hallways. Smiling at each other, constantly, Dylan’s dimples out in full force. And I thought about why that bothered me, and why it made me so damn mad.
Yes, I was mad . A lot of the time. At a lot of people. Myself included.
I leaned against the far wall, near the water fountain, and let the anger burn through me until it settled into a heavy, thorny ball in my stomach. I let myself remember Lauren’s voice, the raspy tenor of it. I let myself acknowledge why Michael had called me first, earlier than usual—to head off my call, prevent me from catching him with Lauren. To hide her from me. If he was innocent, I reasoned, he’d have nothing to hide. If he and Lauren were “just friends” like he’d claimed, there wouldn’t be any reason for her to be napping in his room and answering his phone.
Still, even with this recent evidence, I didn’t believe he’d cheated on me in the physical sense. I still trusted him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’d made a promise to me, months ago, that he’d never be unfaithful, never hurt me like that. But he didn’t promise that he’d never consider it. And that was what I believed he was doing with Lauren—considering it. Maybe he hadn’t yet crossed the line, but he was standing at the edge of it, weighing all the consequences involved in stepping over.
And I couldn’t really fault him for that, because I had been toeing that line myself.
“You okay?”
I jumped. Again, it was as if Dylan had materialized out of thin air, like the Ghost of Christmas Present.
“Yeah.” I tried to smile but only got as far as a tight-lipped grimace. “Did Jess send you to find me?”
His brow creased in confusion, and for the first time that night I noticed how cute he looked in his button-down shirt and dark pants. “No. I was on my way to the bathroom and saw you over here. You looked upset.”
I peered into the crowd, searching for Breton. I didn’t see her, but I did see Jill Holloway out on the dance floor, wearing a dress that was probably popular in the adult entertainment circuit.
“I’ll be okay,” I said, with a real smile this time. “I just miss my boyfriend.”
My words made him flinch a little, which cheered me up more than I cared to admit. “Oh,” he said, his usual scowl slipping into place.
“He’ll be home soon.” I felt driven by some need to….what? Let him down easy? Provoke a reaction? Get back at him for Breton?
His only response was to change the subject. “You look better without all that crap on your face,” he told me. His honesty was refreshing.
“Jessica,” I said, and he nodded like it made perfect sense.
We stood there in silence for a minute, and I assumed that was it. He’d made sure I was okay and now he’d go back to Breton. But he didn’t. In fact, he asked me to dance.
“I don’t think so,” I said. A slow song was playing, an old classic that had somehow gained popularity over the years. “Breton’s probably looking for you,” I added, as if that were the only thing holding me back from accepting.
“She can wait.” He extended his arm a little, as if reaching for my hand, but then quickly dropped it. “Come on. Just one.”
Like a slide show, my brain ran through its mental catalog of horrifying images, which had grown substantially in the last few hours. One new one consisted of Michael on the bed with Lauren, his fingers in her hair and her mouth on his.
“Okay,” I said, and I led the way to the dance floor.
****
Dylan was a couple of inches shorter than Michael, and slighter, so when our bodies met, everything seemed to line up perfectly.
I pretended not to notice.
We didn’t speak at all at first, probably because being this close to each other felt kind of awkward. But once we’d settled into our positions—not pressed together but not miles apart either—the initial embarrassment melted away and we began to talk.
We talked about exams, our classes, our friends,
Yes, I was mad . A lot of the time. At a lot of people. Myself included.
I leaned against the far wall, near the water fountain, and let the anger burn through me until it settled into a heavy, thorny ball in my stomach. I let myself remember Lauren’s voice, the raspy tenor of it. I let myself acknowledge why Michael had called me first, earlier than usual—to head off my call, prevent me from catching him with Lauren. To hide her from me. If he was innocent, I reasoned, he’d have nothing to hide. If he and Lauren were “just friends” like he’d claimed, there wouldn’t be any reason for her to be napping in his room and answering his phone.
Still, even with this recent evidence, I didn’t believe he’d cheated on me in the physical sense. I still trusted him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’d made a promise to me, months ago, that he’d never be unfaithful, never hurt me like that. But he didn’t promise that he’d never consider it. And that was what I believed he was doing with Lauren—considering it. Maybe he hadn’t yet crossed the line, but he was standing at the edge of it, weighing all the consequences involved in stepping over.
And I couldn’t really fault him for that, because I had been toeing that line myself.
“You okay?”
I jumped. Again, it was as if Dylan had materialized out of thin air, like the Ghost of Christmas Present.
“Yeah.” I tried to smile but only got as far as a tight-lipped grimace. “Did Jess send you to find me?”
His brow creased in confusion, and for the first time that night I noticed how cute he looked in his button-down shirt and dark pants. “No. I was on my way to the bathroom and saw you over here. You looked upset.”
I peered into the crowd, searching for Breton. I didn’t see her, but I did see Jill Holloway out on the dance floor, wearing a dress that was probably popular in the adult entertainment circuit.
“I’ll be okay,” I said, with a real smile this time. “I just miss my boyfriend.”
My words made him flinch a little, which cheered me up more than I cared to admit. “Oh,” he said, his usual scowl slipping into place.
“He’ll be home soon.” I felt driven by some need to….what? Let him down easy? Provoke a reaction? Get back at him for Breton?
His only response was to change the subject. “You look better without all that crap on your face,” he told me. His honesty was refreshing.
“Jessica,” I said, and he nodded like it made perfect sense.
We stood there in silence for a minute, and I assumed that was it. He’d made sure I was okay and now he’d go back to Breton. But he didn’t. In fact, he asked me to dance.
“I don’t think so,” I said. A slow song was playing, an old classic that had somehow gained popularity over the years. “Breton’s probably looking for you,” I added, as if that were the only thing holding me back from accepting.
“She can wait.” He extended his arm a little, as if reaching for my hand, but then quickly dropped it. “Come on. Just one.”
Like a slide show, my brain ran through its mental catalog of horrifying images, which had grown substantially in the last few hours. One new one consisted of Michael on the bed with Lauren, his fingers in her hair and her mouth on his.
“Okay,” I said, and I led the way to the dance floor.
****
Dylan was a couple of inches shorter than Michael, and slighter, so when our bodies met, everything seemed to line up perfectly.
I pretended not to notice.
We didn’t speak at all at first, probably because being this close to each other felt kind of awkward. But once we’d settled into our positions—not pressed together but not miles apart either—the initial embarrassment melted away and we began to talk.
We talked about exams, our classes, our friends,