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I look back over to the ridiculous dress hanging there and think it seems to have regained a little bit of its appeal. No, nothing has gone as planned. Nothing has turned out the way I hoped and my heart is broken. But what remains is that I’m about to graduate from high school. I have worked my ass off for the past four years, and as a reward, I will be going to a college far away from here on a full scholarship. Don’t I deserve to celebrate a little? Not with or for some guy. But for myself. For everything I’ve accomplished.
“This is our night,” Bridgett declares. “We’re two smart, strong women who are about to graduate from hell. You going to make me dance for that alone?”
I start laughing again. “No, I guess not.” I admire how good she looks all done up. She’s wearing a white corset and long black tutu, but when I look down to her feet, I realize she’s wearing tennis shoes. “Did you run over here?” I snicker.
“Well, yeah, but that’s not why I’m wearing these,” she answers. “They’re comfortable, and I like them. They look cute with this outfit and if I have to run away from some attacker at the school, they’ll never catch me in these. You never know at WJ Prep. Besides, all those other girls are just wearing heels so they’ll look tall while dancing with their boyfriends. Not something I have to worry about…I’m way taller than you anyway.”
“Fair enough,” I giggle. My dress is already revealing around the legs. I might as well top it off with some running shoes too.
“Hurry up,” she adds. “It starts in a half-hour, and I don’t want to be unfashionably late.”
I scramble to grab the dress from the hanger. Bridgett helps zip me up into it before I throw my hair up and put on a little makeup. Just before we walk out the door, I turn to the mirror, catching sight of the necklaces Emmett gave me, both dangling around my neck and taunting me. I impulsively unclasp them and toss them on top of my dresser and grab the velvet box Theo gave me.
“Ooooh pretty!” Bridgett coos from over my shoulder. “Where’d you get it?”
“My dad gave it to me,” I sigh.
“Whoa…did I miss something?”
“That’s to be determined,” I huff. “But what I can say is it’s perfect for tonight. Never mind who it came from.”
We rush out the door and decide that I’ll be the one to drive. The theme is some kind of gawdy Great Gatsby deal, giving the wealthy parents funding it a chance to splurge on everything shiny and extravagant. The entrances are all lined with black and gold balloon archways and glittering curtains of metallic streamers. Strings of lights twinkle along the ceilings. Everything is draped with tulle and loose balloons.
As we reach the table where an attendant sits, taking tickets, I stop suddenly. “Shit,” I grab Bridgett’s arm. “Emmett had my ticket.”
“I got this,” she assures me, marching up to the table. “Excuse me ma’am…my friend here seems to have misplaced her ticket. But seeing as how I’m in mourning over the loss of my cousin, Malcolm…Surely you’d let her in with me anyway.”
“Oh, right…Malcolm Henderson,” the woman blushes. “You know what? Sure. Go on in.”
Bridgett winks at me as she puts her arm in mine and pulls me inside. I’m not sure if the lady let me in because she feels sorry for us, or if it’s simply out of fear since Bridgett is technically an Elite. For that matter, do the Elites even buy prom tickets at all? Their parents are the ones paying for all this anyway. They’re probably exempt, like they are with everything else.
Music booms out from a booth where a DJ stands spinning records over the dance floor. There’s a disco ball sending glimmers of light around the room, dancing across little circle tables with candles and confetti…a seemingly dangerous combination. I laugh to myself thinking how perfect it’d be if WJ Prep ended up going down in flames tonight. As long as no one got hurt, I wouldn’t be sad to see it go.
Pretty girls stand around in their gowns and corsages, clutching their purses as they wait in line for the photo booth. Outside of the professional photos, there’s a sea of phones going off around us with everyone taking their own pictures. Friends asking someone else to capture their group or everyone leaning in together with big smiles for selfies.
The prom at WJ Prep is laxer than the average high school dance, likely by request of the Elites. Small groups of students stand out front smoking for everyone to see and no one bats a lash at the kids pulling flasks from purses or suit jackets.
As Bridgett and I stand there taking it all in, I catch sight of Coach Granger and Jada standing off in the corner, supervising. I can’t imagine why they’d have him chaperone this thing since he’s the only one who would have the audacity to make anyone actually follow the rules. The bass from the speakers pounds through the wooden gym floor and up through my body as I continue scanning the room.
That’s when I see him. Suddenly, I’m unable to tell the difference between the booming music and my own pounding heart. Emmett is here, lurking in the corner. I can tell he’s trying to go unnoticed while looking for someone. He’s looking for me.
I grab Bridgett’s hand and squeeze tight. “Is he fucking crazy!?” I hiss in her ear, pointing my head in his direction. “How did he get out!? And why would he show his face here? He’s going to get himself killed!”
She leans in as if to whisper but has to shout over all the noise. “Didn’t you hear? It was just on the news this afternoon. He made bail somehow. I don’t know how he pulled it off, but you’re right…It’s dangerous for him to be here. Phew, he’s got some balls.”
Just as she finishes talking, Emmett spots me. His eyes focus in like a hawk as he runs over. I want to run away but I’m completely stuck. Frozen like a deer in headlights.
“Ophelia!” he shouts, getting closer. I try to force myself to move, but he yells out again. “Wait! Please! I need to talk to you!”
Bridgett studies my face and decides to step in. She plants one foot in front of me and holds up her hand. “She doesn’t want to talk to you,” she says firmly.
“Please, you have to listen to me,” he begs urgently. “You have to know I didn’t do this. I’m being framed. You have to believe me!”
I look deep into his eyes, wanting to see something I can believe in, but there’s nothing. He looks like a complete stranger to me. My heart feels like stone, and the last thing I want to do is listen to him lie.
“Tell me you believe me, Ophelia!” he demands in desperation.
My lips slowly part, spilling out the only thing I can bring myself to say. “Theo told me everything. I know what you did.”
