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“This is where we met,” she tells me. “I was standing here with my best friend, Camila. We were hanging by her car at the end of our first week of senior year. And then you appeared. I was facing the car this way.” She shows me the way she was facing.
She steps to the other side and pretends to be her friend. “And Camila was right here. She went: ‘Oh my god, there’s a guy coming our way he’ssohot.’” She shakes her head. “Of course, I didn’t care. I only had eyes for Rose. But Cam wouldn’t shut up about you. And then you came to talk to us!”
“Yeah,” I nod. “I already knew you were Rose’s girl. I’d done my research.”
“Your stalking, you mean,” she cackles. “Cam couldn’t believe it. She was like, ‘act cool. Act cool.’” She laughs harder. “I can’t even remember what you talked to us about. I know now you were just waiting for Rose to come out.”
I nod again. “I was. I wanted to rile her up. Get her attention. Talking to you was a great idea.”
“You did more than talk to me,” she says. “Don’t you remember?”
Brows furrowing, I try to think of what she means. I came that day because I wanted to see Rose. I wanted to check on her; any reason was good enough for me. I knew Rachel was close to her, and my talking to Rachel meant Rose would pay attention to me. I’d just found her after practically three years without seeing her. I could barely hold myself from dragging her away from everyone and keeping her to myself.
“What did I do?” I ask, truly not remembering.
“You put your hand,” she grabs my hand and places it on the small of her back. “On me.” She looks up and smiles. “Drove her mad. It always does.”
“What?” I murmur and put another hand on her waist. “People touching you?”
She giggles and squirms out of my hold. “Yeah. Or people calling me cute names. She once almost got in a fight with a guy twice her size because he called me sweetheart.”
“She’s so possessive,” I chuckle. “It’s bad.”
“And you aren’t?”
“Oh, I’m terrible,” I nod. “Absolutely Terrible.”
She smiles softly. “Me too. I just express it differently than you guys. Like, sulking and shouting at Rose that she’s a bitch.” Taking a step toward the building, she calls for me, “Come on.”
I follow her and, to my surprise, she pushes the door open. “Rachel Harris,” I tell her low. “Are you breaking into your old preparatory school?”
“It’s all about knowing the right people in Stoneview.”
Taking my tattooed hand and dragging me along, she walks the hallways I’d only imagined previously. They’re spacious, giving the impression of a grand hall rather than a high school hallway. Walking past rows of lockers, she taps one. “This one was mine,” she says, nostalgia coating her voice. A few steps later, she taps another one. “Rose’s.” And tapping the next three, she continues. “Jake’s, Chris’s, Luke’s. That one opposite us was Jamie’s, Jake’s girlfriend.”
Keeping my hand in hers, she takes a few turns, goes through a few doors, and finally stops in front of a wooden double door.
“Close your eyes,” she tells me. I do so, a smile slowly creeping on my face.
I hear the door opening, and she leads me inside. A pop-rock song is playing loudly.
“Okay. You can open your eyes. Tada!”
I spin around slowly as I take everything in. The long table with a buffet of snacks and bowls of punch. The floor is covered with burgundy and white balloons. The one and only round table in the middle of the room. The banner that says,‘PROM NIGHT’and the stage with a single speaker on it.
“Rach…” My voice is a low rasp from the emotions causing a tornado inside me.
“I couldn’t really hire a band just for this. I feel it’d have been awkward, just them and us. But the speaker will do, right?”
I tap one of the balloons with the tip of my shoe. “You’re crazy,” I laugh. “This is too much.” I know I told her I wanted a grand gesture from her, but I was just joking back then, trying to rile her up. Although now, I can see I secretly wanted it badly.
“You killed men because they touched Rose. Don’t tell me about ‘too much’.”
We help ourselves to pastries and canapes on the tables and pour ourselves some punch. Sitting opposite each other, she puts a canape in her mouth, and I do the same.
“I guess proms aren’t like this,” she tells me, her mouth full. “More people. But most of them would be people I dislike, so I think it’s fine just the two of us.”
I grab a cheese pastry and bite into it, playing with the crumbs that fall on the table. “Did you not like high school?”
