Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,70
squeaked.
“Hey.” He looked amazing: His suit must’ve been made just for him, the way it tapered around his slim waist and nice legs.
I sucked in my stomach as soon as I saw him.
His hair was parted to the side, super formal, except for this one lock that fell into his forehead. His smile was perfect.
“Wow,” he said. He looked me up and down, with this soft smile. “You look beautiful.”
My ears burned.
“It’s not too . . . um . . .”
“It’s perfect.” He nodded at my tie. “Having trouble?”
“Usually my dad helps me,” I admitted.
He slipped his own tie off, a deep blue one with thin orange stripes: It was a clip-on.
“Can’t help you there.”
“I’ll get it.”
He stepped closer to me and rested his hands on my chest. I let go of my tie and leaned down to kiss him.
“Hey,” I said.
His hands slid down to my waist.
“You smell nice.”
“Thanks.” I’d borrowed some of Dad’s cologne, a woodsy one—juniper and sage—that he always wore in the fall. “So do you.”
He smelled like honeysuckle and citrus peel.
“Come on. Tie your tie. We don’t wanna miss dinner.”
“I’ll make sure not to order onions this time.”
“Good. I’ve got plans for us.”
I gulped.
“Okay.”
* * *
Mom went Full Persian Mother on me and Landon: It took at least twenty minutes to get through all the photographs she wanted. Shots of each of us by ourselves, so she could get our outfits from pretty much every angle; and then a whole series of us together, though she had us stand rigid with our arms by our sides for the first couple, until Landon asked if she wanted us to hold hands.
“Oh,” she said. “Sure.”
Grandma and Oma were in the kitchen, mostly ignoring us and playing Monopoly with Laleh, though I thought I saw Oma look in and nod once.
Finally, I said, “Mom. We’re going to be late.”
“Just one more,” she said. “Do a fun one.”
Landon said, “Got it.” He pulled me in and kissed me. Right in front of my mom.
I heard the click from Mom’s phone, and then she said, her voice kind of pinched, “Great.” She wiped away a tear. “Great. Okay.”
I kissed Mom’s cheek. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re so handsome,” she whispered to me. “Have fun.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
* * *
Like I said, I had never been to a homecoming dance before. Or any dance at Chapel Hill High School, really.
The bleachers were pushed up against the walls of the Main Gym, and huge banners hung from the rails with images of palm trees and beaches and sunshine and all the “Fun in the Sun” imagery the homecoming committee could come up with.
I held Landon’s hand as I led him around. We said hi to Gabe and Jaden and their dates: Samantha and Claire, both seniors on the varsity women’s soccer team.
“Looking good,” Jaden said. He fist-bumped Landon and then turned to me. His eyes narrowed and he grabbed my hand to examine my nails. “Nice!”
My ears burned. “Thanks. You’re looking sharp.” He was in a burgundy suit with a bright white shirt and sneakers.
The DJ was blasting Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” over the crappy speakers built into the ceiling, the ones that were dented from basketball impacts.
It was hard to believe I wasn’t in some sort of Teen Television Drama.
Guys like me didn’t get to be in Teen Television Dramas.
Landon looked the part way better than I did. He was smiling and chatting with Gabe and Samantha about something, but I couldn’t make it out over the music.
Chapel Hill High School’s Main Gym was not designed with acoustics in mind.
Journey finished, and the DJ faded into a K-Pop single everyone was obsessed with.
“Hey.” Landon took my hand. “It’s a dance, right?”
“Oh. Right.”
He led me out to the floor, where the music was even louder, and everyone was pressed together as close as they were allowed by the Chaperone-Mandated Minimum Distance.
I spotted Chip in the crowd, dancing with a big group of people. He looked really handsome, in a maroon suit with a white shirt underneath, and a floral-print tie.
I hated that I thought he looked handsome.
I shouldn’t have thought that.
I caught a glimpse of Javaneh Esfahani in a beautiful red dress and gold headscarf, dancing with Mateo, vice president of Chapel Hill’s QSA. Mateo had dyed their hair purple and swept it up into a pompadour, and their black suit sparkled like it had glitter woven into it.