of worried about mine.”
“What about it?”
I looked down at my sleeves.
“I just never wore anything like this before.”
Landon chuckled and put his arms around my waist, at the Chaperone-Approved Hand Level.
“You look great.”
My cheeks burned.
“Thanks.”
Landon swayed me back and forth, way slower than the beat of the song. But I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
And it was nice.
Really nice.
Still, after about five dances—some faster, some slower—the press of bodies all around, and the constant thrum of DJ Premature Hearing Loss’s Muzak, made me anxious.
“I need a moment,” I shouted to Landon, and we slid out past Jonny Without an H’s gyrating hips—certainly not Chaperone-Approved—to the drinks table. I grabbed a cup of water and passed one to Landon. He drank his but I sniffed mine first.
“I kind of thought it would be spiked.”
He chuckled. “I think that only happens in movies.”
“Oh.”
I brought my cup to my lips, right as someone bumped me from behind. I spilled it all down my front.
“Crap.” I looked around for napkins or something. “Um. Be right back.”
Landon thumbed the water off my chin. “You need help?”
“I’ll be okay. Just give me a second.”
The locker rooms were shut, so I had to make my way to the South Hall bathrooms. Chapel Hill High School didn’t have paper towel dispensers, only air dryers, so I went into the third stall to grab some toilet paper.
I dried off the front of my jacket as best I could, and then my pants where I’d gotten a big wet spot right around my zipper. If I’d been wearing black it wouldn’t have shown up that much, but on my light blue suit the dark spots were noticeable.
Noticeable, and deeply suspicious.
I rubbed at the spots, but the flimsy single-ply toilet paper in use at Chapel Hill High School just broke apart into little white pearls of debris.
What was the point and purpose of single-ply toilet paper?
“Hey. No jerking off at school, Dairy Queen.”
I spun around and banged my shin on the toilet bowl, which was great.
Trent Bolger was at the sinks, washing his hands and looking at me in the mirror.
I always pictured Trent Bolger as the kind of guy who never washed his hands after going to the bathroom.
“Leave me alone, Trent.”
I brushed the little white crumbs off my pants and went to wash my hands at the farthest sink from Trent’s.
I hadn’t done anything, but I still had to wash my hands when I’d been in a bathroom.
It was a thing.
Trent stuck his hands under the dryer. “Having fun with your boy?”
It was an innocuous question, but nothing about Trent Bolger was ever innocuous.
“Yes.” The only other hand dryer was right next to Trent, and I didn’t want the water to get onto my cuffs.
He gave me this sidelong look, and then he said, “Did you paint your nails?”
“Yeah.”
He snorted—an alarming experience, given the size of his nostrils. “I don’t know what Chip sees in you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t act like you can’t tell. He’s got such a boner for you.”
I swallowed.
“Chip is my friend. Sorry if you’re jealous or whatever.”
Trent rolled his eyes. “Hardly. Chip and me, we’ve been friends forever. And we’re family now. I’ll still be here, long after he gets over you.”
He pushed past me, slamming my shoulder on his way out.
“Later, D-Cheese.”
THE FORESKINNED FIDDLE
I waited in the bathroom for a few minutes, playing on my phone and turning what Trent had said over in my mind.
Trent Bolger was a bully, no matter what anyone said. No matter how many times he avoided punishment because he was on Chapel Hill High School’s varsity football team.
And Cyprian Cusumano was my friend. Even if I still didn’t understand why, exactly.
But what did Trent mean, that Chip had a boner for me? He was jealous of us being friends, and jealous that Chip was outgrowing him, and he would say anything to make trouble.
There was no way Chip liked me as more than a friend.
For as long as I’d known him, Chip had only ever dated girls. If he liked guys too, he would have said something.
Even if he didn’t like me, he would’ve said something.
Right?
I slipped my phone into my pocket. Landon was waiting, and I refused to let Trent Bolger ruin my night.
“You okay?” Landon asked as he led me back to the dance floor.
“Yeah.”
“Your face is red.”
“It’s hot in here.”
Landon’s hands rested on my hips as we swayed along to the music—DJ Loud Noises had picked a nice slow song, one I’d