“I should probably go make sure they’re behaving.”
She huffs out a laugh, a flush to her cheeks that wasn’t there before. “Of course. Go be Coach Wesley.”
Maybe this ain’t over yet.
Iris
The knock on my front door startles me out of my freak-out.
I yank it open, breathless, to find Layla, stunning in a pink dress that hugs her curvy figure and flatters her skin tone perfectly.
Meanwhile, I’m still in sweatpants with my makeup half done and my hair looking like I lost a fight with the brush.
“Well, clearly someone’s having a fashion emergency,” she says, stating the obvious.
I groan, stepping aside to let her in. “I’ve tried on everything I own, and I think I officially hate all of it.”
She gives me a sympathetic look while I sit on the couch with my face in my hands. I know it’s stupid, being so worked up over this, but I can’t help it.
“I’ve never been to a dance before. How am I supposed to know what to wear?” Layla sits beside me, rubbing her hand over my back.
“You never went to any dances?” she asks, like that’s the most tragic thing she’s ever heard.
I sit up straight to look at her, shaking my head. “I didn’t have many friends in high school. Or date. It felt stupid to go alone.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got a best friend now who’sdragging you to one.”
“Against my will.”
“Please. You love it.” She smirks. “Besides, I hear there’s a certain handsome football coach who got roped into chaperoning tonight…”
“I don’t know what that has to do with me.”
She stands, heading toward the bedroom like she’s been here a thousand times. “Sure you don’t. Now come on. Let’s find you something that says, I’m a responsible adult, but also,look at me,Coach Wesley.Kiss me.”
“I hate you.”
When we walk through the doors to the gym, it’s almost unrecognizable. Lights reflect off glittering streamers, and cheesy balloon arches are set up around the room.
Music comes through large speakers at the bottom of the stage, where students are gathered in clusters on the dance floor.
It’s not quite loud enough to drown out the buzz of conversation, but enough to make the floor vibrate beneath my flats.
I hover near the entrance, glued to Layla’s side, who has already spotted several students and faculty she knows before we’ve even made it through the door.
“See?” she bumps my shoulder. “I told you. Chaperoning dances is fun. Especially when you’re not trying to impress a date or praying you don’t spill food on your expensive dress.”
“Give me five minutes,” I reply, “There’s still plenty of time to humiliate myself.”
She rolls her eyes and tugs me forward. “Iris, you look amazing. You’re gonna be just fine.”
I’m not so sure about that.
Layla lets go of my arm and heads straight for a group of other teachers, launching into conversation with an older woman I’ve only ever seen in the science hall.
I hang back, hovering on the dance floor, unsure of what to do with myself.
I scan the room for familiar faces from my classes, spotting the homecoming king and queen dancing together, their plastic crowns identifying them.
