Something in Tyler’s expression shifts. It’s subtle, but I notice it. For a brief moment, his eyes grow darker. Colder.
But as quickly as it appears, it vanishes, and Tyler’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, Jude. You’re right. I’m being an asshole.”
I fold my arms across my uncomfortably exposed chest, unsure of how to proceed.
“Honestly, I’m just glad you decided to come out with me tonight,” he continues, placing a gentle hand on my knee. “I know it was a tough decision to come without your crew, and I know how much wearing a dress icks you out. I can’t say I’ll ever understand the gender thing, but I know I’ve been kind of a dick about it, and I’m sorry.”
My heart melts, and I immediately reciprocate his touch. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry, too. I don’t mean to take out my dysphoria on you. But it has been hard, and I really am ick-ed out about this dress. Trust me, I wish I could be normal about it so we could enjoy a quintessential senior prom night likeevery other teenage couple in the country. But, alas. You’re stuck with…me.”
Tyler smiles. “I wouldn’t want to be stuck with anyone else,” he says softly, and my chest fizzles. He looks past me toward the dresser by the door. “How about we have one last glass of the crappy champagne Ethan got for us, change into our PJs, and head to bed?”
I follow his gaze to the cheap sparkling wine and two plastic flutes, and I grin. “That sounds perfect.”
Tyler caresses my cheek before hopping out of bed to pour our wine while I retrieve my cozy pajamas from my overnight bag.
Before I enter the bathroom to change, Tyler stops me. “A toast?”
I grin and accept the flute. “A toast.”
“To the senior prom night we didn’t think we wanted but didn’t know we needed.”
“Cheers to that,” I say, smiling widely.
“Cheers.”
We clink our plastic flutes and drink their contents. It’s a fairly small glass, so I swallow it all in one go like a shot. It’s absolutely disgusting and, to my stupid surprise, carbonated, so I erupt into a coughing fit. Tyler cracks up, then apologizes, but we end up laughing together.
Before I close the bathroom door, I pause to peer at Tyler again. “I love you.”
Tyler glances back up and smiles. “Love you, too.”
I gently shut the door, take a deep breath, and begin the de-feminization process. I wash off the layers of makeup, peel off my dress, and happily slip into my pajamas. The champagne hits my bloodstream as I brush my teeth, and my nervous system finally relaxes. Taking one last look in the mirror, I let out aheavy sigh of relief when the person staring back finally looks like me again.
“God, I feel so much better,” I say aloud as I open the door. “In fact, I think I might be?—”
I freeze. The room is empty.
“Tyler?”
There’s no response. I step out of the bathroom and scan the room, but I can’t find any sign of life.
“Ha, ha,” I laugh nervously. “Very funny. Okay, you got me.”
I hear nothing.
Panic threatens to take hold, but I push it aside. “Seriously, Tyler, the joke’s over now. Where are you hiding?”
I open the closet, peer under the bed, and even check behind the window curtains, but Tyler’s nowhere to be found.
Not only is Tyler missing, but his bag is too. His shoes. Even the champagne has disappeared from the dresser.
Desperately, I try to rationalize. Maybe he went to get ice. That’s a thing people do in hotels, right?
Heart racing, I scan every surface for the ice bucket. Shouldn’t it be next to where the champagne was? What about the bathroom? I practically sprint back into the bathroom to search for?—
The ice bucket sits, empty and untouched, on the bathroom counter.
So, if he’s not getting ice, where did he go?
