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“I have four little sisters,” he said. “Of courseI’ve seen it — the animation is a classic! When that glass slipper shattered…” He laid his hand dramatically over his chest. “My heart shattered with it.”
I giggled, despite the festering pain still gripping my chest. “Who knew you were such a romantic?”
He stood suddenly, tucking the umbrella against his shoulder before he extended his hand to me. I stared at his open palm, blinking rapidly in confusion. “What?”
“Doesn’t feel right for the Prom Queen to not get her slow dance,” he said, a slight smile playing around his lips.
“Dance?” I said. “Out here? With you? In the rain?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. Why not?”
A thousand reasons, a thousand excuses, prickled over my tongue. But I took his hand and let him pull me up from the step. I let him wrap his arm around my waist, beneath his leather jacket, still warm around my shoulders.
“I’m going to get you all wet,” I said as I pressed my soaked dress against him. I glared when he laughed. “Don’t you dare make a dirty joke out of that.”
“I wouldn’t even think of it,” he said. “I don’t mind if you get me a little wet, Jess.” He winked, and I rolled my eyes. But as we swayed in the rain to the muted sounds of the music, the pain in my chest loosened its grip. The fearful clench of insecurityaround my lungs stopped swelling, and I took a slow breath before I dared to rest my head against his chest.
“You’re really tall,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.
“That’s why the ladies call me Daddy Longlegs,” he said, and I smacked his chest even though the joke made me laugh.
“Kyle will kill you if he sees us out here,” I said. Behind us, the slight movement of the doorknob made me tense, and Vincent’s hand tightened on my waist. But no one came out.
“And waste his supplier?” he said. “I doubt it.” He paused for a moment, swaying with me. “I don’t care anyway. These are supposed to be the best nights of our lives, right?”
“Are they?” It was weird to feel this way. Melancholy and sad, confused and angry, but…there was something else crawling its way through all the muck of my emotions. Something warm, tender, and small.
Desire. Longing. A wish that everything was different.
“You know I never wanted Manson to get hurt,” I said, so softly it was almost imperceptible over the rain.
“I know. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, right?”
“Right.” I closed my eyes. Senior year was coming to its end, and I’d messed up everything. My road was well-paved indeed, with intentions both good and bad. I’d been so certain it was the road I wanted, but now only a dead end lay ahead.
Things would change after high school. They had to.
The song ended, and I pulled away first. I cleared my throat and straightened my shoulders, sniffling back the last of my sadness. I was better than this. I had to get back in there. I took off his jacket and held it out to him.
But Vincent was staring at me with a look I couldn’t fully understand. “What?” I said as he finally took the jacket.
He shook his head, slowly, with a sigh that felt so heavy. “Damn. You got me too.”
I was about to ask what the hell he meant, but the door behind us opened and someone exclaimed loudly, “Oh, thank God! Jess, what thehell?”
Ashley hurried out to me, holding an umbrella that she quickly brought me beneath. Vincent stepped back as she fretted over me. “Was it worth getting soaked for some weed? Oh my God, your lashes are falling off. Here, let’s get you to the bathroom.” She gave Vincent a disapproving glare. “Maybe next time, do your deals someplace a little less shady?”
“But where else can I find conveniently placed dumpsters to throw my clients’ bodies in?” Vincent said right before we slipped inside, and Ashley groaned in disgust.
“He’s such a creep,” she said. “Take me with you next time, girl! Don’t trust that weirdo. You know Mark Ringwald told me that Sarah Everdeen told him that her cousin found out Vincent is into some really fucked up shit. He’s, like, a devil worshiper or something.”
“I think devil worshippers only sacrifice virgins, so I’m pretty sure I’m safe.” I was joking, but Ashley nodded as her mouth formed into an ‘O,’ as if I’d told her incredibly important information.
We cleaned up my makeup and Ashley called a friend who had an emergency wardrobe change. I could go back out on the floor and dance with my friends, sneak more vodka from Ashley’s flask, and pretend I was having the best night of my life.
And maybe there had been something good that night. Something small and uncertain, but warm despite the rain. Maybe I didn’t know it yet. Maybe I wouldn’t know it for years. But that small thing stayed, even unnurtured, and waited for its opportunity to grow.
30
