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“It’s fine,” I assure her.
She bites her lip, then moves to the dresser and starts rummaging through drawers.
“Here.” She tosses me a pair of faded jeans I hardly ever wear because they’re too tight to ride in. “Put these on.” A minute later, she holds up a V-neck T-shirt I’m not sure if I’ve ever worn. Definitely not since I got boobs, and I recall why when I pull the shirt over my head.
“Perfect,” Cassie proclaims, with an approving nod.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Both the shirt and jeans are snugger than what I was wearing. But they’re still cotton and denim, which I’m comfortable in.
I pull my hair out of its braid, say goodbye to Gramps, and then we’re headed to Jake’s house. Thanks to homeroom rumors, I know he hosts most of my classes’ parties throughout high school. It makes sense he would have the honor of holding the final one.
The house is packed when we walk inside, which isn’t all that shocking based on the number of cars outside and the level of noise.
Jake lives in a luxe development close to the high school. The interior is the opposite of where I live. No creaky floorboards or worn furniture or temperamental heating. Everything—the furniture and the appliances and the wallpaper—looks new and fancy.
As Cassie and I walk through the house, I’m surprised by how many people stop to talk to us. Both of us.
A few classmates bring up my speech, but most of the conversations are just idle chitchat. Pleasantries.
Endings have a way of bringing people together, I suppose.
Once we’re in the kitchen, I head for the island covered with almost every drink imaginable. The temperature in the house is about twenty degrees warmer than outside, making me glad I decided against wearing a jacket. Or more like Cassie refused to let me bring one.
I reach for the stack of plastic cups, at the same time as another hand. When our fingers brush, a shock of electricity shoots up my arm.
I freeze; Caleb doesn’t.
He grabs two cups and hands one to me.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Stay away from the punch. It’s full of all sorts of shit.”
“Cal—” He’s already walking away.
I end up with soda, although I’m definitely tempted by the bottles of alcohol. I could use some liquid courage.
Somehow, an evening I thought would drag starts to fly by. My unprecedented popularity lingers. I talk with people I’ve barely exchanged two words with since elementary school. I dance. I mingle with peers I now consider friends: Shannon, Tina, Eliza, Julie, Joe, Will, and Marcus. Even Andrew, for all our head-butting at the paper.
And I enjoy it all, because I don’t have to worry about it ending and everything returning to what used to be normal.
Everything is ending anyway.
Eventually, the night winds down. The crowd thins and the music stops. I have no idea what time it is, but the exhaustion I’m experiencing assures me it’s a lot later than I usually stay up.
Not that that’s saying much.
Cassie is almost finished with her soda. She’s close to being ready to leave, and that’s terrifying.
Because there’s one thing I need to do. One thing I can’tnotdo. One thing I’ve put off until the last minute.
Until the last minute became now.
“You about ready to go?” Cassie asks me, yawning.
I’m so, so tempted to just nod. To run out of here. But the only thing that’s scarier than doing this is living with the regret ofnotdoing it.
“Yeah,” I respond. “Just give me one minute.”
