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“That was so not the girl I thought I knew,” Emory says, watching them walk away.
“I think maybe this is why she’s always getting heartbroken,” I say, finishing my drink. “She falls too hard too fast for guys she barely knows. And if it doesn’t work out, then she’s hurt.”
He considers this and shakes his head. “Still, it’s better to have taken that risk than to have sat on the sidelines. You never know when it’ll work out.”
“I guess that’s a nice, if not risky way to look at things.”
His hand cups my cheek and tilts my face up. He is so gorgeous it’s hard to think straight. “Isn’t that why you took a risk and went out with me tonight?” he asks, his voice so low I can barely hear him over the music playing from the speakers. His hand slides up and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I have to remind myself to breathe. “Don’t we both want to know if things could work out between us?”
My breath catches in my throat. “Yes,” I manage to choke out, and it earns me a devilish grin. Emory lowers his hand, and a rush of cool air replaces the warmth where his fingers had been. I close my eyes for just a moment, biting back all of that stupid emotion that had just swelled up inside of me.
It’s a fake date.
This is all fake.
Of course he doesn’t want to know if things would work out for us. I don’t think the real Emory would care about how things worked out with anyone.
Ciara finds her way back to us after a couple of songs and, although I hadn’t thought it was possible, there’s an even bigger pep in her step now that she’s spent more time with her date. She fixes a glass of punch and makes the same comment about hoping it’s been spiked. To our disappointment, the punch is just as punchy as ever, probably thanks to the librarian, Mrs. Constance, who has been hovering around the table all night.
Emory asks Trey about college life, and he immediately goes into talking about rush week for Kappa Theta Delta. I grab Ciara’s hand. “Want to sneak off to the restroom with me?”
She nods. “I’m sure I’m sweating through my makeup. Let’s go.”
Even the bathroom has been decorated to theme, with blue and silver sparkling lights adorning each mirror over the sinks. There’s a teacher wearing a navy blue pantsuit standing in the corner, offering mints and spritzes of perfume, but we all know she’s here to keep the potential drug use or shots from a hidden flask at bay. I’m starting to wonder why we even bother going to dances like this when they’re as guarded as a prison ward.
A sneaked sip of tequila would do wonders to the butterflies in my stomach right about now.
“So how’s the date so far?” Ciara asks, diving into her satin clutch to retrieve her powder compact. “Mine’s going better than expected. Trey didn’t bitch at all about the long drive to pick me up.”
I peer into my reflection between the decorative tulle draped on either side of the mirror. My makeup has held; my hair still looks like it was stolen from the pages of a fashion magazine. Not bad.
Two girls walk into the bathroom, underclassmen by the looks of excitement on their faces. They’re holding hands and giggling, their faces bent toward each other, sharing the juiciness of a secret. This is no doubt the greatest night of their lives so far. I remember those first few dances with Nate. Lame high school dances or not—it felt magical at the time.
“Well?” Ciara says, nudging me with her elbow while she reapplies a soft pink lip gloss. “Having fun?”
I nod. I look hot, and my date looks even hotter. Plus he’s nice. The music isn’t too bad, and the finger foods are actually appetizing. My new best friend Ciara is with me, and none of the people from my old school are here to ruin it. This night has every ingredient of a perfect date night recipe. So it would be stupid to deny that I’m having fun.
“Yeah, it’s fun. You know, for a fake date,” I say, lowering my voice on the last two words. No one needs to know that my magical night with Emory Underwood is a scam. The jealous looks from girls who see me on his arm haven’t quit all night, and it’s weirdly satisfying to be the object of envy.
“Don’t say it like that,” she says, scrunching her face. She closes the little metal clasp on her clutch purse and slides it back across her body by the tiny chain strap. “You don’t have to be in love with everyone you date.” She grabs my arm and pulls me back toward the door. “Girl, we’re just faking it until we make it. Starting with tonight.”
The rest of the evening is a whirlwind not unlike Van Gough’s real Starry Night. Ciara and I dance our butts off to the fast songs and thanks to her contagious party mood, I find a way to truly let loose and enjoy the moment. Ciara has a way of throwing herself into everything she does with a passion like no other. On the outside, you’d think she’d never be the kind of girl to hang out with us losers in the group, but really, her passion for all things she cares about is also her downfall. As we’re dancing like peppy weirdos to a Justin Bieber track, the current of people pushes us toward the edge of the dance floor, where Trey and Emory are watching us from the sidelines.
Emory winks when our eyes meet, raising his glass to me. I put my hand to my mouth and blow him a quick kiss. And then I catch a split second of Ciara making eye contact with Trey, and all t
he pieces fall into place. She cares, more than anyone. She’s given her attention to this one guy, and I know without a doubt that she’ll do whatever will make him happy, so long as they’re happy together. That’s her downfall. Caring too much.
The Break Up Support Group isn’t just a bunch of losers. We’re people with heart, with a desire to share our lives with someone who loves us just as much as we love them. That’s not really a bad thing.
I was an excellent girlfriend to Nate. In all ways that high school relationships matter, I was the best. I doted on him, I stayed loyal in every way. I was always there he wanted me, and I kept my distance when he needed bro time. I gave in when he wanted to push the boundaries of our limited sexual experience just so he’d stay happy with me. And yet none of that mattered in the end.
Tonight wasn’t about winning over my date, or even trying to keep him interested. It’s all about having fun and pretending I’ve only just met the guy who waits for me at the side of the gymnasium. After the song ends, I stride across the dance floor, confidently following my instincts, a coy smirk stitched on my face as I approach Emory.
“That was hot,” he says, leaning forward and letting his lips linger near my ear. “Next time you should dance like that when we’re the only two people in the room.”
Damn he knows how to make a girl’s heart skip a beat. I lean into him and decide to play along for yet another time tonight. “Maybe we could slip away and find an empty room?”
“How about ice cream? The Creamery is open until eleven.”
