pop music drowns out the sound of her voice as Genevieve and I sit shoulder to shoulder at a round table a few feet away, trying to hide our squeals of disbelief.
Mr. Kent takes a step back from Celeste, scratching at his neck and glancing around the room. He’s even sweating a little.
“She’s crazy,” Gen whisper-shouts into my ear. “She’s absolutely nuts.”
I giggle under my breath.
When we entered freshman year, we made a pact. We each had to perform a spectacularly stupid dare on prom night. We don’t get anything out of this, of course; no trophy or golden medal. Only our combined mortification, mutual respect, and a lifetime of “I can’t believe we did that” giggles.
Honestly, I thought my friends had forgotten about our silly little pact, but Celeste brought it up the moment we gathered around the table and our dates took off to drink punch and talk sports.
Celeste’s dare came easy. She’s had a crush on her math teacher, Mr. Kent, since the moment she set foot into his classroom. Gen and I dared her to confess her deepest fantasies to him. The naughtiest of fantasies, the kind that would make a grown man blush.
It seems to be working.
He’s blushing profusely.
Gen’s elbow rams into me when Celeste turns and skips across the dance floor in her high heels, her face the deepest shade of fuchsia I’ve ever seen.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” She mumbles it over and over before she collapses into a chair and buries her face in her arms. She tosses her cell phone onto the table with a recording of the whole conversation—delicious proof. “I hate you both. I hate you both so much.”
We nearly die of laughter.
Mr. Kent strolls by our table, exiting swiftly, clearly rattled and embarrassed.
“Don’t hate us, Celeste. Retribution is so much sweeter.” Gen waggles her eyebrows at me, our friend crumpled between us over the table. “Who’s next? Me or June?”
Celeste sits up straight, blotches of red still painting her face. “God, my heart is beating out of my chest. Give me a minute to make sure it doesn’t give out.” I slide a glass of water over to her, and she takes it eagerly, gulping it down and collecting herself.
My attention wavers when Brant steps into the ballroom with my chemistry teacher, Miss Holland. I dart my gaze over to him, stiffening as my teacher laughs at one of his jokes. The sound of her cackle has my arm hairs standing at attention, and I don’t know why. She’s older than him—beautiful, sure, but at least a decade his senior. I frown, watching them interact. Brant leans back against the wall, folding his arms and looking light and carefree. He doesn’t give her that same look he gave me on the patio when I debuted my ball gown, the look of fire and brimstone.
I pick at the sequins on my bodice, gnawing on my bottom lip as I watch them tease and tell jokes. At one point, Brant seems to check out of the conversation, as if he’s distracted. He looks away from her to scan the room, glancing from table to table. He’s looking for something.
And then his gaze lands on me, perched at the table on his right.
He smiles a little, his posture relaxing. His eyes fill with warm relief, as if I was what he was looking for.
My hand lifts in a small wave as I return the smile.
And when I glance back at Celeste, she’s grinning devilishly. My insides pitch. “What? You’ve thought of my dare, haven’t you?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Her focus is pinned on Brant, causing my heart to flutter with worry. “You’re not allowed to make a move on him. He’s off-limits.” It’s a silly thing to demand, but he’s my brother. It would be too weird.
The evil gleam in Celeste’s eyes doesn’t fade. “Not exactly what I had in mind,” she says breezily, then leans in to Genevieve, shielding her mouth from me so I can’t hear what she’s concocting.
Gen gasps. “No way. She’ll never do it.”
“She has to. It’s the dare.”
My own heart is now beating so fast, I fear it might escape. “What? What is it?”
Gen pulls her lips between her teeth as she straightens, glancing over her shoulder at Brant, then back at me. “Oh, girl, prepare yourself.”
“What?” I’ll go mad if they don’t tell me right now.
