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As I step back, the doorbell rings.

My heart pitter-patters in my chest, and my knees go weak. I might be way more nervous than I realized.

“I’ll let your date in.” Winking, Dad takes a step back into the hall. “We don’t want him to change his mind.”

“Dad,” I grumble as I hurry back to the full-length mirror to take one final look at myself.

The new red dress falls to just above my knees and hugs my waist tightly. The top fits like a modest corset, with laces up the front and ribbons tied into cute little bows at my shoulders. The fabric shimmers slightly under the light, kind of playful but still sweet. Per Mom’s recommendation, I’ve paired it with satin black platform heels. They definitely add a few inches to my height, and I think I look nice.

I’ve donned bright makeup hundreds of times in my life, thanks to all the championships and competitions, but tonight, I stuck with winged eyeliner, black mascara, and red lipstick. The look is still bright but definitely not overloaded. My hair is mostly down, the top pulled up in a waterfall braid, with a few shiny strips of tinsel Mom added.

“Isla, your date is here,” Dad yells.

“You’re making him wait,” my brother adds.

I slump and huff out a breath. They are impossible.

With one last look at myself, I grab my phone and my little black purse and hurry downstairs.

I’m still a ball of nerves, but there’s excitement there too. With any luck, I’ll have a fun night. I deserve it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

because i like her

MICHAEL

Sixteen years old

The place is packed. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many people at a school dance. The gym is decorated with gold and red streamers and paper leaves, pumpkins positioned here and there. The dance floor is already half full, though it holds no appeal to me. Maybe it will after a little punch. According to Ash, it’s been spiked.

Hopefully the alcohol will improve my shitty mood.

Despite my attitude, the music is great. I’m surprised the administration approved this remix of Falling in Reverse’s “Fashionably Late,” but I’m not complaining.

“Here’s your punch.” Ash stops in front of me and holds out a red cup. “And it’s punching.”

I snort from where I’m seated on the first row of bleachers and take the offering. “Did anyone ever tell you how horrible some of your jokes are?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Girls love my jokes.”

I open my mouth to taunt him a little, but Sienna chimes in, so I take a sip of the punch instead.

“If you only knew how delusional you are.” She pats him on the chest. “The girls love how you look. They don’t even listen to your jokes.”

As the flavor of the punch registers, I have to fight the urge to spit it back into the cup. What the fuck? This isn’t spiked. It tastes like straight alcohol.

Asher doesn’t get riled up easily, so he shrugs and flashes Sienna a big smile. “I know I’m handsome. I don’t mind using it to my benefit.”

“Your ego is ginormous,” she mutters and then looks straight at me. Her blue eyes look icy under the flashing lights, and her hair is loose around her shoulders, sparkling every time she moves. She put glitter in it, apparently. At least, that’s what she told us the moment she found our group.

She and I didn’t come together, but minutes after we showed up, she slid into our circle like she belonged there, just like she always does.

“Wanna dance?” she asks, tilting her head.

Why would I want to dance with her when I turned down her invite?

“Not really.”